By: Jamie Parker
Updated: Jan. 7, 2016
Originally Published: Jan. 16, 2013
I stood among a group of 30 others, soaking in insights from experts about running. Of course, being deaf meant I wasn’t able to hear much, so I focused on the shoes instead. I practiced diligently, sprinting around tracks, pathways, sidewalks, and even the beach. I kept pushing forward.
In the beginning, it was incredibly challenging. I was in my first trimester of pregnancy, out of shape, and carrying extra weight. My lungs, having endured two decades of smoking, were less than thrilled. It was undeniably tough, and I won’t sugarcoat it.
Raising a child with special needs is quite reminiscent of learning to run. We gather, listen to a myriad of voices advising us on the best course of action. Some of it resonates, but much of it doesn’t. Often, these voices speak from their own experiences, sharing bits of wisdom that may or may not apply to our unique situations.
Then we take off running. We advocate fiercely for our child, absorb new terminology surrounding disabilities, and engage in conversations that range from hopeful to heartbreaking. We shed tears, especially when an insensitive comment is directed at our beloved child, who is so much more than a label.
We delve deep into our own thoughts, confronting every awkward and politically incorrect moment from our past. Did I really say I was having a “special” day? Did I find humor in hurtful jokes? The weight of these realizations can be overwhelming, and it’s tempting to retreat. We don’t want to be the “PC police,” nor do we want to confront professionals who belittle our children.
Yet, despite our frustration, we press on. We do it for our kids, for all kids, because if we don’t stand up for them, who will? Gradually, it gets easier.
As we grow stronger and more knowledgeable, we become adept at navigating the system. We learn the acronyms and find our allies in the community. We realize we’re not alone in this journey.
With time, we find our rhythm. We attend meetings where we see new parents, those who are just beginning their own races. We feel immense gratitude for having made progress, even if we occasionally remember the arduous struggles of the past.
However, new challenges arise, reminiscent of encountering a brick wall during a run. We face prejudice, and we’re met with dismissive attitudes that downplay our children’s potential. At times, it feels like we’ve hit a wall and want to stop altogether.
But just when we think we can’t go on, we take a deep breath, gather our strength, and push through. We find that it does get easier again. We become able to uplift others, encouraging them and letting them know they are not alone. We remember that, for them, the path is still fresh and daunting.
Eventually, someone might call us a beacon of acceptance, and we can’t help but laugh. We laugh until tears stream down our faces, acknowledging the struggles we’ve endured and the growth we’ve achieved.
The truth is, none of us are perfect representations of acceptance, yet we all strive to be. We care, we love, and we are all in this together. This journey isn’t a sprint; it’s a relay—an ongoing exchange of knowledge and support among generations of parents.
Because, ultimately, we love our children.
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In summary, raising a special needs child is a challenging yet rewarding journey filled with trials and triumphs. As we navigate this path, we grow stronger and more resilient while supporting others along the way.
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