meghan.elise

Supporting Siblings When One Child’s Needs Dominate Your neurotypical daughter is eight years old when she says it: “You love him more than me.” You don’t. But you understand completely why she thinks you do. Her brother gets more attention, more patience, more accommodations, more of everything. His meltdowns interrupt her homework. His needs determine […]

It’s 9pm. Your neurodivergent child is finally asleep after a two-hour bedtime routine. You and your partner collapse on the couch. This guide is written for partnered parents. If you’re doing this solo, much of it still applies — whether that’s a co-parent, extended whānau, or a trusted person in your corner. The principles are

Your child is three and can’t sit through circle time. The other kids can. Your child is seven and melts down over homework every night. Their friends don’t. Your child is twelve and has no friends. Everyone else seems to navigate social situations just fine. You keep being told “they’ll grow out of it” or

It’s 8:15am. School starts at 8:45. Your child still isn’t dressed. You can’t find their shoes. Someone is crying—might be you, might be them, honestly hard to tell at this point. You try the visual schedule. Doesn’t work. You try rewards. Doesn’t work. You try consequences. Everyone just ends up angrier. Mornings feel like going

Watching neurodivergent kids make friends, or struggle to, can break a parent’s heart a little more each week. The birthday party invitations come home in backpacks all around your child’s class. Every week, someone’s having a party. Bowling, movies, trampoline park, pizza place. Your child never brings one home. Not because you didn’t RSVP fast

Your child can explain complex concepts that make your head spin. They remember every detail about topics they love. They ask questions that make you think deeply about the world. But getting them to remember their homework? To start their assignments? To keep track of their belongings? It’s like pulling teeth. Every. Single. Day. You’ve

You’re driving home from school and your child is melting down in the backseat. Not crying—that would be easier. This is the rage-filled, incoherent, scared kind of meltdown that makes you want to pull over and cry with them. Actually, scratch that. You do pull over. You park. And you sit there wondering how many