Kara James - Nurturing ND Families

You know, for a long time, I hesitated to speak openly about my own experience of being Autistic. Not from shame, but because it’s deeply complex.

I don’t fit the stereotypes or the narrow boxes people try to place autism into. I move through the world with both capability and vulnerability. There are moments of flow and moments of friction, all equally valid parts of my Autistic experience.

I can hold space for families, teach about neurodiversity, run a practice, and parent in ways that honour my children’s needs. Yet there are days when sensory overwhelm, social energy, or unexpected change brings everything to a halt. I’ve learned to honour those moments, not hide them. And I’m grateful to have a team around me who care deeply and celebrate the way I see the world. They help keep me grounded and real in my work.

You don’t have to be profoundly Autistic to feel the profound weight of being Autistic. Often, it isn’t autism that hurts, it’s the systems, the expectations, the pace of a world that demands sameness while refusing to understand difference.

I hold deep respect for those whose needs differ from mine, whose supports look different, whose lives move at their own rhythm. We’re not in competition. We are a community of shared humanity, each walking our own path of adaptation, expression, and acceptance.

Over the years, I’ve realised that being Autistic isn’t something to define neatly, but something to stay curious about. It isn’t a single experience. It’s a constellation of ways of being. And when we stop comparing labels and levels, and start truly listening, we begin to see the beauty in the diversity of those stars. ✨

Curiosity has become my compass, because its truly compassion in motion. It’s what allows me to see beauty in difference, to witness discomfort without fear, and to keep expanding my understanding of what it means to be Authentically and Autistically human.

It invites me to ask:
“What happens when I stop trying to be understood and simply exist as I am?”

When we meet each other with curiosity instead of comparison, something softens. We start to see each other not through the lens of ability, but through the quiet truth that every nervous system tells its own story. We each have a uniquely human way of sensing, perceiving, and connecting… one that asks for gentleness, not judgment. 🌱

And this is my journey… still unfolding, still curious, still learning what it means to belong in a world that grows softer and wider when difference is truly welcomed. It’s also the heartbeat behind the work I do. 💛🍃

If my words resonate, or if you’re a parent wanting to understand your child through this same lens of curiosity, compassion, and connection, please come join me for Cothú.

It’s a space where we unlearn, relearn, and rediscover what it means to truly nurture our Autistic children, and ourselves… just as we are. 💛

Register here 👇
https://form.jotform.com/243116970196864

~ Kara James
Nurturing ND Families | Play & Creative Therapy Bundaberg

𝗖𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗨́ 𝗯𝘆 𝗔𝗨𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗧𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 - 𝗥𝗲𝗴𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗢𝗽𝗲𝗻 🌿

Nope! This isn’t just another parenting course, it’s a deeply affirming, safe, and supportive space for parents and caregivers to understand, connect, and nurture their Autistic child through a neurodiversity-affirming lens.

COTHÚ (pronounced “kuh-hoo”, meaning nurture in Irish) is a 5-week, online parent course designed by Autistic people to help parents move beyond expectations and “fixing,” toward acceptance, connection, and truly authentic relationship.

✨ Parents describe the program as “powerful,” “transformative,” and “a safe container to be seen and supported.”

💛 Guided by Kara James, a Certified Cothu Trainer and lived-experience practitioner, this 5-week journey invites you to:

🌱 Honour your child or teens Autistic identity
🌱 Reconnect with your child through trust and safety
🌱 Understand the “why” beneath behaviours
🌱 Navigate sensory perception
🌱 Support your child’s nervous system (and your own)
🌱 Strengthen family connection and confidence
🌱 Challenge outdated myths with lived-experience wisdom
🌱 Reclaim confidence in your parenting

💛 Upcoming Online Rounds (5 weeks)

🗓 Mondays 10am AEST — 20 October → 17 November 2025
🗓 Sundays 6pm AEST — 1 November → 6 December 2025

💻 Delivered live via Zoom
📘 Materials are emailed to print or access from your device
💰 $450 AUD
💜 NDIS Claimable

Spaces are intentionally kept small to ensure every parent feels seen, heard, and supported.

