A reflection on agency, aggression, and the growth in between
I was going through old drafts and found a diary entry from four years ago. It shook me a bit to read it. In some ways, not much has changed. But in between, there has definitely been growth.
The Link Between Aggression and Agency
Today, the topic is aggression and agency.
Our sense of agency is foundational to our mental and emotional well-being. It’s not just about taking action—it’s about choosing which action to take.
Read more on agency: Inherent Yet Fragile
To avoid spiralling into reactive behaviour—my own or my son’s—I had to choose my response.
Today, it was to consciously step into my spectrum and understand myself.
When I’m tired, I often feel unsure about how to engage with James, entertain him, or support his learning.
This gets worse when we’re stressed, hungry, hot, or dysregulated.
I try to be consistent, while quietly battling a constant low-level anxiety:
Am I letting him stim too much? Is it helping? Hurting? Should I be doing more? Less?
The Crossroads of Parenting
I’ve been at a crossroads in my thinking for a long time.
I want him to rest.
His life has been full of therapy because I didn’t—and sometimes still don’t—know what to do.
But the more I learn, the better our relationship becomes.
On tough days, though, I feel like I’ve been getting it wrong from the start.
Mistake after mistake.
Those thoughts keep me up at night.
Sometimes crying. Sometimes fighting.
The diary entry from 2021 was an explosion of overwhelm into a screen. It brought back memories of the early COVID-19 pandemic.
I’d had a miscarriage. We’d just moved house. I couldn’t shake the grief. And in the middle of it all, James began to self-injure. He would pinch himself, leaving red and purple marks across his skin.
Studying Inclusion, Feeling the Weight
In 2022, I began studying inclusion.
I was becoming more confident, but also more frequently heartbroken.
It was hard to detach from the raw vulnerability of children’s lives.
I’d been studying for years, but maybe I’d missed the key point.
A Moment of Aggression
It was a hot day. James asked to go down a street we’d never been on.
Our routine was out of sync, Jonathan was travelling, and I was alone.
I said no. It was a busy road, and I was scared.
Thwack, thwack—there goes my head.
Another time, he dug his fingernails into my face and pulled my hair.
Then, moments later, he climbed into my lap and kissed me.
It’s difficult.
I know he is inherently good and that he needs to be taught.
Read more: on Presence not Panic
It’s hard to stay calm—and yes, I get angry too.
I can usually handle it.
The pain subsides. The bruises fad
The regret?
That’s harder to push away.
Forgiveness comes easily.
But I know that I must help him.
If I don’t support him in learning in the way he can, his independence will be limited.
Speaking Openly About the Hard Stuff
With hindsight, I wish the professionals who diagnosed James had found a way to reach me—and treat me at the outset too.
But truthfully, the diagnosis was a relief.
It took away the weight of being labelled a “bad parent.”
And it slowly helped me rebuild my confidence to act as a capable parent.
A diagnosis doesn’t mean despair or unhappiness.
But still, I sometimes wonder if James’s childhood has been less joyful than I wanted for him. Maybe because of all the therapy. The systems. The watchful eyes.
I speak a lot about acceptance on my site. I allow myself to talk openly about the hard times, because I also celebrate our joy.
But sometimes, I still feel paralysed. I feel like an imposter, dependent on medication to keep my brain in balance. Because when depression pulls the metaphorical trigger, it erases all the good and leaves me spiralling.
And I know these things impact James.
They limit my ability to be the parent I want to be.
Step Into My Spectrum
The title of this post comes from one of my favourite T-shirts:
Step Into My Spectrum.
It’s my way of storytelling.
A need to express connection, even without conversation.
This is me, sharing part of my spectrum.
This is part of my advocacy for neurodiversity, for acceptance, for change.
If you’ve found yourself resonating with any part of this, then we’ve connected.
Like listening to a song, passively yet deeply, and finding yourself inside someone else’s story.
It reminds me that emotions are fundamental to being human.
That our experience of life exists on a spectrum, shaped by both nature and nurture.
My brain is also what makes me kind.
Empathetic.
Creative.
Joyful.
And that joy is contagious.
Most importantly, for James.
That’s the type of emotional contagion we need.
Innsaei
Back to today. I decided to trust myself. The Icelandic word for this is innsæi. James didn’t want to go to bed. Not many pre-teens do. I guessed that the day had simply been too full of demands for him. It was a bit difficult at first. We’ve been on a good run lately. But that’s life—ups and downs.
To cut a long story short, he reclaimed a tiny bit of agency.
And so did I.
I am James' mum 