Knowing When to Go Home

The sunshine reflects off the lake, and we have a gorgeous view of Mt. Rainer. It’s a perfect summer afternoon, but I’m aware that we can’t stay long. I’m sitting chatting with a group of friends, one of whom is one of my besties who moved away a few years ago but is back in town for the day.

A few years ago, a day at the lake might have lasted all day, but now my three children are much less resilient and can’t handle as much stimulation. My twelve-year-old, who is clearly in burnout, has spent most of his summer break at home. In contrast, on this day he is playing and swimming in the lake with his old preschool buddies, which feels like a miracle.

It is more than fifteen degrees cooler than yesterday, and my two youngest kids, who don’t have friends at the lake this day, quickly get cold and tire of the lake. I don’t blame them. Between the cold lake water and the wind, I wouldn’t want to swim either.

But my son is having socialization for the first time all summer, and I can’t bring myself to cut it short, even though my youngest two are desperate to go home. I’m walking a fine line keeping my kids out longer than they want to be. This is meant to be a summer of listening to our bodies and not overwhelming ourselves. But balancing everyone’s needs means that sometimes one person’s needs must take precedence over the others.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I’ve been working on adopting The Autism Doctor’s framework of “12 Crucial ‘Rests’ Autistic Adults Need to Prevent and Recover From Burnout (That Doesn’t Include Sleep).”^[1] Though let me be clear, I’m doing a lot of sleeping.

One of those types of rest is Fun Rest, or doing something that involves joy rather than obligation. While I know our lake excursion qualifies as Fun Rest and will help my son feel less burned out, I also know that it will extract a cost.

By the three-hour mark, I’m watching my eldest closely to see if he’s okay, but every time I check, he is happy and having fun. At the four-hour mark, he comes to me and says tearfully, “I really want to stay and play with my friends, but I am overwhelmed and I have to go home now.”

I am not surprised that he is done, but I’m bowled over by his self-awareness in the face of such complex, conflicting feelings. Most adults know what it’s like to want two contradictory things at once. Far fewer know when to walk away from something they love before it pushes them past their limits.

Most adults don’t recognize the difference between wanting to continue and having the capacity to continue.

Including me. Especially me.

I understand exactly what he is feeling, and honestly, I feel the same way. I want to stay with my friends and chat into the evening, but I equally realize that things will go sideways with my children if I stay longer than their nervous systems allow—and I’m already pushing it with my younger two by making them stay longer than they wanted to.

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Sometimes the hardest thing isn’t doing what you don’t want to do. Sometimes it’s stopping something you desperately want to keep doing.

Summer has long been one of my favorite seasons. It brings lazy days at the lake, the wading pool, the park, or in our backyard and just enjoy the time with friends. But this summer is different. This summer I’m learning to pay attention not only to my own limits but also to those of my children.

While my son would have been better served by leaving the lake before he felt like crying, it was an impressive first step to be able to say, “I want to do more, but I’ve had enough.” At twelve years old, he already understands something many adults struggle to learn: wanting something and having the capacity for it are not the same thing. Honestly, I’m aspiring to be more like him.

^[1]