28/08/2025
Today felt heavy.
I spent so much of the day on the phone — with the school, with providers, trying to piece together how to best support my child and understand her needs. I do this work every single day in my professional life. I know the system, I know the language, I know the pathways. And yet, when it’s my own child, it feels like a completely different mountain to climb.
Advocating is hard. Even when you “know” what to do. Even when you work in the system. Because when it’s your child, the stakes feel higher, the emotions run deeper, and the fatigue hits harder. Every conversation feels charged with love, fear, and the constant drive to make sure your child doesn’t just get by, but actually thrives.
Parenting a child with additional support needs in a neurotypical world is tough. The world isn’t designed with them in mind — and that makes everyday tasks, from school drop-offs to navigating services, feel like battles you shouldn’t have to fight. It’s not the child that’s the challenge. It’s the systems, the red tape, the lack of flexibility, and the reminders that inclusion is still something we have to push so hard for.
By the end of today, I was exhausted. Not because I don’t love my child fiercely — I do, more than anything. But because the weight of constantly being the advocate, the translator, the problem-solver, the one holding it all together, takes its toll. And if I’m feeling this way as someone who understands the system, I can only imagine how overwhelming it must feel for parents who are trying to navigate it for the first time.
To those parents: I see you. To the ones making calls on their lunch breaks, writing emails late at night, showing up to meetings with tears held back, fighting battles that others don’t see — you are not alone.
Some days will feel like a win, others will feel like this — draining and relentless. And that’s okay. It doesn’t mean we’re not strong, it just means we’re human.