We’re Choosing the Slow Life This Summer
And Why It Works for Our Neurodivergent Family
There’s a certain energy that comes with summer.
The push to go-go-go.
Bucket lists. Camps. Beach days. Late nights. Backyard barbecues. Fireworks. Vacations.
And for a long time, I thought that’s what we were supposed to do too. That summer was meant to be packed with activity—and if we weren’t filling our days with what was supposed to be fun, we were somehow falling short or not doing it right.
But it didn’t take long to realize: that kind of summer just doesn’t work for us.
Not because we’re lazy. Not because we’re antisocial.
But because we’re a neurodivergent family.
And so, we’ve learned to slow down.
What the “Slow Life” Means for Us
It means...
Saying no to loud festivals and crowded pools.
Skipping structured camps with rigid expectations.
Building in space between activities (sometimes whole days).
Letting repetition, rest, and routine guide our rhythm.
It means being honest about what actually feels good for our family—and not forcing things because they’re “what summer’s supposed to look like.”
Sometimes it means staying home for three days straight.
Sometimes it means going to Grammy's house to play on her iPad every afternoon.
Sometimes it means canceling plans, even last-minute.
And yes, sometimes it means disappointing people.
But what it doesn’t mean is letting our kids down.
Our Kids Thrive in the Slow
The slow life gives our kids room to breathe.
It allows:
Predictability instead of constant transition
Sensory regulation instead of sensory overload
Joyful, low-pressure play instead of forced participation
Recovery time when the world gets too loud or too fast
It’s not about shielding them from everything.
It’s about noticing what supports them—and choosing that on purpose.
We Found Connection in the Calm
When we slow down, we notice more.
We meet our kids where they are—not where we think they should be.
There’s more connection.
Less conflict.
More chances to honor their rhythm, not override it.
And somewhere in the quiet, we find ourselves breathing easier too.
Letting Go of the Summer “Shoulds”
Here’s what I’ve learned:
You don’t have to earn your summer with outings and activities.
You don’t have to fill every moment.
You don’t have to do what other families are doing.
Your version of summer can be slow, simple, spacious—and still meaningful.
If splash pads don’t work, skip them.
(Or maybe they really do—just in the off hours, when it's quieter.)
If your kid only wants to play with a hose and a bucket in the backyard, that’s enough.
If fireworks are too much, stay home. Watch fireflies instead.
If your child is happiest with routine, repetition, and rest—you’re not limiting them.
You’re listening to them.
The Slow Life Isn’t Always Easy—But It Is Ours
Sometimes I wonder if we’re missing out.
But then I remember: we’re building a life that fits us.
Our summer doesn’t have a bucket list.
It has breathing room.
And for our neurodivergent family—that’s not just okay.
That’s exactly what we need.
