By Julie Wales, Family & Special Needs Counsellor
Parenting is a journey like no other — a tapestry of joy, grief, resilience, humour, and love. For me, that journey has been shaped by raising my wonderful son, who lives with Fragile X syndrome and autism, alongside his equally amazing sibling who also has additional needs.
No one tells us what being a parent will truly be like — especially when our children are neurodivergent or have complex needs. There’s no manual. And even if there were, it couldn’t possibly capture the uniqueness of each child, or the love and courage it takes to raise them.
As they’ve grown into adulthood, I’ve found myself evolving too — as a parent, a professional, and a person. The learning never stops. And neither does the depth of love, nor the complexity of letting go.
Celebrating the Wins — Big and Small
Our home has always been filled with love, laughter, and a determination to keep moving forward. Every time my son mastered a new skill, showed self-advocacy, or made us laugh with his brilliant sense of humour, it felt like the world shifted in our favour — even just a little.
His sister’s empathy and strength continue to shine too. Watching their bond — that deep sibling connection built on shared understanding — has been one of my life’s greatest joys.
These moments of resilience and connection are what inspire my work with families. I know how powerful it is when something finally makes sense. When someone truly sees your child — not just their diagnosis. And when you’re reminded that you’re not alone.
Grieving Expectations, Facing Reality
But this journey is not without heartache. The transition into adult services brought a storm of questions:
Will he ever find real friendships?
Will he feel safe without me?
How do I ensure he’s cared for when I’m no longer around?
Watching peers hit traditional milestones — leaving home, careers, relationships — can sting. Not from envy, but from a deep longing for a world that makes things a bit easier for our children.
There were times the emotional and physical toll felt unbearable. I was supporting two people every morning – me and him— getting them dressed, fed, out the door — constantly supervising, advocating, juggling their needs while trying to put my own “oxygen mask” on first.
Eventually, I had to face the truth: I needed support. My son needed to grow in his own way. And as his parents, we needed to know he was safe, supported, and not solely the future responsibility of his sister.
Letting Go: Our Journey into Supported Living
Helping my son transition into supported living was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. The internal tug-of-war between my head and my heart was constant.
Is this the right time?
Will he feel abandoned?
Can anyone care for him like I can?
But slowly, a new narrative began to emerge. This wasn’t about “giving him up.” It was about giving him the space to grow into a life of his own — one shaped around his needs and preferences.
Not long after he moved in, I saw something incredible: he was taking out the recycling and putting away his own laundry — tasks he never did at home! He was discovering independence in his own way, in his own time.
And now? He’s settled. He’s happy. He lives in a supported home that truly feels like a second family. He’s surrounded by carers who genuinely care — who treat him with kindness, humour, and respect. He has a better social life than I do (!), and is rarely without a comic or a snack in hand.
💔 The Emotional Impact on Our Whole Family
This transition didn’t just affect my son — it impacted all of us.
My husband and I wrestled with waves of grief, guilt, and a lingering sense of uncertainty. His sister missed him terribly and often worried about how he was coping in his new environment. Our home felt quieter… emptier… and our family rhythm had to adjust. We had to find new ways to stay emotionally afloat, even as the day-to-day dynamics changed.
I vividly remember the tears — not just once, but many times.
The day we left him at his new home, I cried the entire journey back — a solid half hour of heartbreak. And it didn’t stop there. For weeks, every visit stirred up fresh emotions. I’d take him home for a few hours, only to be in tears again on the return.
There was no clear manual for this. No checklist for how to let go of someone you've nurtured so fiercely, so completely.
Letting go wasn’t just a logistical shift — it was deeply identity-shifting. Who was I, if not his daily carer, protector, organiser, and advocate?
But over time, the sorrow softened. In its place, something else began to grow: peace, and a deep pride. Pride in his progress. Pride in our family for weathering such a tender, transformative ‘storm’. Pride in the love that made this choice so hard — and so right.
How This Shapes My Counselling Work
This experience has transformed the way I support other families. I’ve walked through the grief, the “what ifs,” and the chronic emotional fatigue of caregiving.
When I work with parents in transition — whether into adulthood, education changes, or supported living — I meet them with compassion, not judgment.
I help families hold both fear and hope. I create space for tears, and for laughter. I help them see what’s possible — even when it doesn’t look like the life they imagined.
I also help parents shift their focus from what they can’t control, to what they can: boundaries, self-care, rest, and reclaiming joy — even amidst uncertainty.
Rediscovering Self-Care
It took years to stop feeling guilty for needing space. But I now know that self-care is essential.
Whether it’s a quiet walk, time with friends, or colouring (yes, I still love it!) — these moments are how I refill my cup. I also prioritise my own therapy and reflection. We can’t support our children or clients if we’re running on empty.
Moving Forward, Together
Today, my daughter works full-time and drives her own car. My son is thriving in his supported living home. We visit him weekly, go on holidays together, and continue to share the laughter and love that define our family.
His joy is infectious. His independence — though different from the norm — is his own kind of freedom. And for me, the learning never stops. I continue to grow, holding both the joy and the mess with compassion and strength.
💛 If You're Walking a Similar Path…
You don’t have to do it alone.
I offer counselling for:
Parents & carers navigating transitions
Families of neurodiverse individuals
Siblings impacted by caring roles
Anyone seeking space to process burnout, grief, or uncertainty
With lived experience and therapeutic tools, I can help you find strength in your story, peace in your parenting, and hope in what comes next.
To learn more or book a session, contact me at:
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