Kerynn Fotiou, Founder of Flourish Counselling & Psychotherapy

Introduction: The Myth of Celebration

Neurodivergence is often framed as a gift: a difference to be embraced and celebrated. For some, that framing offers hope, pride, and a sense of belonging. But for many families, especially those navigating complex neurological disorders like autism spectrum disorder, the reality is far more complicated.

Society tells us to celebrate the gift of life, to be grateful for the privilege of raising children – and we are. We are endlessly thankful for the precious lives entrusted to us. We hold our babies delicately, nurture them fiercely, and love them without condition. Yet many families live a truth that remains largely invisible. A truth that is misunderstood in public spaces, misjudged in social circles, and rarely acknowledged in policies or in practice. Raising children on the spectrum can mean living at times without a glimmer of certainty. It can mean glimpsing into a future that feels fragmented, one shaped not by milestones, but by a lifelong act of advocacy. Advocacy for inclusion, for acceptance, for equality.

This is not a story of despair. It is a story of endurance and of fierce love that refuses to be silenced despite a world that fails to see it.

I know this truth intimately, as a registered counsellor, a trauma-informed recovery coach, a certified neuro- aware practitioner, and a mother to a child on the spectrum. As a parent to a child with intersecting neurological disabilities, I live in a reality that is rarely spoken aloud. It’s the kind of truth that draws judgment in public spaces, during family visits, and amid everyday tasks that on some days feel nearly impossible to complete. I live with the stigma society attaches to raising a child with what many call an “invisible disability”: autism spectrum disorder.

This article is not a clinical reflection – it is a lived one, written with a deep and unwavering love, layered with insight and loving care. It is also written with a deep sorrow and heartache that only parents know in the weight of navigating systems not designed for us or our experiences.

The Daily Reality: Exhaustion Beyond Words

Simply put, neurodivergence is not always met with celebration. It’s usually met with judgment, exclusion, and resistance. We are often met with professionals who mean well but lack the insight to support us due to the complexities of neurodivergence. We navigate long waitlists that stretch beyond reason, and protocols that prioritise paperwork over people. We are carrying a load that we, as parents, human beings, and families, were not built to endure.

Neurodiversity is met with risk assessments that ignore relational context, funding models that divide or conquer, and decisions made for our children in discussions that we are not always invited to. Our experience is often met with a slow erosion of trust, the quiet panic of our children being left behind, and the unbearable weight of knowing our children’s safety depends on our ability to keep showing up, even when we are exhausted, grieving, and unseen.

Our children are often punished, outcast, and excluded for behaviours that are protective, relational, or sensory driven. They often do not fit in the box that society says they should. They are misunderstood, unrecognised, mismanaged, and unsupported in ways that are inauthentic to their neurological profile. And when they experience sensory overwhelm, act out, shut down, or seek soothing in ways that defy conventional scripts, it is the parents who are left holding the blame.

Nonetheless, we still love – through the silence, the ruptures, and through the repair, no matter how difficult it may be.

When Lived Experience Meets Clinical Practice

As a counsellor, I am trained to hold space for those navigating complexities that feel too heavy to carry alone. I guide individuals, families, and children through the delicate work of regulating and co-regulating emotions while facing life’s challenges in real time. But as a mother, I don’t just witness complexity, I live inside it. The duality of these roles is both a gift and a burden in offering profound insight, but also a relentless emotional toll. I hold others while holding my own and know the theory while feeling the ache.

My lived experience informs my clinical lens in ways textbooks never could. I understand dysregulation not as a concept, but as a daily reality. I know the ache of exclusion, the weight of advocacy, and the protective behaviours that defy diagnostic categories that we learn about in diagnostic manuals. This dual role, practitioner and parent, demands ethical clarity, deep care, and support systems that are rarely accessible to those already overloaded. I seek supervision not just to refine my practice, but to protect my emotional boundaries. I consult with colleagues to ensure my advocacy remains anchored in best practice, even when systems falter. And while I do all of this, I hold space for other families with the same reverence I wish that systems and society would hold for mine.

