Breakthrough or Breakdown

For a little while, it felt like we had solved it.

The glasses, the medication, the IEP, the tutoring—it was like lining up dominoes in the exact right order. And when we finally pushed the first one over, progress tumbled forward.

Eli started identifying colors without hesitation. He could point to shapes and call them by name. He even started recognizing letters that used to swim on the page. The things that once felt like impossible mountains were finally becoming manageable molehills.

I remember watching him one night, sitting at the kitchen island, his extra-large Ticonderoga pencil gripped tightly in his hand. He formed the shaky outline of an “E.” It wasn’t perfect—maybe backward—but it was there. An E for Eli. My heart soared. Later that school year, he wrote his first and last name all by himself for the very first time.

He was climbing, and my mama heart was so stinkin’ happy.

But the climb was exhausting. Every ounce of progress came with carefully and precisely constructed scaffolding: glasses cleaned and adjusted daily, medication given at the exact right time, IEP sessions, private tutoring after school every other day, and speech therapy on the opposite days. There was no room for life to happen—no margin for sick days, late mornings, or missed appointments.

And when the scaffolding faltered, so did Eli.

We could count on a negative report from school if we forgot his medicine (by negative, I mean Eli would get so overwhelmed with the work on missed-med days that he would shut down—usually putting his head on his desk and refusing to participate). Every school break brought skill regression. A week’s worth of tutoring gains could vanish in a single weekend.

The progress was real, but it was extremely fragile.

The school called it growth. They charted graphs and highlighted incremental gains. But I could see the bigger picture—how hard Eli had to work for each small victory, and how quickly he could lose it. I was supposed to feel reassured, but instead I always felt uneasy—always waiting for the next shoe to drop.

It wasn’t just about “catching up” anymore. It was about catching up and keeping up. And I could already see how unsustainable the pace was—for him and for us.

For a while, I let myself believe we had found the formula: the right services, the right supports, the right tools. But deep down, I knew. This wasn’t a permanent solution. It was a temporary patch.

And sooner or later, the patch would tear…

I think we can all see the big, nasty patch-tearer – no, patch-destroyer coming…

Enter COVID-19 and exit any signs of progress along with everyone’s sanity…

Susan