#disability parenting

[swirlymind]

Help Your Child Gain Self-Confidence and Acceptance Through Understanding Kids are smart. As a parent I am sure you can testify to that. Everyday kids do things that simply blow your mind, e…

This is my article about why you should tell your disabled child about their disability. I wrote it because I know of so many people who didn’t know they had a disability until later on in life, not because it was undiagnosed, but because their parents didn’t tell them.

[vickierubin]

Parenting a child with disabilities is more than love — it’s appointments, therapies, and constant advocacy. But stress doesn’t just live inside us; it seeps into our homes and our children’s worlds. 🌱 This piece explores how stress shows up, how to manage it, and why self-care isn’t a luxury — it’s survival. 💙 👉 Read more about coping strategies, real-life tools, and building support that lifts both you and your child. #RaisingJess #SpecialNeedsParenting #CaregiverSupport #ParentingStress #RaisingResilience

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[gingerautie]

On that holland poem.

"I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......"

The "Holland poem" is one that is frequently bandied about by parents of disabled children, many of whom seem to be under the impression that it doesn't express a huge amount of resentment for their child.

In going over this poem, I've removed the metaphor. And I've addressed it to the disabled child of these parents. I've attempted a very literal translation of the metaphor, and things I feel are strongly implied but not outright in the text are in brackets and italics. The poem in it's original form is below my version.

When we planned to have a baby, we were planning for something fabulous - like your cousin Anna. You know, the one who plays the violin, is popular, perfect, and going off to study medicine next year. We bought books on raising a child like her, or my best friend's son Matthew, the one who's good at rugby, and debating. We made all these plans for raising a child like that. Graduation, 18th birthday parties, first words. We learnt some things about raising children like that, and we were very excited.

After months of eager anticipation, the day arrived. We went to the hospital, where I gave birth to you after several hours. The nurse came in, and told us that instead of a child like Anna or Matthew, we had you.

"A child like you?!?!" I said. "What do you mean a child like you?? I signed up for a child like Anna or Matthew! I was supposed to get a child like them. I've dreamed all my life of having a child like them." (you are not what we wanted)

But you were born, disabled, and we were stuck with you.

The important thing was that you weren't horrible, or disgusting, or dirty. You were just different. (to what we wanted)

So, we went out and bought different books. And we learnt a different way to raise our child. And we met a whole new set of people we wouldn't have otherwise met.

You're just different. You're slower, and not as pretty as your cousins. But now we've got to know you, we realise that actually, there are good things about you too. Even brilliant things.

But everyone we know has children like Anna or Matthew.. and they all talk about how much they love their children. And for the rest of our lives  we will say "yes we were supposed to get a child like that, that was the kind of child we wanted".

And the pain of not getting a child different to you will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of our imaginary child is a very significant loss.

But... if we spent our lives mourning the fact that we didn't get our own little Anna or Matthew, we would never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about you. 

"When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts."

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland."

A question, for you, parents of disabled children. Would you read the poem minus the metaphor to your child? No? Then don't read the other one to them.

And if you honestly view the loss of an imaginary child, who, let me emphasise this, never existed outside of your mind, as "significant", then you need to get the hell over yourself. 

And please remember, that you knew that some people got on that flight and ended up in holland. You know disabled people exist. You know that some people give birth to disabled children. You got on a flight saying "random european country" and then threw a hissy fit about not ending up in Italy, and went round telling all the people in holland how much you mourn the fact that you ended up there, not italy.

This is not a poem about love, or learning to love. It's about resentment, and entitlement about getting the child you imagined.