I found myself in a crowd of around thirty individuals, listening to a panel of experts discussing running techniques (though, since I’m deaf, I focused on their shoes instead). After that, it was my turn to hit the track. I ran laps, traversed pathways, and even sprinted along the beach. The running never stopped.
In the beginning, it was utterly grueling. Add in the fact that I was in my first trimester and out of shape, and it was a recipe for struggle. I had spent years indulging in my bad habits, including a pack of cigarettes a day—so yeah, it was tough, no sugarcoating that.
Raising a child with a disability feels remarkably similar to learning how to run. We start by gathering around, absorbing advice from various sources. Sometimes we get it; often we don’t. Most of their insights stem from their own experiences, so only bits will resonate with us.
Then comes the real work: we advocate for our children, immerse ourselves in new terminologies, and share our stories through blogs or conversations. We vent, we cry, and we sometimes scream—especially when faced with ignorance, like when someone in the grocery store refers to our little sunshine as ‘a mongoloid retard.’
We grapple with our pasts, recalling every imperfect moment—did I really say I was having a “special” day? Did I laugh at those outdated jokes on TV? Did I think it was funny when someone mentioned Downieville as the so-called Down syndrome capital? It’s enough to make us want to retreat into ourselves.
Yet, despite the challenges, we push forward. Our love for our children drives us to keep going. Because if we don’t advocate for them, who will?
Eventually, things start to shift. We grow stronger, become more knowledgeable, and build a network of supportive friends. We learn to pace ourselves and breathe easier while we navigate this journey.
When we attend meetings and meet new parents, we feel a rush of gratitude for how far we’ve come. We’ve learned to run this race, but we still remember the struggle—the burning in our lungs as we fought to move just one more block.
Then reality hits again with new challenges, and suddenly, we feel like we’ve hit a brick wall. We want to stop; it seems too overwhelming. But then, as if by instinct, we take a deep breath, sip our coffee, and somehow find the strength to carry on.
Our breathing becomes steadier, and we discover that we can lend a hand to others. We can encourage them, remind them they’re not alone, and help them navigate the unfamiliar world of special needs.
The day finally arrives when someone calls us a beacon of acceptance, and we can’t help but laugh. We laugh so hard it brings tears to our eyes—a silent acknowledgment of all the hard moments and lessons learned along the way. None of us is a perfect example of acceptance, yet in our own ways, we all are.
Because at the heart of it, we care. We love. This journey isn’t a sprint; it’s a relay—a shared experience between generations of parents. We’re all in this together, learning and growing because we love our kids.
If you’re interested in more insights on this journey, check out our other blog post on home insemination. For authoritative information on home insemination kits, visit Make a Mom. And for a deeper understanding of pregnancy and fertility, Medical News Today is an excellent resource.
Summary
Raising a child with special needs is akin to learning to run—challenging at first, but with persistence and love, it becomes a journey of growth, strength, and community support. Each step is vital, as we learn to embrace and advocate for our children.