There’s a kind of strength no one sees—the kind that shows up when you’re living in constant pain but still get out of bed because little feet come running in for a cuddle or a toy needs fixing, or a meltdown needs calming.

This is the story so many parents are living in silence.

I’m raising a beautiful, funny, vibrant little boy who is five years old and autistic. And I’m also living with fibromyalgia—a chronic condition that means pain, fatigue, and brain fog follow me like a shadow. Every. Single. Day.

The Roller Coaster of Emotions

Parenting is emotional by default. But parenting a child with additional needs while living in a body that hurts is a roller coaster I wasn’t prepared for.

There were days I couldn’t even lift myself off the sofa, but my son needed me to play. Days when he wanted to be held, but it hurt to even breathe. Nights filled with pain and exhaustion, only to wake up to appointments, assessments, and endless waiting lists for a diagnosis that took forever.

I had to attend parenting workshops while silently fighting my own battle—hoping no one noticed how much I was struggling to stay present through the pain. I remember sitting in rooms learning about sensory regulation while silently praying I could just regulate my own nervous system long enough to make it through the session.

When I Felt Like a Failure

In those early years, I constantly felt like I was failing. I had already raised one son—the kind of present, creative, adventurous mum who could do it all. I wanted that version of me again. For my youngest. For my husband. For myself. But my body had other plans. The pain was unrelenting, and the guilt of not being “enough” haunted me.

I wasn’t the wife I once was—adventurous, energetic, always laughing. I wasn’t the mother I wanted to be—endlessly available and ready for play. And no one told me that grieving your old self while trying to be someone’s everything is one of the heaviest things you’ll ever carry.

What Helped Me Begin to Heal

I’m not here to say I’m healed or cured. But I’ve found pillars of support that held me up when I was breaking down.

💛 Early Help and Advice from LDN (London): In those early stages, LDN connected me with practical support and guidance I will forever be grateful for. I just wish there had been more.

🙏 Faith: My faith grounded me. On the days when I didn’t have words, I cried out in prayer. When I had nothing left to give, I gave it to God. My belief carried me through the deepest valleys.

🫶 Family and Friends: I stopped pretending I was fine. I started asking for help. My husband stood by me through the hard days. Friends made space for me, even if they didn’t always understand.

🧠 Therapy—Talk and Body-Based: I went to battle therapy. It gave me language for my pain, space for my grief, and tools for my healing. I also started exploring body-based practices—like breathwork and nervous system regulation—which helped me feel safe in my body again.

This Journey Isn’t Perfect—but It’s Mine

I’m still learning how to hold both pain and joy. How to be a mother, a wife, a woman—and still honour the parts of me that need rest.

And if you’re reading this while holding a similar story—please know this: You’re not alone. You are showing up in ways that most people will never see, but your love is loud and strong in the quiet moments, the cuddles, the “I’m tired, but I’m here” whispers.

That is enough.