Making Space for Recovery, Regulation, and Real Life

About the Author

Brenda Dater, MSW, MPH, is the executive director at AANE and the author of “Parenting Without Panic.” Brenda is a mom of three, and her eldest is an Autistic woman. Brenda has facilitated parent support groups for over 20 years and thoroughly enjoys creating an environment where parents can find the support, information, and the community they need.

For many Autistic people, life brings a steady current of internal and external stress. Sensory overload. Medical emergencies. Fear for safety or worry about keeping basic rights. Just navigating the world can feel like running uphill every day. And during times of crisis, it can feel wrong or selfish to rest. But I’ve learned this truth again and again, both for myself and by watching those I love: you must stop. You must step away. Because the nervous system can only take so much.

We’re often taught the exact opposite. Push through. Just keep going. People believe that if they power through the stress, they’ll reach their goals faster. But that’s not how bodies or brains work, especially not Autistic ones. When someone doesn’t stop to recover, their energy remains drained. They start functioning in sheer survival mode. They can’t think clearly. They don’t do their best work. And eventually, their whole system can shut down.

I watched this unfold in my daughter’s life, which she has given me permission to share. She’s both Autistic and has chronic health conditions. At one point, she had to take a couple of years off from both school and her volunteer work just to survive what her body was going through. And even after the most intense health issues stabilized, she still had months of emotional recovery ahead. Years of built-up tension, fear, and exhaustion had to work their way out before she could function again. That wasn’t failure, laziness, or avoidance. That was healing.

Autistic nervous systems are often more sensitive and reactive by nature and the constant pressure to adapt and function in an unaccommodating world can push them into a prolonged state of high alert, which takes a heavy toll. Even small tasks can feel impossible when the nervous system is stuck in this survival mode. 

When my daughter finally had the space to rest, it didn’t feel peaceful at first. She was angry about what she went through, couldn’t enjoy other people’s successes, and felt exhausted. Her body was letting go of the constant tension and turmoil she’d been experiencing. It took time to begin reversing the burnout she had been experiencing and start to recover.

That’s why rest isn’t a luxury. It’s not something to “earn” once things settle. It’s part of what’s necessary to get things done. Rest is the thing that makes long-term thriving possible.

I’ve had to learn what recovery looks like for me, too. It’s not always stillness. Sometimes, I need movement to get out of my head and into my body with long hikes in the woods. No amount of thinking or talking can release tension the way physical activity and time in nature do for me. That’s when I start to feel regulated again.

For my daughter, it’s time with her favorite people and animals, game nights, lots of sleep, and walks outside. By learning that her nervous system needs these things in order to stay balanced, she is doing much better now. She recently completed her Master’s degree and is starting the process of looking for work. None of that came easily. It took time, support, and space to recover, and to learn how to protect that recovery.

There is nothing indulgent about taking time to come back to yourself. It’s not laziness or shirking responsibilities. It’s a vital reset. Rest is how Autistic people, and really all people, recover what the world strips away. It’s how we restore access to joy, agency, and connection. And it’s what lets us reclaim strength, not just to keep going, but to live in a way that recognizes our needs and honors our nervous systems.