Raising neurodivergent children: How to embrace the chaos

For parents raising neurodivergent children, this question can feel radical. We're surrounded by therapy recommendations, intervention plans, and well-meaning advice about how to help our children "catch up" or "fit in." But what if the path forward isn't about fixing anyone at all?

In Episode 17 of the Neurodivergent Pulse podcast, host Laetitia Andrac sat down with Tracey Jewel, an AuDHD mum, carer, and founder of Inclusive Mamas Club, to explore this very question. Their conversation moves through the daily chaos, grief, and unexpected magic that comes with raising neurodivergent children, and how shifting from "doing it right" to radical acceptance can change everything.

As Tracey shares, embracing chaos doesn't mean giving up. It means showing up: for our kids, for ourselves, and for the micro moments of joy in between.

When professional experience meets lived reality

Tracey's journey into neurodivergent parenting began with what she calls a "life circle full moment." Despite over 15 years working in the disability sector, including NDIS and aged care, nothing quite prepared her for becoming a parent navigating these systems from the other side.

"It's very different when you work in a sector and then it lands," Tracey explains. "You're suddenly a mum navigating the paperwork and the therapies and government and schooling and education and support work and everything."

When her son Frankie was diagnosed at three years old, Tracey found herself facing the same bureaucratic maze she'd once helped others through, but now with the added weight of parental love and worry. This experience eventually led to her own late neurodivergent diagnosis, bringing both beautiful lessons and profound challenges.

For the 63% of parents raising neurodivergent children who identify as neurodivergent themselves, Tracey's story will feel deeply familiar. It's a reminder that lived experience and professional knowledge, while valuable, don't shield us from the emotional reality of the journey.

Why "embracing the chaos" isn't giving up

When Laetitia was pregnant with her daughter Zoe, well-meaning friends gifted her "What to Expect When You're Expecting," the bible of Australian parenting books. But as Zoe grew, nothing matched.

"Where does my baby fit in this book?" Laetitia recalls wondering. "She doesn't sleep in this way. She doesn't do the napping."

Tracey knows this frustration intimately. "Where is the what to expect when you have a neurodivergent child book?" she asks. "I'm still waiting for that book."

This gap between expectation and reality is where Tracey's philosophy of "embracing the chaos" becomes essential. Rooted in therapy work around radical acceptance, it acknowledges that life with a neurodivergent child simply doesn't follow the standard script.

"I feel like that is so true when you do get that diagnosis or you're trying to navigate life with a neurodivergent child because you can't do the everyday things that we take for granted," Tracey explains. "Like going to the shops is suddenly something that takes, you know, half a day just to get there for 5 minutes sometimes or you stay in the car."

What's important is recognising the trap of "false hope": constantly waiting for things to improve, for the chaos to settle, for life to finally begin.

Sometimes you get in this loop of waiting and hoping for things to be better. And when you live this life, because it is such a spectrum and it does change every day, I think that becomes almost a false hope. You're setting yourself up like always waiting for that day to suddenly be happy.

Instead, Tracey and her family "flipped the script" and found joy in the day-to-day reality of who their son actually is, rather than who they hoped he might become.

The power of micro moments

Tracey is honest about the grief that accompanies this journey. When she recorded this episode, her son Frankie was in "hypo mode": very withdrawn, not wanting to leave his room or engage with toys.

"There's some grief in that because I want to engage in play, you know, and do things with him," she shares. "So I have to go through my own process of that, but also get past that and connect where he is."

Connection, Tracey has learned, often happens in tiny, unexpected moments. She describes sitting near Frankie with her tablet or a book, not touching, just being present while he follows coloured balls on his screen (his current special interest). Hours might pass in silence. Then:

"He'll turn to me and he'll go, 'Those balls are handsome, Mom.' Like, he says they're beautiful, but he says, 'They're handsome. Those balls are handsome.' And he's got the most wicked sense of humour. And I will, that will just light me up."

These micro moments of connection require presence and attention to notice. They won't look like the connection portrayed in parenting magazines. But as Tracey explains: "When he's in such a withdrawn moment, you have to hang on to those things."

This practice of savouring small moments, rather than mourning the absence of bigger ones, allows grief and joy to coexist. "I feel all the grief that it doesn't look a certain way," Tracey acknowledges, "but oh my goodness, when those little connection things happen and he comes out with like the cutest things, I'm just like my heart just lights up."

Where did your tools go?

