When the Wheels Feel Like They Are Falling Off

Even as a practitioner, I am still on my healing journey.

Healing never truly ends; instead, it shifts, deepens, and becomes more intuitive.

The road may still be bumpy, but my ability to process, let go, and navigate it has changed.

Last night was difficult. My son, who is on the verge of adulthood, is in a place of deep withdrawal, shutting down to everything and everyone. He is struggling with severe depression. As a mother and a practitioner, I know the tools that can support his journey, but I cannot direct him, this is his path, his appointed time.

And yet, I found myself hitting the panic button too soon.

I am sharing this because none of us are meant to get everything right all the time. It is in how we handle our shortcomings, missteps, and even failures that transformation happens. Last night, I realised I was too close to the source. My instinct was to fix, to make things better, but I do not need to fix.

I do not need to make myself feel better. I just need to be.

I feel deeply for parents today. The pressures we face are unlike those of previous generations. Media narratives—like that recent Netflix series Adolescence, push the idea that when a child struggles, the blame falls squarely on the parents. The closing scenes of the show left me disappointed, showing parents broken, believing they did not do enough. Perhaps that is part of the problem, this constant pressure to fix, to conform to societal norms, to control an outcome.

In our striving, we sometimes forget the most important thing: being present. Being there. Simply being their parent.

The struggles of today’s youth go beyond the pressures we knew. It is no longer about high school cliques or fitting in, it is bigger, more relentless.

Social media and technology dictate their sense of self-worth, shaping their connections and identity.

Many do not know how to be friends, how to express themselves, or how to navigate relationships.

They are trapped within themselves, shaped by a digital world that never allows them to escape.

My son turns 18 soon. We are at a crossroads. I will not watch him give up on life, but how I show up for him must change. Last night, I recognised that I was repeating generational patterns, expectations rooted in my own upbringing, my own projected self-worth. I cannot parent as my mother did. The challenges today are different, requiring a different approach. But one thing remains unchanged: Love, care, and nurture.

If there is anything I know for certain, it is that love the kind Christ modeled, holds the most power.

To love one another as He loved us means setting aside our own needs, our fears, and pouring love into those who need it most.

I grew up in a home where love was shown through what was given, not through words or affection. My mother did not know how to express love. As a child, I remember making up stories just to get a hug, to be seen. The parenting mentality of the ’70s was one of "children should be seen and not heard." But back then, we at least had the outside world we played; we engaged, we built relationships that taught us resilience.

Today, children and teens are more isolated than ever. And isolation comes at a cost.

This is why I do what I do. Because I am still healing, still breaking cycles, still learning. I realise now that if I had known then what I know today, I could have modeled the skills my son needs to navigate this digital age. But I do not carry regret, only understanding.

Healing ourselves, finding safety within, and processing our own wounds is what allow us to better support our children through the bumps of adolescence. It is not about fixing them. It is about being present, being loved, and showing them that, no matter how dark things feel, they are not alone.

To learn more, read our blog The Cost of Isolation: Supporting Connection, Especially with Young Autistic Males.