In my early 20s, I found myself fascinated and deeply curious about autism while working hands-on at a special place called Education Spectrum in Altadena, CA. I didn’t know why I felt so drawn, but I followed that inner pull. That curiosity became my Master’s thesis in 2007, titled Autism: An Extraordinary Opportunity in Education, where I wrote about autism through the lens of a whole child approach.
At the time, I didn’t fully understand why my heart was so invested. I just knew it mattered. Fast forward to 2025—eighteen years later—and I find myself building something that reflects the very seeds I planted back then.
While searching through bins in storage recently, I came across a hard copy of my thesis. Reading those pages brought me to tears. So much of what I dreamed about and wrote then, I am now living and creating. Not word for word, but the essence—the vision— is similar.
Today, I offer services as a trauma-informed somatic practitioner, supporting children on the autism spectrum and their families through a whole child, whole family approach. My work is about more than strategies or behaviors—it is about connection, regulation, and resilience, through somatic approaches that support the body, helping children and families feel safe and regulated. I remain deeply committed to continuing to advocate for these children and their families, ensuring they are seen and supported.
Back then, I could not have imagined the path I would walk. I have spent these years raising and homeschooling my two children, and through that, learning more than any textbook could have taught me. With the addition of my two-year Somatica training, a trauma-informed somatic-based program, I am now stepping more fully into this work, and it feels both brand new and divinely familiar.
There is a reason God has guided me back to this place. I feel it in my bones. The years in between were not wasted—they were preparation. They were life shaping me, training me, humbling me, and reminding me what really matters.
I never would have guessed I would return to this work after so many seasons passed, but now I can see the thread... I was always being guided here.
With gratitude for this journey and for the children and families I have the honor of supporting,
Tovah Petra
Tovah Petra
We are at a turning point in how we care for children—especially neurodivergent ones. For too long, developmental support has relied on behavior management, compliance, and control. But what if the real transformation begins with connection?
Instead of asking, “How do I get this child to behave?” we could ask, “How can I help this child feel safe enough to thrive?”
In my work with neurodivergent children—in homes, schools, and community settings—I have seen that what they need most is relational safety. They long to be met by someone who can hold their emotions, understand the nuances of their communication, and accept them fully—without rushing to fix, shut down, or shame them. Equally important is giving them the space and support to regulate their own nervous systems, so they can build lasting skills to feel grounded from within.
Why Regulation Comes First
When a child is dysregulated—overwhelmed or shut down—they cannot learn or engage. Their nervous system is doing what it was designed to do: protect. In that protective state—fight, flight, freeze, or fawn—they cannot access logic, language, or connection.
Many behaviors we label as “problematic” are actually nervous system responses. When we regulate ourselves first, we invite children into co-regulation. Emotional safety is built not through demanding calm, but through embodying calm. Not through punishment, but through presence.
A key part of this approach is attuning to subtle cues—tiny shifts in posture, gaze, or facial expression—and responding in a way that meets the child where they are. Regulation is not about compliance; it is about creating a relationship in which the child feels reliably safe.
Relational Engagement Is Everyone’s Job
One of the most powerful shifts we can make is to stop thinking of emotional development as a job only for specialists. Teachers, paraeducators, occupational therapists, counselors, and parents all play a role in a child’s relational ecosystem.
The tone you use.
The way you respond to dysregulation.
The presence or absence of empathy in a challenging moment.
All of it shapes a child’s nervous system, self-worth, and capacity for trust. When all adults recognize their role in co-regulation, we create a culture where no one says, “That’s not my job” when a child is struggling. We come closer. We listen with our whole bodies. We hold space for the child—and each other.
Practical Ways to Bring Co-Regulation Into Daily Life
Co-regulation can be woven into everyday moments. Attuning to a child’s nervous system and responding with empathy allows them to feel seen, understood, and safe:
• Start with your own regulation. Take a slow breath before responding. Children feel our nervous system state more than they hear our words.
• Observe micro-signals. Notice subtle shifts in posture, gaze, or expression as cues to their emotional state.
• Lower your voice, not your boundaries. Calm, steady tones bring a child back into safety while maintaining limits.
• Offer a regulating anchor. Gentle touch, rhythmic movement, or simply sitting nearby invites reconnection.
• Name what you notice. “I see your hands are tight and your face is frowning. I am here with you.” Naming without judgment helps a child feel seen.