One of the most striking realisations from Tracey's conversation came from her peer support groups. As mums shared the sensory tools they'd purchased for their children (weighted blankets, fidget toys, chew toys), Tracey noticed something troubling.

The house is just like every room is taken over by all these tools to help our children. And of course, this is what we do, right? Where's our tools? Where did our tools go?

Tracey realised her own comfort items, the things that filled her cup, were tucked away in cupboards. Her fluffy sensory cushions, textured blankets, quirky coffee mugs with inspirational sayings, crystals, and oracle cards: all hidden, unused.

"When have we had a moment of writing down and purchasing a couple of things that we love?" she asks. "Going to a day spa is out of the question at this point in my life. So, let's bring some of those tools home and have them around us where we can actually access them."

Understanding Zoe's research with over 1,000 families confirms that parents of neurodivergent children consistently report higher levels of exhaustion and overwhelm compared to parents of neurotypical children. Finding ways to fill our own cups isn't indulgent; it's essential.

As Tracey puts it: "If we have a bit of a full cup, we all know and the research shows of course that then we can co-regulate our kids and we can actually be in an open mind to find those connection points."

Her practical suggestion is simple but profound: write your own list for 2026 of all the things that fill you up. Not the sensory toys for your kids. The ones for you.

Reconnecting with your inner child

Beyond self-care tools, Tracey has found unexpected connections through playfulness and revisiting her own childhood interests.

When Frankie has meltdowns, often characterised by OCD-like loops of repeating phrases like "Don't look at me," Tracey has developed a creative approach.

"I put on like a goofy or a Mickey Mouse voice and repeat it back to him, but get it wrong. So, then he has to, you know, say it back to me, but say, 'No, I'm saying this.' And then he starts laughing and then we start laughing."

It doesn't always work, Tracey is quick to add. But tapping into her own inner child has created moments of genuine connection during difficult times.

Raising Frankie has also allowed Tracey to do things she missed in childhood. Growing up in the 80s with rigid gender roles, she played with dolls while her brother got Lego. "Now having a beautiful boy, I love playing with Lego, you know, like, and building things, things that I missed out on as a kid."

Laetitia shares a similar experience. As a child obsessed with dogs who never got one, she leapt at the psychologist's suggestion that a dog might help Zoe's anxiety. "Don, we're getting a dog," she remembers saying to her husband. The dog now serves as a therapy dog for the whole family, but as Laetitia admits: "It's my dog. I am just so happy to have him."

These experiences point to something beautiful about neurodivergent parenting: the opportunity to heal alongside our children, rediscovering parts of ourselves we may have buried long ago.

Finding support without waiting for perfection

As Tracey wisely notes, even therapist recommendations often don't work as expected. Parents try speech therapy, OT, psychology, dietitians, and still find approaches that don't quite fit their unique child.

"You have to give up the desire that everything's going to work for you or that it's going to be perfect," she advises. "It might have worked last week and this week it's an absolute hard no."

Rather than searching for a perfect cure-all, Tracey suggests building on what works, however small. "Hold on to the micro moments that do work and just build on that like building blocks."

For parents seeking community and understanding, Tracey's Inclusive Mamas Club offers peer support groups online and in-person for mums and female caregivers of neurodivergent children. Because sometimes the most valuable resource isn't another therapy; it's knowing you're not alone.

What radical acceptance actually looks like

Embracing the chaos isn't about giving up on your child or yourself. It's about releasing the fantasy of how things "should" be and finding genuine connection in how things are. It's about recognising that your child is autistic, ADHD, dyslexic, or otherwise neurodivergent, and that's who they are. Not something to grow out of.

Stop telling us that they'll grow out of it. Help us find joy in those moments of difficulty or help us find the support and the understanding that we need.

The chaos isn't going away. But within it, there are micro moments of pure connection waiting to be noticed. There's your inner child, ready to play Lego or finally get that dog. There are your own comfort tools, waiting to be retrieved from storage.

And there's a community of parents who understand, ready to remind you: you don't have to wait for the chaos to end to find joy within it.

This article is based on Episode 17 of the Neurodivergent Pulse podcast by Understanding Zoe. To listen to the full conversation with Tracey Jewel, find the Neurodivergent Pulse podcast wherever you listen to podcasts.

Reflection prompt: What's one comfort tool or self-care item you've tucked away that you could bring back into your daily life this week?

Connect with Tracey Jewel on Instagram and explore Inclusive Mamas Club for peer support groups.