Who AM I Now?

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and think…

Who is this person?

Where did the woman go who used to be so full of life?

The one who loved getting dressed up.

The one who laughed easily.

The one who was always ready to go somewhere, do something, and be the life of the party.

I used to feel vibrant.

Now, most days, I just feel tired.

Not “I need a nap” tired.

Soul tired.

I haven’t had my hair done in well over a year. I barely have time or energy to take care of myself.

Every now and then, I convince myself, “This is going to be the week.”

I’m going to get on the treadmill.

I’m going to use the workout equipment we bought.

I’m going to start exercising.

I’m going to take care of myself again.

In theory, it sounds wonderful.

In reality, the minute I pull into my driveway after work, survival mode begins.

From that moment until my children are asleep, every ounce of me belongs to someone else.

There are meltdowns.

Dinner.

Baths.

Trying to keep my son safe.

Trying to make sure my neurotypical daughter still gets enough of me.

Trying to keep the house from looking like a tornado came through it.

Trying to remember everything that needs to happen the next day.

Most nights, the kids aren’t asleep until around 8:30. It can be incredibly difficult to help them wind down.

By then, I’m done.

Not because I don’t want to do something for myself.

Because I genuinely have nothing left to give.

Sleep wasn’t always something we could count on either.

There was a season when my son woke up almost every single night between one and two in the morning.

Like clockwork.

If he was awake, we were awake.

Night after night.

Week after week.

Month after month.

People talk about sleep deprivation like it simply means being tired.

It doesn’t.

It changes you.

It affects your emotions, patience, memory, physical health, and eventually your ability to think clearly. You begin functioning on autopilot because you don’t have another choice.

We worked closely with my son’s doctor to find the right medications and dosages to help his body reach a state where he could fall asleep and remain asleep throughout the night.

That has been life-changing for our entire family.

During the worst of the sleep deprivation, I was also starting my current job and stepping into a role with more leadership responsibilities.

I was trying to learn a new position while carrying months of exhaustion, grief, anxiety, and stress that no one around me could fully see.

One day, while I was at home, my chest began hurting.

My anxiety was so severe that I genuinely felt as though I might be having a heart attack.

I called my husband and told him, “My chest hurts. I feel like I’m having a heart attack, but I think it may just be anxiety.”

My husband is a police officer, and he wasn’t willing to take that chance.

He told me he was going to call the medics.

I immediately said, “No, no, no. Don’t do that.”

I had been crying. I was overwhelmed. I was carrying all the emotions that can come with parenting a child with severe autism, enduring constant meltdowns, and functioning without enough sleep.

But he called the medics anyway because he wanted to make sure I was okay.

They came to our home and began asking all the standard questions.

“Have you taken any drugs?”

“No.”

“Have you taken anything else?”

“No.”

I remember telling them, “I’m a nurse. I can’t do anything like that. We get drug tested. I would never do that.”

Then they asked where I worked, and I told them.

That was pretty much the end of the conversation until I was taken to the hospital and a nurse walked into the room to read my EKG.

She happened to work at the same hospital where I had recently started my new role.

I remember thinking, “Well, this is a wonderful introduction.”

I had just stepped into a position where I would be working with and seeing many people throughout the hospital, and now one of my new coworkers knew I had been brought in because I was having severe anxiety related to everything happening at home.

Welcome to the hospital.

Looking back, I can laugh a little now.

But at the time, it wasn’t funny.

That moment wasn’t really just about my chest hurting.

It was about everything I had been carrying for far too long.

The constant stress.

The fear.

The grief.

The sleepless nights.

The meltdowns.

The pressure of working.

The endless responsibility.

Eventually, I did something I had resisted for a long time.

I asked for help.

I started taking antidepressants.

And I want to be completely honest about that because I know there are parents reading this who may be exactly where I was.

Was it a magical fix?

No.

Do I still have hard days?

Absolutely.

Do I still get sad?

Yes.

Do I still experience depression?

Yes.

But is it manageable now?

One hundred percent.

Starting medication was one of the best things I could have done for myself.

It didn’t change who I was.

It gave me enough of myself back that I could finally breathe again.

For a long time, I was stubborn.

I was too proud to admit how badly I was struggling. I thought I should be able to handle everything on my own.

I don’t feel that way anymore.

Now, I will gladly advocate for anyone to take care of their mental health.

Because this shit is hard.

If you are a parent who has been stubborn like I was, please pause.

Talk to someone.

Make an appointment with your doctor.

Ask for help.

If medication is something you and your healthcare provider decide is appropriate, don’t allow shame or pride to stop you from receiving the help you deserve.

Taking care of your mental health is not weakness.

You cannot continue pouring from a completely empty cup.

And when you are not okay, it becomes so much harder to care for your children the way you desperately want to.

Maybe you don’t recognize the person staring back at you in the mirror right now.

Maybe she feels like a shell of the person she once was.

I understand that feeling.

But I also believe she is still in there.

She is buried beneath exhaustion, grief, responsibility, sleepless nights, and years of putting everyone else first.

Little by little, I hope I can find her again.

And until then, surviving is enough.

Thank you for spending a few moments here with me.

Until next time…

Keep finding beauty, honesty, and hope—even on the hardest days.

With love,

The Honest Autism Mom

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