Finding community, our way 

Community. It’s a word that means something different to everyone. 

The official definition is: A group of individuals linked by shared interests, values, geography, or identity. Members of a community often rely on one another for mutual support, companionship, and a sense of belonging. 

Before having my first child, community was something I looked forward to. Mother’s groups, Sunday markets supporting local businesses, sporting groups, school events and all the relationships that would grow from being a part of something. 

In reality, though, things looked different. 

After my eldest son’s diagnosis, everything I had pictured started to feel further away. I was stretched beyond what I could manage and too exhausted for mother’s group. The Sunday markets were too loud and too busy for my child. Family outings took more planning, more energy, and more emotional strength than I ever expected. 

And for a long time, I couldn’t comprehend even having a conversation without bursting into tears, let alone putting myself out there to build relationships. 

I became protective, defensive, sensitive, and hopeless. Slowly, without me even realising it, the community I dreamed of disappeared and the isolation crept in. 

And that was really hard.  

I’d always been such a social person. I love people. I love big family gatherings and being out and about. So, I tried to make the version of community I’d imagined work. We went to family events, birthday parties and outings. All the things I thought we should be doing as a family. 

But that didn’t work for my boys. Big groups are not their thing. Busy places can be too much. They need things to feel calm and predictable. 

Eventually, I had to ask myself a really honest question: am I doing this for them, or am I still holding onto what I think parenting should look like? That question changed a lot for me. 

I still wanted my boys to feel connected and part of something. But I had to figure out what actually worked for our family. It had to feel safe, realistic and flexible for all of us. 

It started small. One of the first places this happened was when my eldest son started Kindy. His school was drive-through only, so there wasn’t really a natural chance to stand around and talk with other parents. So, one day another mum and I decided to start a WhatsApp group. Before long, other parents of children in the support unit had joined too. 

At first, it was just of mums getting to know each other without the pressure of scheduling coffee dates, because let’s be honest, we often have to cancel. What started as a simple conversation with six mums on a similar journey has become daily support. Loving each other’s children, catching up in person when it works, and even an annual mum’s trip! 

Connecting with these other parents who understood changed everything. It gave me support, but it also helped create gentle opportunities for our children to connect too. 

Now we regularly do short visits down at the local park. A familiar place, a quick play, leaving before it becomes too much. And it’s not just been my eldest son who has benefited. My youngest son has also connected with the other siblings and made friends through them as well. 

We’ve even attended and hosted birthday parties with our little tribe. That is something I never thought would happen, and something the boys have loved. 

It used to sting when we had to say ‘no’ to attending events that we knew wouldn’t work for our family. The sting has now been replaced by genuine, authentic and valuable relationships that actually work for us all. 

Community doesn’t look the way I thought it would before I became a mum. But when I think about it, this is what I always dreamed of: my boys and our family feeling like we belong.