Not Your Typical Parent

Those that know me would tell you, without hesitation, that I'm the definition of the phrase "Natural Mum."

Few mothers have closer bonds to their children than I do to my daughter, who's three.

Few mothers dedicate so much of their life to their children.

Every spare bit of money goes on enriching my daughter's life. Every spare second is hers to enjoy. I've shaped my career—or perhaps given it up, now working in a minimum wage job doing overnight shifts—using her needs as my guide.

And I've reaped my rewards, not just in the incredibly strong bond that my daughter and I share, but in watching her achievements—from swimming 25m completely unassisted at 2-years, 4-months-old, to reading at a 7-year-old level by the time she was 3. These achievements are hers, but they're a testament to what time and dedication can do for a child that otherwise has no restrictions.

And yet, if you knew something about me, you might doubt that I could ever be the kind of parent I am. Let me tell you a detail that might slightly change your perspective...

I'm autistic.

Being an autistic parent does present its challenges.

For those that don't know, autism can affect everything from communication ability and social interaction to reactions to sensory stimulus. It can also cause motor difficulties, a need for routine, intense interests (my most intense is parenting, which is very convenient!) and a variety of other behaviours.

Many people imagine that an autistic individual couldn't possibly be a good parent. And yet here I am, along with so many other autistic parents like me. That's autistic parents, not autism parents (the latter being the phrase often used by parents of autistic children).

Being an autistic parent isn't always easy.

Everyone dreads going into baby and toddler groups where they don't know anyone, but for me, it was even more difficult.

I find it extremely difficult to connect with people. Even though it's not usually obvious that I'm autistic, unless you know a lot about autism, it's easy enough to pick up on the fact that I'm "odd." I don't know what gives it away, but I can assure you that as soon as I launch into a conversation it's like a flashing warning light appears above my head. Other people might not even know why they react the way they do, but they quickly learn to distance themselves from me. And that's if I can find a way into a conversation at all!

Still, for the good of my daughter I forced myself into every baby group going. I found that those that didn't have structure were hardest—I was quickly identified as "odd," and excluded by the other parents. Many made nasty comments about me.

In excluding me, they also excluded my daughter, which hurt far more. I had spent my entire life being excluded and bullied—I was used to it—but there's something particularly hurtful about going for lunch with the other mums and being forced to sit on a separate table with your child observing every moment.

I will never forget that feeling, for the first time, of "My child is watching. She's seeing what a loser her Mum is." She was too young to understand of course, and in reality I'm a very self-confident person and don't view myself as a loser at all, but I was a new mother and those emotions can really get the better of you.

But autistic people like myself often thrive on routine, and my daughter benefits from groups and classes, so we've always gone to plenty of them! Over time, things have become much easier—her classes now are very structured, with parents just sitting on the sidelines to watch, which means that she can form her own friendships without the (often negative) influence of her mum.

Other aspects of parenting can also be difficult. Family-friendly places are often busy and crowded. There are birthday parties to contend with. Dozens of children, dosed up on sugar, in echoing halls or play centres.

Yet we're always out doing something. We have annual passes for many of the UK's biggest and best attractions, and we visit them weekly. We're always out and about. Every day is a new adventure.

At times it's hard, but I know myself and my autism well enough to manage the difficulties that I face. And getting out of the house, again with the routine and structure that brings, is actually a benefit for me.

My daughter has given me a superhuman strength, at times. I'm the woman that can't use local public transport and struggles with crowds, but I'm also the woman that has somehow taken her preschool-aged daughter to London (and all of the busiest attractions in London) for three nights, on her own, using only public transport. It's amazing what love can do.

Of course, there are also times when we've been out shopping and I've felt unable to get out of the shop, or I've been unable to buy anything because I've been too overwhelmed, and I've had to take her into disabled toilets and stand there until I've calmed down. Both sides exist, and she's seen them within days of each other.

It's not all bad for autistic parents.

As I suggested earlier, parenting is something of a "special interest" for me. I've always had an extremely strong focus on being a parent, spending as much time as possible with my child and enriching her experiences wherever I can.

Many parents need time away from their children, and that's absolutely fine and is a "normal" thing, but I have never felt that. I see that as a positive, personally.

For the most part, I also don't care about following social convention or about what other people think of me. This means that it doesn't bother me if people judge my parenting style. I've never taken an interest in what "should" happen, what parenting books say, what other parents are doing—I've always let my daughter guide me, and it's always turned out very well!

My lack of interest in social success also means that I'm often more comfortable going to new groups, because I'm there for my daughter and don't worry about forming relationships of my own. Whilst other parents worry about "what if nobody speaks to me?" that's often what I'm hoping will happen. I have made a couple of good friends through activities with my daughter, but that's not something I go in hoping for.

My autism also means that, whilst I struggle in the world of employment (I couldn't even hold down a job opening boxes at a supermarket, because my motor difficulties make me naturally much slower and clumsier), I'm not motivated by status and I'm entirely comfortable in jobs that other parents might consider themselves to be too skilled for. When my baby was born I was self-employed, because I hadn't coped well with the world of employment, and as a result I could work from home with a very young child. More recently, my lack of interest in a high-flying career has meant that I've been able to work overnight shifts, in minimum wage employment, in order to spend my days with my daughter when other parents are working full time.

I've always been open about autism.

My daughter has been raised to know about autism.

I'm not always a typical parent, I know that. She knows that.

She's seen the meltdowns.

She's posed for millions of photographs (every parent takes a lot of photos of their precious child, but I take far more than most because I use photographs to process the world and my experiences), and she knows that there are objects I use to cope with the world and that I can't risk having damaged by her small hands (like my tinted glasses, for instance).

She'll grow up being aware of these differences between me and other mums, but I think there's no better lesson to teach than an understanding and acceptance of differences.

She's learning to recognise autistic behaviours in other people that she sees. She knows how to help an autistic person when they're overwhelmed. I'm teaching her to be an "includer" and to fight against bullying and exclusion, rather than allowing it to happen—or worse, joining in.

Every parent is unique.

And I might not be typical in every way, but I share the same priority as most other mums, dads, and guardians: the wellbeing and happiness of my child.