Everyone
Watch Julie M. Green Read from Motherness
In this reading, Julie M. Green shares a selection from Motherness: A Memoir of Generational Autism, Parenthood, and Radical Acceptance—a deeply personal and reflective exploration of parenting, identity, and discovering autism across generations.
Her story offers an honest, often humorous, and deeply human look at motherhood, late diagnosis, and the journey toward understanding both herself and her child through a neurodivergent lens.
Interview with Julie M. Green
Following her reading, Julie reflects on her journey as a writer, parent, and autistic woman, offering insight into identity, advocacy, and radical acceptance.
Q: What inspired you to write your memoir, Motherness?
Being diagnosed at 44 made me look back at past events in my life through a completely different lens. I have always processed things through writing. It’s how I make sense of relationships and situations that confuse me, so naturally I began to revisit certain times from my own childhood all the way through to my early years as a parent.
At the time I had been working as a freelance writer and had published many articles about autism from a parenting perspective, but nothing cohesive. There were several books on the market from parents of autistic kids, and from autistic self-advocates, but none that reflected my own experience as an autistic mom raising an autistic child.
Although some of the memories I share in Motherness are deeply personal, I decided that sharing my story might help others feel seen in a way that I hadn’t. In the end, the benefit outweighed any discomfort or reservations I had. This is something all memoirists wrestle with and ultimately have to overcome, I think. Turning the private into something public can be beautiful and healing.
Q: When your son was first diagnosed, what did you believe autism was, and how has your understanding evolved?
When my son was born in 2008, all I knew was a certain version of autism: profound and nonspeaking but also a genius. Rain Man has a lot to answer for! I didn’t think of autism as a spectrum, really, and I certainly didn’t think autism could look like someone like my son (who was hyperlexic and gifted), and autism most definitely couldn’t look like someone like me (who had friends and was clearly just sensitive and shy).
As information about autism became more widely available–and as autistic voices began to speak out on social media–I learned that autism doesn’t come in one package. The whole “If you’ve met one person with autism, you’ve met one person with autism” rings true. Historically, autism was essentially cast as a single presentation with a single cohort because the research was almost entirely focused on little white boys. Now we know those assumptions were wrong.
Q: What was the first thought or feeling you had when you received your diagnosis nearly a decade later?
“So that’s what it is.” Having a diagnosis reframed my understanding of myself and the many labels I had internalized over the years. So, I wasn’t just a spoiled brat, princess, or freak. I wasn’t just an only child who had to have her own way. I wasn’t just a shy girl who needed to come out of her shell. I finally understood why I needed to know the plan at all times and why any change or transition felt destabilizing and caused me such distress. I understood why I kept getting sick around every social occasion or stressful event.
Diagnosis was the biggest A-ha moment, and like many late diagnosed adults, I felt some sorrow but above all I mostly just felt relief.
Q: This book compares your son’s experience of autism with your own. Were you surprised by how alike or different you are from each other?
That’s the reason it took me so long (almost 10 years!) to realize I might also be autistic. There was such a divide in terms of our presentation. At times we were so similar that I felt I could understand my son in a way that others did not. Our intense mutual love of music and language. Our sensitivity to sound and clothing textures. Our perfectionism and pattern-seeking. Our crushing anxiety. Our obsessive adherence to routine.
In many other respects, though, my son was a “typical” autistic boy. Before puberty, he was hyperactive (later received an ADHD diagnosis) and had epic meltdowns whereas I tended to have emotional breakdowns or shutdowns and got very ill. He had no friends and really struggled to keep it together at school. I was the opposite: extremely quiet and studious. And I always had at least one best friend who I copied. I masked hard for years without knowing I was doing it.
Q: How has learning you are autistic recontextualized how you view certain aspects of your childhood?
The shyness and situational mutism, the social and sensory overwhelm I frequently experienced but didn’t know it. I wasn’t just picky and difficult and too sensitive. I wasn’t making up the intense feelings around clothes, smells, noise and food, just to get attention. I was really struggling on a sensory level.
Also, socially there was a lot of confusion. I often didn’t get jokes yet pretended I did. Sometimes I became the butt of the joke, and I couldn’t tell what was playful teasing or bullying. I couldn’t tell when someone was a friend or a frenemy. So, I stayed under the radar as much as possible. I was a great mime and a pleaser, so I had friends. They liked the idea of me because in some ways I was a blank slate on which they could project whatever they wanted.
Q: Motherness is often very funny. Did you intentionally include humour to balance heavier themes?
Absolutely. The fact is, I live in a house full of very funny people. My son is forever saying and doing things that are hilarious, so I wanted to capture how some of these situations play out in real time. And I was also quite conscious that the autism narrative out there is so bleak, and that’s just not accurate in my experience. There are some very dark moments in the book, but there are also plenty of LOL moments and I wanted to reflect that.
I didn’t want to portray autism as a tragedy. I’m sick of that story because frankly as humans we are far more complex and nuanced than that.
Q: Did advocating for your son prepare you to advocate for yourself?
It didn’t, honestly. Over the years, I grew used to advocating for him, but doing so always remained very uncomfortable. I find conflict incredibly stressful and tend to cross the road to avoid confrontation. But I got better at it for his sake because you have to go to bat for your kids.
For myself, though, it’s been much harder to navigate. Probably because my default setting as a woman is to suck up my discomfort rather than ask for help or let people know I’m struggling. For a long time, I didn’t understand what was happening, so I kept repeating patterns of burnout and sickness. I couldn’t tune in to my needs, and then it was too late. I’m still working on unlearning and unmasking. It’s hard to reverse old patterns that you’ve built up over many years. It’s a work in progress. I’m a work-in-progress!
Q: What did masking look like for you pre-diagnosis and when became a mother?
