If I had a nickel for every time someone said, “But he looks normal.”
I know people mean well.
But that sentence carries more weight than most realize.
Nobody tells you that becoming a special needs parent also means earning an unofficial PhD in Googling.
Because now that we understand how everything collides, we can finally talk about what actually helped — at home, at school, and in moments of crisis — and what absolutely didn’t.
If I could go back, I’d give that version of me a big ole hug and tell her that this no diagnosis will define Eli as a person, but they will define who you become as a mom. Stronger. More resilient. More determined. You’ll learn to question, to push, to fight, to advocate.
Every diagnosis will feel like another storm, but each one will build something more in you too – a thicker skin and a courage that you didn’t know you were capable of.
We thought we’d found the perfect formula – the perfect combination of spectacles, medications, IEP goals, tutoring, and therapy sessions.
For a minute, it worked beautifully, but this new routine was sitting atop a wobbly foundation. A patch at best.
A patch that would inevitably rupture.
I will never, never forget Eli’s first day of kindergarten. We had always struggled at school drop-off with Eli. Like – big time. He would start crying the moment we pulled into the parking lot. After we moved back home from Chicago, we started to fall into a pretty good groove. The tears were still…
Behind every “he’s fine, mama” is a mom who’s collecting doubts like nickels.
By Kinder, my nickel jar was full – and my gut was right.
Waiting wasn’t working.
New post – The 1st Nickels – live tonight on the blog. Link in Bio.