👉 Register here:
https://form.jotform.com/243116970196864

Let’s nurture differently.
Let’s COTHÚ together. 🌿

💔 This week I was reminded of how hard it can be to walk the line between being “a parent,” being “a therapist,” and being “an advocate” for my child in the NDIS space. Even with my professional knowledge of the system and the work I do supporting other families, it doesn’t make it any easier when I’m advocating for my own child.

I’ve been asking a simple, polite question about billing and clarity for my child’s therapy. My intent wasn’t to critique, but to understand. I needed a clear answer because the one I was given danced around the question and didn’t explain how it applied to my son’s unique circumstances. So I shared my own experience as a provider to give context for why transparency matters so much to me, both as a professional in this space and as a mum.

Instead of being met with clarity, my words were taken as criticism, and the therapist made the decision to abruptly end the relationship.

My child lost a therapist he enjoyed, not because of his needs or the quality of their connection, but because my questions, expressed respectfully, couldn’t be held. That decision didn’t come from me. It came from the provider. And that’s what hurts the most.

Maybe it’s my ND brain. Maybe I was left confused because I needed the answers to be more direct and concrete. ND brains don’t thrive on vague or abstract explanations, we often need communication that is clear, gentle, and specific in order to feel safe and grounded. What I do know is that my request for clarity wasn’t wrong. It was simply a parent, a therapist, and an advocate wanting to understand. And that matters. That’s not unreasonable. That’s accessibility.

Parents should never be made to fear that seeking understanding will cost their child a relationship they value. Asking billing questions isn’t wrong. Wanting clarity isn’t out of line. It’s part of being a parent in the NDIS. And our children deserve providers who can hold that without pushing families away.

Therapy is not only about a child’s capacity to engage, it’s also about the therapist’s capacity to hold the parent’s voice, their questions, and their care without misinterpreting it as critique. That makes the rupture even harder, because if polite, respectful questions can’t be held, what message does that send to parents who are doing their best to navigate this system?

And now comes the hardest part… telling my child he did nothing wrong and this decision wasnt about him.

Children deserve providers who protect their hearts. And parents deserve to know that their voices matter, their questions matter, and that their children deserve providers who can stay in relationship, even when the conversations are uncomfortable.

To the parents navigating this space, if you’ve ever walked away from a service feeling dismissed for simply seeking clarity please know this doesn’t make you difficult, it makes you a parent who cares enough to hold space for what your child truly deserves. 🍃

🍃 𝗥𝗲𝗴𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗢𝗽𝗲𝗻 – 𝗖𝗼𝘁𝗵𝘂́ 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺 🍃

What if parenting could feel lighter, more connected, and true to both you and your Autistic child?

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩’𝙨 𝙚𝙭𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝘾𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙪́ 𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙨.

🌱 You’ll walk this parenting journey with others who truly get it, parents who understand the highs, the challenges, and the heart of raising an Autistic child. 💛✨

🌱 You’ll find a supportive, neuro-affirming, Autistic-led space where you can breathe, connect, and hold space alongside other parents. Together, you’ll discover practical, empowering ways to nurture your Autistic child’s authentic self - and your own.

🌱 Written and developed by AUsome Training, an Autistic-led organisation passionate about empowering parents and families.

🌱 Facilitator, Kara James, is an Autistic and multiply neurodivergent parent and therapist, who knows firsthand the beauty and the challenges of raising an Autistic child. She brings both lived experience and professional training into Cothú - creating a space that’s deeply real, supportive, and affirming.

🗓 Choose a time that works for you:
🌞 Monday mornings 10am AEST
🌙 Sunday evenings 6pm AEST
⏰ 2 hours per week over 5 weeks
🌏 Available Australia Wide
💜 100% NDIS claimable
💻 Fully online – join from the comfort of your home

➡️ Spots are limited – follow the link to secure your place and we will be in touch with more details.

https://form.jotform.com/James_kara/cothu-online-registration

I’m not usually the political type, but I can’t stay quiet on this one.

There’s a lot of noise, misinformation, and emotionally charged commentary right now, especially when it comes to our Autistic community.

Today, I’ve seen a surge of headlines fuelled by Trump and others making claims that things like paracetamol in pregnancy or vaccines are to “blame.” It’s the ongoing debate that has unfortunately been going on for decades, despite overwhelming scientific consensus against these claims.

❌ There is no credible evidence that paracetamol or vaccines cause autism, or are even causally “linked” to it.
✅ Autism is not something to be prevented or eradicated. It’s a natural and valid part of human diversity.

