Why Don't I Like My Child Right Now? An Autism Parent's Hidden Struggle
Your son is talking about Minecraft again. The same facts about Minecraft he told you eleven times yesterday. The same scripted dialogue he's been repeating for three months straight.
He looks up at you with those eyes—those beautiful eyes you fell in love with the moment he was born—and asks, "Mom, did you know creepers are afraid of cats?"
You know. You've always known. And something inside you just... snaps shut.
You hear yourself say "That's cool, buddy" in a voice that sounds hollow even to you. He doesn't notice. He keeps talking. And you stand at the kitchen counter, gripping the edge until your knuckles go white, thinking the thought you've never said out loud to anyone: I don't want to be around my own child right now.
The guilt hits before the thought even finishes forming. What kind of parent feels this way? What kind of mother looks at her child and feels... nothing? Or worse—irritation, dread, the desperate urge to escape?
If you've been here—staring at a child you would die for while feeling like you can't stand another minute—you're not alone. And you're not the monster you're afraid you've become.
Understanding What's Happening
First, let's name something important: "like" and "love" are different currencies, and it's possible to be bankrupt in one while still rich in the other. Love is the foundation—it's why this hurts so much. "Like" is the day-to-day enjoyment that requires capacity, predictability, and connection. When you're constantly in crisis mode, when every interaction feels like defusing a bomb or chasing a tornado, there's no space left for delight. Your nervous system is stuck in survival mode, and survival mode doesn't do "giddy." This isn't a character flaw. This is biology.
What often creates this perfect storm: parenting a child whose brain works differently than expected, navigating diagnostic processes or new challenges, comparing your experience to siblings or other families (completely natural and completely unhelpful), and grieving. Yes, grieving—the loss of the parenting experience you imagined, the ease you see other families have, the child you thought you knew before new behaviors emerged. Grief disguised as frustration is still grief, and it deserves tenderness.
Here's what you need to understand: The fact that this causes you shame, the fact that you're worried about it, the fact that you want things to be different—this is what love looks like when it's exhausted. You are not a monster. You are not broken. You are a parent running on empty who is brave enough to name something most parents bury so deep they never examine it.
Strategies That Often Help
Create genuine separation every day. Find ten minutes that aren't for chores, but for doing nothing or something that fills you. You cannot pour from an empty vessel, and right now you may be scraping the bottom.
Pick one connection point that isn't about compliance or behavior. Maybe it's your child's special interest, maybe it's reading together, maybe it's just sitting near each other in silence. Let go of teaching moments and just be together.
Stop requiring yourself to feel differently right now. Feelings aren't commands. You can feel annoyed AND show up with patience. You can feel depleted AND be a good parent. The goal isn't to fake joy—it's to act with love even when the feeling is hiding.
Recognize that feelings and actions are separate. You don't have to wait until you feel patient to act patiently. You don't have to feel joyful to create moments of connection. The feelings often follow the actions, not the other way around.
Name the grief. If you're mourning expectations, experiences, or the ease you thought parenting would have—that's real and valid. Acknowledging it can help separate it from your relationship with your child.
So many parents have felt this way. More than will ever say it out loud. You are not alone in this dark corner, and speaking it—even just to yourself—is the first step toward the light. The love is still there. It's just buried under exhaustion and fear, and it can be uncovered again.
You're Not Alone
If you're navigating this challenge, you don't have to figure it out alone at 2 AM. AriaStar is here 24/7 at NeuroLink Bridge - no judgment, just support from someone who understands autism family life.
Looking for more support? Explore our free resources or meet AriaStar.