This week I found myself reflecting on a familiar parenting terrain: the winding, tender, often confusing path of supporting a teen whose nervous system has a very narrow bandwidth for challenge. If you’re parenting a child like this, you know the feeling: the false starts, the pitfalls, the moments when you swear you’re doing everything wrong. And the equally honest truth that you’re doing the best you can.
One of the most helpful places to begin is with the nervous system itself. I often describe the brain as having two primary modes: the part that knows what needs to be done and even wants to do it, and the part that is scanning for safety with near-constant vigilance. Many neurodiverse kids have especially sensitive triggers. Their bodies can read the smallest, most harmless cues as threats, and the moment that happens, they slip out of their capable, open, ready selves and into survival mode—fight, flight, freeze, or fawn.
Learning to recognize which state our kids are in changes everything. When my own child drops into nervous system overload, no amount of logic or pushing will help. The only way back is co-regulation (comfort, connection, gentleness). It’s humbling to realize how little they’re available for anything challenging in those moments. And when we push, even a little, the recovery stretches further and further away.
When I work with students, I try to meet them where their nervous system actually is. If they shut down about a task, I step back. I reconnect. I shift the conversation to something safe, then slowly guide us toward their goals, not by telling them what they should care about, but by inviting them to rediscover their own desire to move forward. Some days that works beautifully; other days, the only humane choice is to soothe, support, and take a break. What matters is the relationship, the felt sense that I am attending to their internal world, not waging war against it.
One thing that helps in my own parenting is offering comfort before a challenge arises. Joining my child where they are, chatting about something they love, scratching the cat behind the ears together, offering a foot rub all are ways of softening the ground before a difficult ask.
A hard truth for many of us is that our kids’ readiness rarely matches society’s timeline. There will be days when we choose to nudge them forward, and days when we choose to shield them and let the world wait. Neither choice will feel perfect. But both are part of the path.
If you find yourself spiraling about your child’s future, remember that neurodiverse teens often take much longer than we expect to develop the “upstairs brain”—the part responsible for planning, regulating, and following through. What grows this part isn’t pressure; it’s safety, connection, attunement, and reflection. Those are the conditions that cultivate autonomy in the long run.
This work is a dance of love, trust, and experiment: small challenges offered with curiosity, balanced with deep respect for where your child actually is on the inside.
I love supporting both kids and parents on their journeys of healing and honoring authentic selves. Please reach out if you or your child are struggling with balancing internal and external demands. I’d love to chat with you.