When influential voices share these ideas, they don’t just spread misinformation, they risk piling guilt and shame on mothers, fuelling stigma, and undoing decades of progress in how we understand and embrace neurodiversity.

Autism diagnoses have risen over the years, yes. But that’s far more about better awareness, broader definitions, genetic diversity, the natural evolution of human variation, a mismatch with modern environments, and reduced stigma, not about fear, guilt, or blame.

I’m all for reducing toxicity where we can, that’s good for everyone’s health! But the supposed link to autism is deeply flawed and not supported by credible evidence.

To Autistic people and families, please know you do not need to carry the weight of these headlines. Your existence is not a tragedy. Your worth is not up for debate. 💛

Let’s ground ourselves in what the evidence actually says, honour Autistic voices, and keep building a world that celebrates neurodivergence rather than fearing it.

Sending so much love to our Autistic community. 💛🌈🍃

𝑶𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅, 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 🫶

But what does this look like for us?

I’m not going to lie, it’s total chaos, and also absolutely hilarious. It’s like being stuck in a comedy blender with Carl Barron, Jack Black, and Adam Sandler, at full throttle. It’s life living with people who think outside the box, who’ve sometimes misplaced the box, or ditched it for a way cooler box they found behind the couch.

Picture a family where everyone’s senses are cranked to different settings, like a radio that’s permanently stuck between stations. Mum needs complete silence to think, but Dad’s jamming out to some drumming app he found to play “ba dum tss” to applaud his really bad dad jokes! (True story!)

The kids? One can’t handle the feel of socks, while the other is dressed like a burrito in three layers because everything is “too scratchy.” Dinner time is, well - someone’s freaking out over the smell of broccoli, someone is interpret dancing between chicken nuggets, someone else is practically bathing in tomato sauce, and meanwhile, the family cat is jumping on the table because she wants to be the arch-nemesis of the house at dinner time!

Trying to watch a movie together? Half the family has earplugs in, the other half has the volume cranked to max, and someone’s wearing sunglasses because “the TV is way too bright.” Every room is a different sensory battleground, and the only thing we agree on is that the world is just too loud, too bright, too… something.

It’s like living in a constant state of organised chaos, where everyone has their own personal weather forecast - one’s in a heatwave, another’s in a blizzard, and someone’s convinced they’re being attacked by the fabric of their shirt.

But we make it work by creating a space where everyone can feel safe and comfortable as best as possible… and that’s good enough!

Because Mental Health is the VIP guest in our house! We’ve learned the hard way that you can’t pour from an empty cup, especially if the cup is cracked, missing, or currently hiding in the laundry with last week’s socks.

Homeschooling is also our playground of controlled chaos. Forget the rigid curriculum, we let the kids dive headfirst into whatever weird and wonderful thing catches their curiosity. One day it’s Wobbly Life, the next it’s how to bake a cake shaped like a dinosaur. Sure, sometimes the “school day” looks more like a science experiment gone wrong, but hey, they’re learning - and no one’s crying over homework, except maybe the cat who’s still traumatised from last week’s volcano project.

Communication in our home is also as varied as we are! Sometimes it’s like a game of charades meets a Morse code disaster. We’ve got one person using ten different hand gestures, another whispering like we’re in a spy movie, and someone else yelling from across the house like they’re calling for backup in a battlefield. It’s a real variety of styles, and somehow, it works!

Our goal? To understand each other, even if it means deciphering the “I’m fine” code (which, spoiler alert, means “I’m definitely not fine”). But no matter what, we’ve got each other’s backs - even if we have to decode them first!

I could keep writing, there’s so much more I could share about other factors, such as social fatigue, transitions and ch ch ch change!!! I will save that for another blog.

My point is, living an authentic neurodivergent life is perfectly imperfect! We get that we all process the world differently, and we support each other with compassion, understanding, non-judgement, and let our daily experiences unfold at our own pace to suit our energy and the flow of our lives, as best as we can! And sometimes we get lost, and overwhelmed, and that’s ok too! It’s part of navigating this journey.

Patience, empathy, accomodations, and the autonomy to be wholeheartedly our unique selves are at the heart of living our authentic neurodivergent life!