• Practice during calm moments. Regulation skills build best through play, joy, and connection—not just during crises.
These are not “fix-it” tools; they are ways of showing up so safety and connection become the norm. Integrating attunement into daily routines helps children learn that the world can be predictable, safe, and supportive.
A New Standard of Care
Regulating to relate is not a checklist—it is a daily practice. It asks us to slow down, stay grounded, and offer the presence many of us needed ourselves as children. It is a radical shift, but a deeply human one.
When co-regulation and emotional attunement become shared language across homes, schools, and clinics, we step into something profound. We become not just educators, providers, or parents—we become relational stewards of the next generation.
In that shared space, we find something powerful:
A culture rooted not in control, but in connection.
And from that place, everything begins to grow.
Parenting a child with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is a profound journey of love, resilience, and devotion. It’s also one that can put tremendous strain on a couple’s intimacy. Many parents silently shoulder the stress of therapies, school meetings, and caregiving, while quietly experiencing a growing disconnect from their partner.
Research shows that parents of children with ASD face higher-than-average rates of divorce. A study found that about 23.5% of parents of children with autism divorced, compared to 13.8% of parents of neurotypical children. Another long-term study following families into adulthood found that 36% of parents of children with autism had divorced by the time their child turned 30. While the myth of an “80% divorce rate” has been debunked, the truth remains: parenting a neurodivergent child increases stress and can deeply affect a couple’s relationship.
So why is intimacy so difficult for many of these parents?
First, there’s the sheer exhaustion. Many children with autism need higher levels of support, which can mean disrupted sleep, heightened behavioral challenges, and constant advocacy in schools or healthcare settings. By the time parents have a moment together, they’re depleted.
Second, partners often slide into co-managing the household and therapies, which leaves little space for romance. Conversations become about logistics rather than longing. Couples start to feel like roommates instead of lovers.
Third, guilt plays a role. Many parents believe they should always put their child’s needs first, leaving no room to prioritize their own connection. But intimacy isn’t a luxury—it’s a lifeline. Without it, disconnection grows, stress multiplies, and resentment can build quietly over time.
And then, there’s the silence. Parents often don’t talk about how isolated, touch-starved, or lonely they feel in their relationships. Without vulnerability, intimacy withers.
The good news is that intimacy can be nurtured, even in the most stressful circumstances. Progress doesn’t come from sweeping changes overnight, but from small, consistent shifts. Here are some ways forward:
- Create micro-moments of connection. Pause to hold hands, exchange a long hug, or share eye contact. These little acts regulate the nervous system and remind you that you’re more than just co-parents.
- Talk vulnerably. Share not just your stress but your desires, longings, and fears. Bringing your full, authentic self into connection naturally deepens intimacy.
- Schedule couple time. It may feel unromantic at first, but creating protected time for closeness ensures it doesn’t get lost. Even 15 minutes a day can help rebuild intimacy.
- Seek pleasure in simple ways. Intimacy isn’t only about sex. A shared laugh, a gentle massage, showering together, or a walk can all bring the body and heart back into connection.
- Ask for support. Respite care, family help, or leaning on a community can open space for your relationship. You don’t have to do this alone.
Your intimacy matters. Not only for your relationship, but for your ability to feel grounded, resourced, and connected as a parent. When your relationship is nurtured, your whole family feels the ripple effect of safety and love.
If you’re feeling the weight of disconnection in your partnership, know that you’re not alone. I help parents create the vulnerability, safety, and connection that allows intimacy to come to life again. I’d love to connect with you.
Warmly,
Tovah Petra
Tovah Petra
Feeling ready to reconnect and bring intimacy back to life in your relationship? You can book a complimentary 15-minute consultation with me here: tovahpetra.com
I hear it all the time:
“I just say yes, even when my whole body wants to say no. It feels easier to go through the motions than to deal with conflict. But afterward, I feel empty—disconnected from him, and from myself.” This is obligation sex. It happens when intimacy comes not from desire, but from guilt, pressure, or fear.
“I just say yes, even when my whole body wants to say no. It feels easier to go through the motions than to deal with conflict. But afterward, I feel empty—disconnected from him, and from myself.” This is obligation sex. It happens when intimacy comes not from desire, but from guilt, pressure, or fear.
