Make the Most of Your 10 Minutes

There's a pattern you start to notice once you really look.  
 
Parents of neurodiverse children rarely talk about hours.  
They talk about moments.  
 
Ten minutes before the next transition.  
Five minutes of quiet before someone needs them again.  
A brief pause while a child is finally settled, regulated, or asleep.  
 
Time doesn't come in generous blocks. It arrives in fragments.  
 
And yet, those fragments are often the only space parents have for themselves.  
 
For many parents, navigating autism, ADHD, sensory processing differences, or complex emotional needs, the idea of "self-care" can feel almost ironic. Long walks, yoga classes, uninterrupted baths — they belong to a different life, or at least a different season. What exists instead is a constant state of readiness: listening, anticipating, regulating, advocating, adjusting.  
 
The nervous system rarely gets a full stand-down.  
 
What we've observed, again and again, is that parents don't lack awareness of their own needs. They lack time that behaves predictably. When every day can shift suddenly — a school call, a meltdown, a therapy change, a night that doesn't end — planning anything restorative becomes hard. Sometimes impossible.  
 
So the question quietly changes. 

Note: How do I find more time?  
But: What can I realistically do with the time I actually have?  
 
And often, that answer is ten minutes.  
 
Ten minutes can look insignificant from the outside. But for someone who hasn't taken a full breath all day, it can be everything.  
 
Ten minutes to sit without being needed.  
Ten minutes to step outside and feel cold air on your face.  
Ten minutes to drink a hot coffee while it's still hot.  
Ten minutes to stretch, cry, write, or simply stare out of a window.  
 
These moments don't fix exhaustion. They don’t solve systemic gaps, fragmented services, or the mental load parents carry every day. But they do something quieter and just as important: they signal to the body that it is allowed to exist too.  
 
We've spoken to parents who feel guilty even claiming those minutes. As if stepping away - even briefly - might mean letting something slip. But what we consistently see is the opposite. When parents take small, intentional breaks, they often return more grounded, more patient, more able to respond rather than react.  
 
The challenge is that support systems rarely reflect this reality. 

Services are scattered. Information is fragmented. Help is often available - but not in ways that fit into a life already stretched thin. Parents are asked to research, coordinate, chase, remember, manage. All of that takes time they don't have.  
 
What's missing isn't effort. It's design that respects lived experience.  
 
At lunor.life, we think about time differently.  
 
We think about how support fits into real days - days with interruptions, unpredictability, and emotional weight. Days where ten minutes of clarity can matter more than an hour of theory. Days where parents don't need more to do, but less to hold.  
 
Making the most of ten minutes isn't about optimization. It's about dignity.  
 
It's about acknowledging that parents of neurodiverse children are already doing more than enough - and that any support offered should meet them where they are, not where a system assumes they should be.  
 
Sometimes the most meaningful thing you can do in ten minutes is nothing at all.  
 
And sometimes, it's remembering that you count too.   
 

Lara Marie  
Co-Founder lunor.life