This Isn’t What I Expected: Processing the Emotional Highs and Lows of Your Child’s Diagnosis
When your child receives a diagnosis — autism, disability, chronic condition, or anything that reshapes the path you thought you were on — it changes everything.
Not just the day-to-day, but the way you feel. The way you see your child. The way you see yourself.
If you’ve ever felt both grief and relief, fear and love, anger and guilt (often all within the same day) you’re not broken. You’re simply human.
And you are not alone.
The Confusing Mix of Emotions
I remember waiting for that Zoom call that would either confirm or deny our son’s diagnosis.
My husband and I were both tense, barely breathing. What if she says he’s not autistic? What if we’ve got this all wrong?
When she said the words “Yes, your son is autistic”… I didn’t feel sadness.
I felt relief.
Relief that we weren’t imagining things. Relief that there was finally a name, a path, a direction.
And then, just as quickly, I felt frozen. Not devastated. Not joyful. Just… unsure what to feel.
The tears came later, as it all sank in. For what this might mean for him, for us, for the years ahead.
I cried for the misunderstanding, the waiting, the loneliness of being dismissed.
But I also felt relief — because we were finally seen.
That’s the thing about diagnosis: emotions rarely come one by one.
They arrive as contradictions.
Grief and relief. Fear and love. Anger and guilt.
You might grieve the future you imagined, and still feel grateful for clarity.
You might feel anger at systems that failed you — and guilt for even daring to feel angry.
You might feel an ache for what could have been, and an even deeper love for what is.
Every one of those feelings is valid.
As researcher Dr Sophie Brock says, “Motherhood is so often seen as either/or — you are either grateful or struggling. But the truth is, motherhood exists in the both/and.”
You can love your child fiercely and still need space to grieve.
Holding Two Truths at Once
In those early days, I thought I had to pick one emotion - either relief or heartbreak.
It took time to realise that both could exist together, and that the presence of one didn’t cancel the other out.
Psychologists call this the ability to “hold two truths at once.”
You can feel joy and sadness. Hope and despair. Determination and fatigue.
Feeling loss doesn’t mean you love your child any less.
It means you are adjusting to a new reality… one that no one prepared you for.
And there is no timeline for this.
Some days, you’ll feel at peace. Others, grief will sneak back in when you least expect it.
That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human.
Brené Brown puts it beautifully:
“You can’t selectively numb emotions. When we numb the dark, we numb the light.”
Real motherhood isn’t a filtered highlight reel.
It’s meltdowns, sleepless nights, system battles - and laughter, breakthroughs, and moments of joy that take your breath away.
It’s all of it. The mess and the magic.
When Matrescence Meets Diagnosis
If you’ve listened to my podcast, you’ll know how often I talk about matrescence - the transformation we go through when becoming mothers. It’s like adolescence, but instead of growing up, we grow into motherhood - physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
When your child’s diagnosis enters that mix, the identity shift intensifies.
Becoming a mother already asks, Who am I now?
But when your motherhood doesn’t look like the one you imagined, the question deepens: Who am I in this version of motherhood?
Dr Alexandra Sacks describes matrescence as “a psychological birth - a time of rapid change in identity, emotions, and relationships.” For parents of neurodivergent or disabled children, that birth can feel even more seismic.
Because you’re not just becoming a mother… you’re becoming an advocate.
I still remember the moment that truth landed for me.
I was filling out the paperwork for Ireland’s Domiciliary Care Allowance (a benefit meant to support families like ours).
To qualify, I had to describe my son only through his hardest moments.
It felt soul-destroying to put on paper all the things he struggled with, knowing it painted only half the picture.
That night, I cried. Not because of the form, but because of what it symbolised - how invisible mothers like us can feel, and how much emotional labour we carry without recognition.
Processing Without Guilt or Shame
So, how do we process all of this… the grief, the love, the fear, the hope… without collapsing under guilt and shame?
It starts with gentleness.
Your inner critic will try to convince you you’re doing it wrong. Society might reinforce that.
But what if, instead, you offered yourself the same compassion you give everyone else?
Try this:
Name what you feel. You don’t need to justify it. “I’m feeling grief.” “I’m feeling overwhelmed.” Naming it takes away some of its weight.
Find your people. Other parents who truly understand can anchor you through the chaos.
Allow both grief and joy. You can mourn what you thought life would be and celebrate who your child is.
Seek support. Therapists familiar with parental grief or neurodiversity can help you make sense of it all.
Dr Mona Delahooke, author of Brain-Body Parenting, reminds us that “behaviour is only the tip of the iceberg.”
The same goes for our emotions. Beneath the surface lies the nervous system: both our child’s and ours.
She writes, “You can’t help your child regulate if you’re dysregulated.”
For me, that was permission to start tending to my own nervous system… not just his.
Try this right now.
Take a breath.
Name one emotion you feel in this moment.
Say it without judgement.
Then remind yourself: I am allowed to feel this. I am doing my best.
For Reflection
If your motherhood had a soundtrack right now, what would it be?
A storm? A lullaby? A quiet hum beneath the noise?
Write it down or sit with it.
Let your emotions be music, not noise.
You’re Not Alone
The highs and lows of a diagnosis don’t define you.
They are proof that you are feeling your way through an extraordinary experience.
You are doing enough.
You are enough.
If you’d like to connect with others who understand, you’re always welcome at the Fi(ND)ing Motherhood Support Circle in Naas, Co. Kildare.
Or, if you’d like more personal support, you can book a Discovery Call with me — a safe space to breathe, talk, and find your footing again.
Until next time, be gentle with yourself.
You are doing an incredible job.
Listen to the full episode
Next step
If this story resonates, you might find my free guide The First 30 Days especially grounding — a gentle companion for those early weeks after diagnosis. Download it here →