When I worked in an office throughout my twenties, I masked hard. There was so much to contend with: an open plan, confusing social dynamics and hierarchies, harsh lighting, smells and sounds. I did my best but always wound up sick. One employer accused me of faking and so I quit on the spot. I had migraines from a young age and couldn’t figure out what caused them.
When I became a mom, I got a part-time staff job writing from home, and my mental and physical health radically improved. But I soon fell into the same trap of people-pleasing. Motherhood involved far more social interaction than I was equipped for. That meant organizing playdates for my son–because I felt pressured to help him develop social skills, even though it was hard for me too. Kids are noisy and messy. Birthday parties were incredibly stressful. The unbelievable chaos–whether it was at someone’s home or in someplace like a play gym or trampoline park, etc. I put so much pressure on myself to be a great mom, but all the stuff that came with it was so draining. My nervous system couldn’t cope, and I started getting sick and burning out again. There are many photos of a young mom crashed out on the couch, and it makes me sad for her.
Q: What are some of the most harmful myths or misconceptions about autism, particularly relating to girls and women?
Firstly, that girls can’t be autistic and those who are must present like boys, i.e. they must be into things like trains and dinosaurs rather than animals and literature and pop music. If you are autistic, then you definitely can’t make eye contact, and you definitely can’t have friends. Spoiler: you can have friends but sometimes when you scratch the surface those social dynamics are more complicated than they appear at first glance.
Q: What were the most vulnerable–and liberating–parts of writing Motherness?
The most vulnerable and difficult parts were also strangely the most liberating, in a way. As hard as it was to go back and revisit some of those moments, I knew there was no point in writing this book at all unless I was going to be completely honest and as authentic as possible–even if doing so didn’t always paint me in the most flattering light as a mom.
Wading through the weeds was necessary and at the same time very cathartic because even though many years had passed, I don’t think I had fully processed some of the things we’d been through. I was too busy white-knuckling it and surviving. As they say, writing is cheaper than therapy. But it was equally joyful to be able to inhabit so many beautiful and funny moments too, and that was an unexpected gift. Kind of like making a scrapbook or family photo album, except everyone can see it.
Q: What stories have been missing when it comes to autism and parenting?
Without giving too much away, I think there are things we don’t talk about enough, even within the autism community. Topics like aggression and medication often feel taboo. It was important to me to be open if it meant others wouldn’t feel as alone and ashamed as I often felt.
More generally, it seems there are only two stories: 1) autism is a superpower and prodigious gift and 2) autism is a tragedy and a cross for parents to bear. That binary just seems so reductive and, in my experience, inaccurate. The truth is somewhere in the middle. I was determined to write a more balanced account of what autism is like from the inside.
I wanted to write the kind of book I needed to read all those years ago.
Q: What does radical acceptance mean to you?
Acceptance shouldn’t be a radical act, but we live in a world of comparisons. I tell my son that “comparison is the thief of joy.” Knowing his path looks so much different and feels so much harder than that of other kids his age (and my friends’ kids who are now driving and going off to college) is sometimes a hard pill to swallow.
Acceptance means knowing my own limits. My life is small by necessity. Coming to terms with that smallness and not getting sucked into FOMO is something I’m still navigating most days. We live in an age of performance and artifice, so it’s sometimes hard not to feel envious when looking at other people’s lives on social media. I have to remind myself that much of what we see is a mirage. The irony is, I’m often envious of things I wouldn’t actually even want for myself, like big gatherings or speaking engagements. I think, autism notwithstanding, it’s human nature to want what you haven’t got.
Q: What’s one message you hope autistic women, late diagnosed adults, or parents take from your story?
It’s never too late to know yourself and to start treating yourself with compassion and grace. Some people ask, Why bother getting a label? Why get diagnosed late in life? What’s that going to change for you? The answer is nothing and everything. There is no funding or special supports that you suddenly, magically can access.
But what you do have access to is a better understanding of yourself and your needs. And once you have that understanding, your life can change for the better because you are moving from a place of self-loathing and shame to one of acceptance and self-compassion. I like myself and understand myself better now that I’m almost fifty than at any other point in my life. And everyone deserves to feel that way.
About Julie M. Green
Julie M. Green is a Canadian author whose memoir Motherness has resonated widely with readers exploring autism, parenting, and identity.
Her book was named a #1 Amazon Bestseller in disability memoir, an Audible Best Audiobook of 2025, and a finalist for the Foreword INDIES Book of the Year Award.
Her writing has appeared in major publications including the Washington Post, The Globe and Mail, HuffPost, Chatelaine, and Today’s Parent. She also writes about parenting and neurodiversity through her platform The Autistic Mom.
About Stories that Spark
“Sharing my story could help others.” — AutismBC Motto
One of the ways AutismBC puts Hope in Action is by centering real-life experiences and stories from our community—voices that inspire empathy, deepen understanding, and spark creativity.
To celebrate Autism Acceptance Month, we are proud to introduce Stories That Spark: a series of webinars, book readings, workshops, discounts, and giveaways, all grounded in literary experiences and storytelling.
Join us throughout April as we highlight engaging and thought-provoking events that amplify neurodiverse, intersectional, and Canadian voices, and celebrate the power of stories to build connection and understanding.
Through this series, we feature lived experiences and community voices that help bring Hope in Action to life by connecting people through shared storytelling, learning, and dialogue.
Continuing the Conversation
Julie M. Green’s Motherness offers a powerful reminder that understanding autism is not a single moment—but an evolving journey shaped by lived experience, reflection, and connection.
Her story challenges long-held assumptions, particularly around autism in women and mothers, and opens space for conversations rooted in honesty, humour, and compassion.
As part of Stories That Spark, we are honoured to share her voice and her story—one that reflects the complexity of parenting, identity, and what it means to move toward radical acceptance.
