By: Sarah Thompson
You might remember me from several months back—the mom of the child who adamantly refuses to wear the Gi, the essential karate uniform. You reached out when I felt invisible, offering your support and advice during difficult times. I genuinely appreciated your suggestions, even though I had already tried many of them. You even attempted to engage with my son one day when he was having a tough time, but he pulled his “ostrich act,” turning away and pretending he wasn’t there.
You observed as my son gradually grew more at ease in the dojo, which was a relief, except for the fact that running around and flapping his arms before class while others practiced was deemed unacceptable. You likely witnessed my struggles to keep him in check, week after week. Perhaps you saw the day I tried everything to coax, bribe, and force him into the uniform, leading to a screaming and tear-streaked meltdown. Or you might recall the moment when his anger turned physical, and I had to restrain him in a way that looked like a bear hug, all while hoping to avoid chaos in the crowded waiting area. I still carry the bruises from that episode.
Then today came. My son, completely unaware of his surroundings, accidentally knocked your son hard in the eye. As your child cried, mine didn’t even acknowledge what had happened; instead, he flopped to the floor like a limp noodle. You comforted your son and sent him back into class, while I anxiously pulled my son out after just ten minutes of chaotic dancing and flailing. Thankfully, my friend was there, allowing me to send him to the car with her while his brothers stayed for the rest of the class. Afterward, I approached you to express my apologies for my son’s behavior.
“It’s fine,” you said, though your tone implied otherwise.
“It’s really not, and I’m so sorry,” I replied, feeling the weight of the situation.
While I sat waiting to discuss with the instructor about possibly withdrawing my son from the class, maybe you noticed the tear that slipped down my cheek. I can’t recall your exact words, but you wrapped your arms around me in a hug that I didn’t feel I deserved. You hugged me again and reassured me that everything would be okay.
You were right. It will be okay. Some days, like today, I feel completely overwhelmed. Yet, every night, I pray for guidance to be the parent my child needs. Each morning, I wake up determined to be that mom. While I don’t wish for my son to fit a neurotypical mold—I love him fiercely just as he is, a sentiment I know you understand—I do want to equip him with the tools he needs to navigate a world that often feels foreign to him. That is my goal, every single day.
Thank you for that hug on this challenging day. It was something I truly needed.
Warm regards,
Liam’s Mom
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Summary: This heartfelt letter captures the struggles of a mother navigating the challenges of parenting a child with unique needs in a karate class environment. It expresses gratitude for support, acknowledges the difficulties faced, and emphasizes the importance of understanding and empathy among parents.