When your child’s autism helps you recognise your own

Parent and child sitting side by side in quiet reflection

Sometimes, supporting your child can quietly shine a light on parts of yourself you never had words for. For many parents, a child’s autism diagnosis doesn’t just bring clarity for their child, but a surprising sense of recognition for themselves too.

TL;DR

This is a lived‑experience piece about how my child’s autism helped me recognise my own. It’s not about diagnosis, labels, or looking backwards with regret. It’s about noticing patterns, finding language for lifelong feelings, and understanding yourself with more compassion.

  • Many parents recognise themselves while learning about their child’s autism
  • This recognition often comes slowly, through everyday moments
  • Understanding yourself can make parenting calmer and more connected
  • You don’t need answers or labels to find reassurance and clarity

This article is for / not for

This article is for:

  • Parents of autistic children who feel a quiet sense of recognition
  • Adults reflecting on their own childhood through their child’s experience
  • Parents who want reassurance, not pressure, around self‑understanding

This article is not for:

  • Diagnosing yourself or your child
  • Clinical explanations of autism

Medical disclaimer

This article shares personal experience only. It does not diagnose autism or provide medical advice. If you have concerns about yourself or your child, speak to your GP or a qualified professional. For more information about autism within the UK system, you may also wish to read NHS guidance on autism.

Soft illustration of overlapping adult and child silhouettes

A quieter second beginning

When our child was identified as autistic, the focus was where it should be. On understanding them, supporting them, and helping the world make a little more sense for them.

But alongside that, something else happened.

As we learned more about autism, not through checklists but through lived descriptions, small moments began to feel familiar. Not dramatic. Not shocking. Just quietly recognisable.

Recognition doesn’t arrive as a revelation

For me, it didn’t land as a sudden realisation or a single moment of clarity.

It arrived through everyday parenting moments:

  • Reading descriptions of sensory overwhelm and feeling an unexpected sense of relief
  • Hearing autistic adults describe lifelong exhaustion from masking and nodding along
  • Watching my child struggle in ways that mirrored feelings I had normalised for decades

None of this meant answers straight away. But it did change the way I looked at myself.

A lived experience: how this unfolded for me

When we were first told our son should have an assessment for autism, we started looking into what it meant. It felt unfamiliar and, if I’m honest, a little frightening.

We had noticed he experienced the world differently, but we didn’t know why. Autism hadn’t even crossed our minds.

At that point, my own references were limited. Characters like Raymond in Rain Man, or Sheldon in The Big Bang Theory. Neither reflected our son, or the quiet, everyday reality we were living.

After his assessment, we naturally began learning more. I didn’t immediately recognise myself in what I was reading, but there was an underlying sense of curiosity. Around the same time, the documentary Paddy and Christine McGuinness: Our Family and Autism aired, which helped broaden my understanding. It was also where I first learned how strongly autism can run in families.

Out of curiosity rather than certainty, I completed a recognised screening questionnaire often used in research settings. The result suggested higher‑than‑average autistic traits. As my understanding deepened over time, those traits became easier to recognise in myself.

This wasn’t a moment of clarity. It was a slow accumulation of small realisations.

When self‑understanding takes time

Although I considered seeking my own assessment, it took several years before I spoke to my GP. During that time, I learned that many autistic traits overlap with ADHD. I began to notice lifelong patterns around procrastination, difficulty starting tasks, and periods of intense mental exhaustion.

Eventually, burnout became impossible to ignore. I wasn’t depressed, but I was struggling to function beyond the basics. As a self‑employed parent, that was deeply unsettling.

I started writing down traits I recognised in myself, not to label them, but to understand them. Again and again, they aligned with descriptions of autism, ADHD, or both.

Seeking an assessment was no longer about curiosity. It was about clarity.

Relief, not regret

Being identified as neurodivergent brought an unexpected sense of relief. It explained patterns that had followed me for my whole life and helped me stop viewing them as personal failures.

Some adults feel grief or anger after a late diagnosis. I didn’t experience that. Perhaps because this understanding arrived gradually, alongside my son’s journey, rather than all at once.

What surprised me most was learning that many autistic and ADHD adults wouldn’t choose to change their neurodivergence. Despite the challenges, it also brings strengths.

For me, recognising patterns, thinking creatively, and holding a strong sense of integrity are all part of how my brain works. They are also part of how this website exists at all.

Understanding that has allowed me to meet both myself and my child with far more compassion.

Looking back without rewriting the past

It’s tempting, once you start noticing similarities, to replay your own childhood.

You might wonder why things felt harder than they seemed for others. Why certain environments drained you. Why you learned early to hide parts of yourself.

This isn’t about regret or blame. Many parents grew up in a time when autism wasn’t widely understood, especially in quieter or less stereotypical forms.

For me, this reflection didn’t bring anger. It brought context.

Parenting becomes gentler when you understand yourself

One unexpected change was in my parenting.

Understanding myself made it easier to spot when I was overloaded, not just my child. It helped me separate their needs from my own reactions. It softened the pressure to parent in ways that didn’t suit either of us.

That didn’t make things perfect or easy.

But it made them calmer.

You don’t owe anyone a conclusion

Some parents go on to seek their own assessment. Others don’t. Many simply carry a new understanding quietly.

There is no right endpoint.

Recognising yourself in your child doesn’t mean you have to label it, act on it, or explain it to anyone else. Sometimes the value is simply in knowing you weren’t imagining things all those years ago.

If this sounds like you, what next?

If parts of this article have resonated, it’s normal to wonder what to do with that recognition. There isn’t a single correct path. Different parents choose different next steps, and many move between them over time.

You might choose to:

  • Do nothing, and simply self‑identify
    For many people, recognising themselves and using that understanding to be kinder to themselves is enough. Self‑identification is widely accepted and valid, with or without a formal diagnosis.
  • Write down your own traits and patterns
    Some parents find it helpful to make a simple list of things they’ve noticed across their life, especially patterns around energy, overwhelm, focus, sensory sensitivity, or social situations.
  • Use brief self‑assessment questionnaires
    Tools such as the AQ‑10 or AQ‑50 (for autistic traits) and the ASRS (for ADHD traits) are commonly used as screening tools and can be found online. They can help organise your thoughts, but they do not provide a diagnosis.
  • Speak to your GP
    If you decide you want formal support or assessment, your GP is usually the first step in the UK. You can take notes or questionnaire results with you if that helps explain your experiences.
  • Explore Right to Choose or independent assessment routes
    Some adults choose to pursue assessment through Right to Choose pathways or independent providers, particularly where NHS waiting times are long.

Whatever you choose, it’s okay to move slowly, pause, or change direction. Recognition doesn’t have to lead anywhere unless you want it to.

Related reading on Babies & Children

If this reflection resonates, you may find these articles helpful:

Helpful UK resources

For trusted, UK‑based information and support, you may want to explore:

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