As the New Year begins, we are often bombarded with messages encouraging us to aim high, make big resolutions, and do more. But as parents—especially those navigating disability—this approach can feel overwhelming. Instead of striving for lofty goals, what if we embraced the sacredness of small steps and new beginnings? What if we allowed ourselves the grace to parent differently—in a way that meets the unique needs of our families and honors the season we’re in? For many families like mine, Sunday mornings don’t look like they “should.” We are navigating multiple invisible disabilities—diagnoses like autism, ADHD, anxiety, and more—and we’ve had to embrace flexibility, creativity, and sometimes just letting things go when things feel too hard
When God redeemed my worst Christmas ever by using it for good, it came as a big surprise. Most likely because 1982 was the year of my worst Christmas ever, and the using it for good part didn’t come along until December of 2024. 42 years is a long time, which explains my surprise.
Seasons help us to realize we’re not alone. We might still feel alone but we can see things differently and then change our thinking, and even our responses. We know everyone goes through “stuff” but sometimes we need to recognize it just happens to be our turn. The harder part is that we still have someone we are caring for full time, 24/7 added to the new hard stuff!
For families like mine, with an autistic child and my own ADHD and anxiety, Christmas is rarely “calm” or “bright.” In fact, it is often loud, noisy, and overwhelming. Our children get overwhelmed by the lights and the new items. We, as parents, get overwhelmed by all the mess and noise. There are so many sensory inputs flowing through that you feel like you are in a never-ending vacuum of noise. And, that doesn’t even take into account that I’m operating on just a few hours of sleep after leading multiple Christmas services as a pastor.
Ruth saw a bright future for herself. She didn’t have an exact plan in front of her. But at 18, she vaguely knew what she wanted in the future: a master’s degree, a husband, a job she enjoyed, and children. Emma was on another path altogether. When Emma turned 18, she was already enrolled in a school for students with more significant disabilities.
Halloween is a fun time of year for many children, but it can be a really difficult time for some, including many children with additional/special needs. For them it can be a confusing, anxiety-inducing, or even utterly terrifying time. But it doesn’t have to be like that. If we stop for a moment to think about the things they might find hard and how to put things in place to help them, children with special needs can safely join in the fun, too.
I am no stranger to struggles as someone raising a child with special and medical needs. It is easy for me to downplay the degree to which I am mentally struggling. But I now see that when I claim to be fine when reality suggests otherwise, that’s an unhealthy denial. Here are four signs that my struggles are not “fine,” and some things that have been helpful for me, when I acknowledge these symptoms.
I am exhausted, moody, yet eager to soak in what could be the last nice day of autumn. I hear Joel’s footsteps quicken and turn to see him approaching at a near-run. He grabs my hand, looks me in the eye, grins, and pulls me forward. I wait for him to drop my hand, as he always does, but instead he squeezes it and swings my arm, his grin widening at my delight. For a moment, it feels so right, his hand a perfect fit in mine.