And when we support each other, it just works! 🙌

Move gently folks. We’re here to love 💕

🌸 Kara

I’ve been walking alongside the neuro-affirming movement since early 2019, before it really became the buzzword, marketing label, or checkbox in professional development it is today. Back then, it was quieter, slower, messy, raw, and community-led. Rooted in lived experience, not branding.

This weekend, after a few honest, grounding conversations, both personally and professionally, I found myself circling back to this question again. Not in theory, but in the felt sense of it. “What does it really mean to do this work with integrity? With care? With depth?”

These days, “neuro-affirming” is everywhere. And while part of me is relieved that awareness is growing, another part of me aches. Because when something becomes popular, it becomes easier to mimic. Easier to market. And I’ve noticed the louder some platforms get, the less space there is for humility, reflection, and collective wisdom.

And sometimes, that noise even comes from within the neurodivergent community itself. That’s what makes it so complex. Because the harm doesn’t always wear obvious colours. It hides behind curated language, credentials, and polished professional personas. But I feel it in my body when something isn’t right, when someone speaks as the authority, when training is built on a single voice, rather than the collective, when nuance is lost in favour of clarity or control.

We can’t claim to be neuro-affirming if we’re not centring multiplicity. If we’re not willing to say, “This is what I’ve come to understand, AND, I’m still learning.” That’s the heartbeat of this work.

Yes, language matters deeply. It shapes how people are seen. It can wound or hold. It can dehumanise or honour. The words we choose matter, because they carry power, especially in professional spaces where neurodivergent people have so often been spoken about, not with.

But neuro-affirming practice is more than language.

It’s also about how we respond, how
we speak when no one is listening, how we reflect on how our own privilege and patterns impact others. It’s how we learn, unlearn, and make space, not just for our own voice, but for the voices that have too often been silenced. It’s how we hold complexity, contradiction, and fluctuation with compassion, and more than anything, how we centre lived experience, not professional ego.

It’s not a performance (though there’s no shortage of that lately). It’s a practice. A way of being that asks more of us than just the right words.

And it has to begin with the willingness to not know. With the courage to sit inside the discomfort of growth.

I question myself often and ask “Am I truly holding this with care? Am I staying anchored in my values, or slipping into protection, performance, or ego?”

Because the truth is, I don’t know if we ever truly arrive. And maybe that’s what keeps us honest, humble, and human.

The people I trust most in this space aren’t the ones who sound like they’ve figured it all out. I trust the ones still listening. Still learning. Still holding this work gently without needing to be loud.

Though I’ll be honest, sometimes I do feel the need to be loud, especially when I witness so much performance in this space. Not for attention, but because silence can feel like complicity.

Because this isn’t a framework to apply it’s the way in which we show up. Neuro-affirming support doesn’t come from performance. It comes from presence. From deep listening. From honouring the person in front of us without assumption or agenda.

It’s about holding space with reverence. Making room for complexity. Honouring communication, autonomy, and difference in all their forms. Not just when it’s easy, but especially when it’s not.

Because in this work, we do have to get it right. Not perfectly. But relationally. With care. With reflection. With a willingness to stay accountable when we miss the mark. To listen. To repair. To keep learning, even when we have lived experience ourselves.

It’s not something we say to sound aligned. It’s something we live, moment by moment, person by person. Something that is known …not by how it sounds … but by how it’s held.

Holding this space with you, always.
With love,
Kara 💞

There’s a story behind the way I parent now. Behind the way I advocate, speak up, slow down, and choose connection over control.

It wasn’t born from confidence.
It came from rupture. From remembering. From choosing again and again to come home to what matters most.

And if I’m honest, it took a long time to get here.

Because the truth is…
I didn’t always choose us first.

I got lost.

In the voices of professionals who told me what “good parenting” should look like. In the unhelpful advice that prioritised obedience over relationship. In the heavy silence that follows when you say, “This doesn’t feel right,” and no one echoes back.

I tried to follow the script.
I ignored my body’s cues.
I tried to shape my children into what the world told me they needed to be…

And it broke something in me.
And it dimmed something in them.

But eventually, the discomfort grew louder than the doubt.
And I began to remember.

I’ve walked out of rooms shaking. Sat in my car and cried after walking out of yet another meeting where I had to defend my child’s right to ‘just be’ and I wasnt heard. I’ve spent nights combing through research to remind myself I wasn’t crazy.

