Adapt
Adapting to changing summer routines and honoring the invisible work of parents.
Dear fellow parent,
Welcome back. However you got here — standing in the playground with one hand on a lunchbox, or hiding in the loo for five minutes of silence — I’m grateful once again that you’ve paused with me.
This week, we’re stepping into Adapt. The last time we talked about adapting in the midst of chaos.
In Ireland right now, routines are dissolving into the strange routine smashing of summer. School’s out. Camps are in (or out, or cancelled). Routines shift. Expectations blur. Some days feel like a spinning top. Others feel like static.
If you're parenting a child with developmental differences, you're probably adapting moment by moment:
Preparing your child for a new camp each week, with different staff, different smells, different rules.
Re-explaining why their school is closed and won’t reopen for weeks.
Managing the sensory overwhelm of sunny/rainy days filled with noise, motion, unpredictability and numerous sunscreen applications.
And here’s the quiet truth: you’re doing so much invisible work.
Even when it doesn’t look like smooth transitions.
Even when it means cancelling plans last minute.
Even when no one sees how hard you tried just to get your child’s sun hat on without a meltdown.
This isn’t just adaptation. It’s expertise.
Built not from theory but from daily life. From staying up late researching ear defenders. From learning how to prepare a visual schedule at 6am. From noticing the signs of shutdown before the professionals do.
Maybe today your adaptation looks like:
Saying “no” to that big family gathering because your child is already overstimulated.
Bringing their favourite cup everywhere.
Giving up on the new camp after two days and deciding it wasn’t worth the upset to your child’s sensory system.
That’s not quitting. That’s wisdom.
You are responding, adjusting, and responding again.
Try this:
This week, pick one moment where you adapted well — where you made a choice that honoured your child’s needs (and maybe your own).
Write it down somewhere, so that later — when you're exhausted or second-guessing yourself, you can remember what it felt like to trust your own knowing.
And if the days feel long and loud, take a breath. Not to calm down or push through, but to land back in your body, even if just for a second.
A Glimpse Ahead
Next time, we’ll come back to An Seomra Ciúin —our Discovery space.
Until then:
Take:
One breath for what you hoped would go smoothly.
One breath for how it actually went.
And one for the bridge you’re building between the two.