It might feel like the easier option in the moment. But over time, it erodes trust, drains passion, and leaves both partners unsatisfied. Obligation sex isn’t about how often you have it—it’s about the why. It happens when you agree to sex out of guilt or duty, when you override your body’s truth to avoid conflict, or when sex feels more like a task than a place of connection. On the surface, it might look like closeness. But underneath, it creates resentment, shame, and disconnection.
The cost of saying yes when you mean no is heavy. Resentment builds. Desire fades. Trust erodes, because your partner can feel when your yes isn’t real. And shame grows as you begin to wonder if something is wrong with you.
Passionate sex, on the other hand, isn’t about performance or constant fireworks—it’s about choice. When your yes is real, intimacy feels playful, nourishing, curious, and alive. It roots you in love and freedom, not fear or duty.
So why do so many couples slip into obligation? Cultural conditioning plays a big role, especially for women who were taught that saying no is selfish or unsafe. Add in mismatched desire, conflict avoidance, lack of emotional safety, or internalized shame, and it’s easy to fall into a cycle of obligation without even noticing. The real problem isn’t landing there—it’s staying stuck without realizing how much it costs.
Shifting from obligation to desire starts with small but powerful practices: honoring your no so there’s space for a true yes, redefining intimacy so it doesn’t always mean penetration or orgasm, creating emotional safety where boundaries are respected, talking openly about what lights you up and what shuts you down, and valuing quality over quantity. One wholehearted yes is worth more than ten half-hearted ones.
Your YES matters. Your NO matters. YOU matter.
There’s nothing wrong with you if you’ve been caught in obligation sex—you’re human. But the most erotic gift you can bring to your partner is your truth.
The next time you’re about to say yes, pause and ask:
👉 Is this a yes from my body and heart—or from guilt and fear?
A true yes is where intimacy, trust, and passion are born.
In Intimacy & Truth,
Tovah Petra
This past weekend, I stepped into something new... I was invited as a lead speaker at an event on Sex, Intimacy, and Neurodiversity. I had prepared, reflected, and carried my heart into the space. But when it was my turn to speak, something unexpected happened — I blanked out. My nervous system froze, and all the words I had hoped to share scattered like leaves in the wind. I saw grey.
In the moment, I felt embarrassed. The self-judgment came quickly... "I failed. I should have done better. Why couldn’t I just say what I planned?" But then, something deeper surfaced — the realization that what happened wasn’t failure at all. It was my nervous system doing exactly what nervous systems do when they perceive threat or overwhelm: moving into freeze to protect me. And isn’t that the very heart of what I teach? That our bodies are always speaking, always protecting, always guiding us back to safety?
The freeze response isn’t a mistake. It’s the body’s ancient way of pausing when things feel too much, too big, too fast. While my mind judged the blank-out as a failure, my body was showing me a live demonstration of the very nervous system wisdom I often share with clients and families. In a way, my body became my teacher in that moment.
Intimacy — whether with ourselves, our partners, or our communities — isn’t about polished perfection. It’s about showing up authentically. Sometimes that means words flow like poetry. Other times, it means we stumble, freeze, or fall silent. And still, connection is possible. In fact, intimacy deepens when we allow our full humanity to be seen — even the messy, uncomfortable parts.
What I wish I had said in that moment is this: Sex and intimacy aren’t just about pleasure or performance. They are about connection — to our bodies, our partners, our nervous systems, and our truth. And when we can honor the ways our bodies respond — whether through desire, vulnerability, or even freeze — we open new doorways to compassion and presence.
Instead of letting my embarrassment define me, I am choosing to let it empower me. This experience reminded me that courage doesn’t always look like delivering a perfect speech. Sometimes courage looks like showing up, freezing, and then staying present enough to keep going.
So if you’ve ever frozen, gone blank, or felt like you failed in a moment that mattered to you — know this... you are not a failure. You are human. Your nervous system is wise. And every time you show up, even imperfectly, you build resilience and deepen your capacity for connection.
My invitation — to myself and to you — is to embrace those moments when the body takes over. To meet ourselves with compassion instead of criticism. To remember that intimacy and connection are born not from flawless delivery, but from authentic presence.
Because in the end, it’s not about never freezing. It’s about learning how to thaw with grace, compassion, and connection.
With love and gratitude,
Tovah Petra
Tovah Petra
