When Home Feels Too Small
Fridays are supposed to be our light days.
Today, my daughter had her ABA session in the morning, and afterwards, we took a drive by the lake — windows down, music low, the soft breeze brushing her hair. She was smiling, calm, and so present.
But then… we came home.
And it was like a switch flipped.
She didn’t want to be inside. She paced near the door. She kept pointing to her shoes. She wasn’t throwing a tantrum — she was trying to tell me in every way she could: “Don’t make me stay here.”
Sometimes with autism, “home” doesn’t always feel safe or soothing, especially after a taste of freedom. The quiet walls, the same smells, the same sights — it can feel too still, too predictable, too much.
I get it.
She thrives on movement, on watching the world go by, on feeling the wind on her face. And while I can’t give her that all day, every day… I can listen. I can understand. I can meet her halfway.
So today, instead of fighting the restlessness, we sat on the porch with snacks, watching the cars pass, letting her feel like she wasn’t stuck.
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