That what I knew in my bones… that relationship matters more than compliance, wasn’t just intuition.
It was truth. And the evidence was there to hold it.

And that evidence became my hyperfocus. I dove deep because I needed to understand.
To make sense of what I was feeling.
To find something solid to stand on when everything around me said I was getting it wrong.

This path hasn’t been linear.
It’s been spirals.
Undoing. Unlearning. Remembering.
Coming back to myself.
Coming back to my children.
Over and over again.

So no, I didn’t get here easily.
I got here because I chose to stay in the room with the hard stuff. To feel what I once numbed. To listen to my children’s perspectives, because they are wiser than we were ever taught to believe. To trust in a different way, even when I was the only one in the room who did.

Someone said to me recently,
“I hope one day I can be as brave and confident as you.”

And I didn’t know how to respond.
Because the version of me they were looking at wasn’t built from confidence. She was built from collapse. From grief. From the undoing of everything I was told I had to be.

I call this space the “in-between”. The place where everything you thought you knew is falling apart… and yet, somehow, something truer is being born.

If you’re here, I want you to know:
You’re not failing.
You’re waking up.

And it’s okay if your bravery doesn’t look like whats expected. If it looks like tears in the car. Like saying “no” to advice that twists your stomach. Like choosing connection when every voice says, “Be firm.”

That’s not weakness.
That’s remembering.

And remembering is how we find our way back.
To our children.
To ourselves.
To the truth that was always ours.

So if you’re standing in the in-between right now please know this:

You don’t have to follow the rules that were never made for your family. You don’t have to meet expectations that disconnect you from your child.

You can trust your body.
You can trust your heart.

Even if no one else understands it yet.

You do.
And that’s enough to begin.

I didn’t want to share a tokenistic post for Neurodiversity Pride Day. Not something just for show. Not just the hashtags or the rainbow emojis (though I do love a good rainbow). 🌈

I wanted to live it, to honour it in the way that matters most. By showing up, in real time, for neurodivergent voices, needs, and ways of being - including my own.

By protecting space for stims and silence, for deep dives and big feelings. By choosing rest when my body needed it, and connection when my heart did.

So I waited until tonight to celebrate with social media.

Because pride isn’t about performance for me. It’s about being allowed to exist fully, unapologetically, whether that means speaking up or quietly honouring my energy.

Today, and every day, I carry pride in how we think, feel, move, and show up in this world. In how we challenge systems that weren’t built for us. In how we parent, educate, create, and connect on our own terms.

So here’s to neurodivergent joy, power, and presence… not just in posts, but in real moments, real choices, real community.

Here’s to the pride that doesn’t always need a parade… just a safe place to be exactly who you are 💛

𝗜’𝗺 𝗯𝘂𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀... 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘃𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘁 ➿

After spending time with some other neurodivergent women from the other side of the world last night, I was reminded by one of my incredible mentors Evaleen from AUsome Training of something I’ve known deep down but often resist:

As ND women:

We’ve been conditioned to shrink ourselves.
To soften our voices.
To not take up space.
To wait for permission.
To not ask for what we’re worth.
⠀
I’m letting go of that.
Of the fear of judgment. Of the resistance. Because what I do comes from a place of deep belief in rewriting harmful narratives, challenging outdated advice, and shifting what support looks like for ND families.

And like many of you, I carry the push and pull of being Autistic, ADHD, PDA and RSD-wired... the drive to create something meaningful wrestling with the fear of being misunderstood or “too much.”

But if there’s one thing that drives me as a PDA woman, it’s being told I can’t.
Because I will show you that I 𝘾𝘼𝙉.
Because I know this work matters and the fire in me refuses to let something important go unspoken.

So, between NDIS report writing and keeping humans alive in my household this weekend who have come down with the flu, I’ve been on a mission to finish a new website for my advocacy and education work... a space I’m now shifting more of my energy into.

And I have a small ask...

If you’ve ever experienced my work... in a session, a program, a post, or even just a quiet moment that stayed with you, I’d be so grateful if you could write a short paragraph about what it meant to you and DM it to me, along with permission to share it on my testimonials page.

It doesn’t have to be fancy or polished. Just honest.

Your voice helps others find their way here. 💛

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙟𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙮... 𝙞𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬. 🙏🍃