When I was learning about kindergarten options for Ocean, everyone mentioned the ASD Nest Program. I’d heard that it’s a small NYC public school program with far too many applicants for the available seats.
Even though I was repeatedly told that Ocean was an ideal candidate, I knew he was unlikely to be offered a spot.
On the other hand, it seemed to be our one and only appropriate option.
I did a ridiculous amount of research.
Most parents of neurodivergent kids I know deserve a master’s degree in navigating the system. If only!
I went to a panel discussion of parents who had recently gone through the Turning 5 process. Their children were attending a variety of Special Education settings, and the organizers had specifically asked parents who had been through the process recently because bureaucratic details can change from year to year. (That’s where Alma and Jenny and I decided to start our text group.)
I remember listening closely and taking lots of notes.
One parent on the panel had just succeeded in getting her child into the Nest Program. She said she had regularly emailed and called administrators with updates and questions. She said lots of other things, too, but that suggestion stuck with me.
I followed her advice, along with other advice that came my way, especially from parents who had been through the process.
Long story short, Ocean was accepted into the program! I have no proof that any of the steps I followed made a difference, but a year or two later, I sat on a similar panel to share my own story.
I had taken such detailed notes during that year that I was able to create a timeline of the whole arduous process. Afterward, at least one parent told me that the timeline had been reassuring and gave them some perspective on what they were facing.
I had been the parent looking for answers.
Now I was the parent with something to offer.
I think about that exchange often, because we might imagine support as something that flows in one direction. We need advice, so we seek out the people who know more. We need reassurance, so we find someone who has been there before.
But that’s not the whole story.
Growth Happens When We Share The Burden
The parent who gives you one useful piece of information may be carrying his own uncertainty. The parent who listens while you fall apart may have gone home and cried herself. The person who seems to know what they’re doing may be figuring it out as they go, just like you are.
I often find myself taking on a leadership role in the communities I’m part of. It’s fulfilling, but it can also be isolating. Not because I’m hiding my struggles, but because there’s an inherent expectation that a leader will have more to give.
That’s not always the case.
I just know how to hold space.
As a trained trauma-informed group facilitator, and as a highly sensitive person, I’m often attuned to what other people are feeling. As a mindfulness teacher and practitioner, I’ve got plenty of experience in active listening without immediately trying to solve.
I know there’s healing in being heard by someone who can laugh and cry alongside you because they’ve been there, too.
But that doesn’t mean I have everything figured out.
In fact, I wonder if one of the gifts of community is that we get to see our own growth while we’re in the messy middle of it.
As parents raising neurodivergent kids, we’re particularly vulnerable to isolation and overwhelm because of the realities of navigating an ableist world. So much of the time, we’re trying to figure out whether we’re doing enough for our kids, whether we’re advocating hard enough, whether we’ve missed something, whether we’re getting it right.
It’s easy to lose sight of what we’ve learned so far.
Think about everything you’ve mastered, against all odds.
Maybe you know which questions to ask at an IEP meeting, and which battles are worth fighting. Maybe you’ve learned to recognize when your child needs space, or how to repair after a conflict.
Or you know what it feels like to be where another parent is right now. That matters.
Leading and supporting in community can be confidence-building, especially for parents who feel insecure in their parenting much of the time. We don’t suddenly become experts, but we do get to recognize how much we’ve grown.
Sometimes, the parent who once desperately asked a million questions becomes the parent who patiently helps someone else.
We can share what we’ve learned, listen without needing to solve, or simply say, “This is what happened to me.” We can laugh and cry together. We can remember that none of us is parenting perfectly, and we all have something of value to contribute.
You don’t have to have it all figured out to have something to offer.
Please share a tip you learned from another parent here:
A kinder future for our kids begins with kindness toward ourselves.
This is so true, thank you for this pep talk! I'm a "certified ADHD Parenting coach." Yet, I hesitate to even tell people this sometimes precisely because of what you name. I don't have all the answers. I struggle with my own kid sometimes.
Remembering that you don't have to have it all figure out to have something to offer is key for all of us!