Naming What Research Often Misses

Research into parental burnout in neurodivergent families is growing, but it still doesn’t touch the edges of what we carry. It doesn’t capture the trauma of being excluded from decisions that shape our children’s futures, or name the fear that rises when systems are overburdened and delay support until harm has already occurred. It doesn’t see the invisible labour, the crisis planning, the midnight emails, or the constant hypervigilance that never lets us rest. It doesn’t speak to the grief of watching others misunderstand protective behaviours as pathology, or the heartbreak of knowing that our love alone won’t shield our children from a world that wasn’t built for them. This isn’t just burnout – it’s the kind of exhaustion that resides deep in your soul.

Existing models of care often pathologise behaviours without understanding their relational or sensory roots. Protective behaviours are misread as defiance, shutdowns or meltdowns are mistaken for disengagement, and parents are judged for what they cannot control, rather than supported for what they can endure. We know what people say and think of our children, our parenting, and our lives. And when we do not know through hearing or sight, we feel it in our sense of being. It is a knowing that lives in the body, and a grief that settles in the soul, disconnecting us from our own sense of belonging.

What Actually Helps in Practice

To support neurodivergent families meaningfully, counsellors must validate protective behaviours as relational responses – not as pathology. We must include parents in all aspects of care planning and decision-making, and realise that skipping this crucial part of care is to rob families of the empowerment and support they need to engage meaningfully and build capacity. We must use language that honours complexity and avoids deficit framing.

Emotional labour must be recognised as a clinical factor, not a personal failing. Scaffolding should support both children and caregivers in regulation, agency and conviction, and we must advocate within systems to ensure inclusion, acceptance, and equality for all. Counsellors must move beyond empathy to action, and we must challenge exclusion, name systemic harm, and co-create pathways for repair. Our role is not just to support individuals on the spectrum, but also to honour their families.

Legacy and repair are vital components in shaping futures that promote emotional safety and positive outcomes for children on the spectrum. As a registered, trauma-informed counsellor and a parent to a neurodivergent child, I have a message for those who work in the field: we are exhausted. We are grieving. We are regulating ourselves while regulating our children. We are tired of carrying this alone. We are holding families together with nothing but love and sheer will. We are sometimes losing hope, and we need your support.

To the families with a child on the spectrum, I have a message for you: You are not failing. You are doing your best, and despite what others say, that is enough. You are not broken. You are mending, and sometimes this is done daily. I see you.

You are not alone because I am walking this path with you, no matter the distance. You are doing sacred work in a system that often forgets how to honour you, but I honour you. Your advocacy is enough, even when it doesn’t feel like it. Your love is enough, even when the love hurts. You are enough, even when those seeds of doubt sprout.

To the systems meant to support us, I can speak on behalf of other parents who face the challenges of having children on the spectrum. See us, because we see you. Hear us, because we need to be heard. Trust us, because we know what our children need better than anyone else ever will. Include us, because without inclusion, we are walking our path alone.

Stand with us, because if you don’t, who will? We are the scaffolding that is holding everything together, and we cannot do it alone – because scaffolding isn’t meant to stand forever without support. It bends, it rusts, and it fractures under pressure. Although we remain, we are weathered but still standing. We don’t need you to admire our strength, because we admire that in ourselves already. We just ask that you stand with us. Because when we stand and rise together, we build a world where our children can flourish.

Author Biography

Kerynn Fotiou is a registered ACA counsellor, trauma-informed recovery coach, and founder of Flourish Counselling & Psychotherapy in regional Victoria. With a triple diploma in Applied Social Science, Counselling, and Counselling Practice, she supports trauma-impacted and neurodivergent individuals and families across complex systems. Kerynn is known for her ethical clarity, systemic insight, and unwavering commitment to dignity, repair, and generational healing. Her writing bridges clinical knowledge with lived experience, offering a voice of compassion, advocacy, and transformation.