As I eagerly awaited the arrival of my first child, I was fully convinced that motherhood was going to be my forte. Having cared for babies since I was practically a child myself and being a complete kid-lover, I thought I had this whole parenting gig down. I had navigated through minor life challenges without a hitch and believed that hard work equated to success. Surely, parenting would be no different.
Reality hit hard and fast. Despite having devoured parenting books and even teaching parenting classes, nothing prepared me for the whirlwind of emotions and challenges that came with my spirited little one. I remember a playdate with a psychologist friend on a frigid winter day. For an entire hour, my son seemed hell-bent on smacking her daughter, leaving me red-faced and mortified. We eventually decided it was nap time.
“Maybe he’s just frustrated because he can’t express himself,” she suggested. And there it was—my son’s development was lagging. No matter how much we worked at it, he was falling behind in every area. “I can always tell which parents are reading to their kids,” his speech therapist said, her tone dripping with self-satisfaction. I barely held back my frustration; I had read to him for a full hour every single day since he was born!
Alongside his developmental delays, my son began to show sensitivity to light and irritability from clothing tags. When combined with my refusal to give in to his every whim, this often led to meltdowns in public spaces. It was implied on more than one occasion that we needed to sharpen our parenting skills. The evidence of our dedication as parents wasn’t reflected in our son’s behavior or progress.
Eventually, we discovered that our son was on the autism spectrum, along with several other medical challenges. While this diagnosis shifted our world, it didn’t shield us from the feeling that we were falling short everywhere else. As we depleted our savings on therapy and medical bills, we found ourselves borrowing money from my parents. Our financial statements painted a very different picture from the one we wanted to portray.
While our friends enjoyed spontaneous weekend getaways and romantic dinners, we took turns in our son’s room, desperate for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. As our neighbors enjoyed date nights, we headed to therapy sessions to mend the cracks in our marriage caused by exhaustion and relentless responsibilities. The love we felt for each other was often lost in the chaos, and marital bliss felt like a distant memory.
Before autism entered our lives, we made it to every family gathering, remembered birthdays, and were always there for our loved ones. Post-diagnosis, we found ourselves missing weddings and even funerals, unable to find suitable care for our son. Traveling became a Herculean task, and the thought of preparing allergen-free meals on the road was overwhelming. Our dedication to family was lost amid the challenges we faced.
As my neighbors meticulously manicured their lawns, we made it our goal to mow before the grass hit eight inches. Our pride as homeowners was shattered when we received a letter from the homeowners’ association regarding our less-than-acceptable yard.
While friends trained for marathons and thrived on vegan diets, I found myself sneaking snacks out of exhaustion, too drained to whip up a proper meal after running endless errands and appointments. My career ambitions took a backseat as my son’s undiagnosed health issues made it impossible to place him in childcare. I was failing to take care of myself too.
Each day felt like trudging through quicksand. I often lamented to my father in the Target parking lot, “I have nothing to show for all my hard work!”
But over time, it dawned on me that my definitions of success and failure were skewed. I was judging my parenting based on my child’s happiness, health, and behavior—and my own self-worth on how often I made it to the gym or looked presentable. The reality of raising a child with special needs was that my efforts didn’t always translate into visible progress.
Success, I learned, is measured by the love we pour into the process, not the end results. It’s about the countless hours spent engaging in our son’s fervent discussions about heating vents, the sleepless nights supporting him through anxiety, and the patience shown during his endless questions. It’s found in the nutritious meals I carefully prepare for him, the resources we prioritize for his comfort, and the research we conduct late into the night in search of better solutions.
Our successes aren’t flashy or easily observable—they lie in the quiet, everyday acts of love that might go unnoticed.
As I reflect on my journey, I realize that tired parents everywhere are not failing. The depth of our love shines through our daily sacrifices and the mundane tasks we accomplish. As poet Daniel Ladinsky aptly said, “Even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth, ‘You owe me.’”
To my fellow warrior parents, your love lights up your child’s world each day. Your efforts, though thankless, are indeed noble and meaningful.
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In summary, the journey of raising a child with special needs is a unique one, often fraught with challenges that may cloud our perception of success. However, success is not simply about the visible achievements; it’s rooted in love, patience, and the small, everyday victories that shape our parenting experience.