by Kayla Myers, Peer Support coordinator

July 21, 2025

Every year, National Parents’ Day comes and goes, and honestly, I didn’t even know it existed until a few years ago. There are no balloons or wrapped gifts. No themed parties, school plays, or glittery cards like we see on Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. And honestly? That’s what makes it feel more real to me.

Parenting doesn’t usually look like a greeting card. It’s unfiltered. It’s behind the scenes. It’s deeply personal. It’s also the hardest, but most sacred, thing I’ve ever done.

Parenting is early mornings with tired eyes and late nights filled with worry. It’s asking myself, Did I say the right thing? Was I too soft? Too strict? Too distracted? Too emotional? Am I giving them enough? Am I enough? It’s making a thousand decisions a day and second-guessing at least half of them. It’s pouring from a cup that sometimes feels empty, and still showing up the next day with whatever strength I can find. Because their love keeps me going.

And yet, even in the chaos, there is so much beauty.

There’s laughter that echoes through the house, sometimes because of something silly, sometimes for no reason at all. There are milestones—and messy milestones. Little victories that might go unnoticed by the world, but mean everything to us. There are those quiet, sacred moments when I look at my kids and catch a glimpse of the people they’re becoming, and I think, “I get to be their mom.” That thought alone has carried me through some of the toughest days.

Parenting doesn’t come with a manual. I learned that fast the day I brought my oldest home from the hospital. And no two parenting journeys look the same. There are seasons of pure joy, and there are seasons that feel like sheer survival. I’ve had to learn to let go of the idea that I need to do it all on my own. I’ve leaned on the support of other parents. I’ve asked for help, even when it was hard. And I’ve reminded myself that perfection isn’t the goal, presence is.

So this month, in honor of National Parents’ Day, I want to pause and recognize all of us who are simply doing the best we can.

Whether you’re a birth parent, adoptive parent, foster parent, bonus parent, grandparent raising grandchildren, or a chosen parent, your love matters. Your consistency matters. YOU matter.

Let’s keep building each other up. Let’s offer grace instead of guilt. Let’s remind ourselves—and each other—that even on the hardest days, we are doing something deeply meaningful.

Because at the heart of parenting lies a quiet, powerful truth: we are shaping lives with our love. It may be messy. It may be imperfect. But it is real and it is enough.

From one parent to another: Happy National Parents’ Day. You’re doing better than you think.

With love and solidarity,
A fellow mom who gets it

(Edited and Enhanced by ChatGPT)

by Kayla Myers, Peer Support coordinator

June 24, 2025

I’m a mom of boys, loud, messy, hilarious, curious, deep-feeling boys.

And if I’m honest, one of my greatest hopes, besides them eventually learning to do their laundry and clean up after themselves, is that they grow into men who feel safe being whole. Not just strong or stoic or successful. But soft when they need to be. Honest. Vulnerable. Supported.

Because here’s the truth, one I’ve heard from every mom of boys and quietly carried myself: the world still struggles to let our sons be fully human.

We tell our kids, “It’s okay to cry,” but somewhere between kindergarten and manhood, that message gets lost. Replaced by phrases like “man up,” “don’t be soft,” and “real men don’t talk about their feelings.” And those words don’t just bounce off; they sink in. They settle deep.

As moms, we see their hearts before the world tells them to hide them. We see the quiet anxiety before the tough-guy mask forms. We know the pressure they carry in silence, the self-doubt buried behind humor, the frustration when they don’t have the words to explain what’s going on inside.

June is Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month. And if it reminds me of anything, it’s this:

We don’t just need to raise good men.
We need to raise whole men.

Men who know it's okay to ask for help.
Men who’ve had practice expressing what they feel.
Men who’ve seen someone care about what’s happening beneath the surface.

Here’s what I’m doing, or I should say, what I’m trying, daily:

• I ask them how they’re feeling, and I try not to rush past the silence.
• I talk about therapy like it’s normal, because it is.
• I praise emotional honesty just as much as achievements.
• I work on asking for help myself, because they’re always watching.

In my eyes, no boy should grow up believing his feelings make him weak.

So, whether you're a parent, an aunt, a coach, a teacher, or a friend, be part of the voice that says:

You don’t have to pretend you're okay when you’re not.
You’re not less of a man for needing support.
You’re more of one for knowing when to reach out.

To my sons, and all the boys growing into men:
Your mind matters.
Your emotions matter.
You matter.

Let’s raise them to believe it.

(Edited and Enhanced with ChatGPT)

by Kayla Myers, Peer Support Coordinator

January 28, 2025

April is Autism Awareness Month, a time that holds deep meaning for my family and countless others around the world. My son is almost 9 years old, and he is non-speaking. While he may not use words in the way most people do, he communicates in a hundred other beautiful, meaningful ways. I am always seeking the words for my personal hero, my son.

When I first heard the words “your child is on the autism spectrum,” I felt everything at once: fear, love, confusion, and an overwhelming desire to understand what the future might hold. I imagined the challenges he might face, the misunderstandings, the uphill battles. But what I couldn’t yet see was how much he would teach me. He has taught me valuable lessons about patience, resilience, perspective, and the power of connection that doesn’t require words.

Our days are filled with routines and rhythms that make sense to him. He used to spend hours lining up his toys in a way only he could understand, watching water swirling endlessly down the drain, and listening to the same song over and over again. These are just the things that bring him comfort and joy. They are just a few examples of how he experiences the world. And when I slow down and truly see things through his eyes, I realize how much intention, beauty, and clarity live in the moments that I used to overlook.

He may be non-speaking, but he is never silent. His laughter lights up the room when something speaks his language. His eyes sparkle when he wants to share a moment with me. His hands flap joyfully when he’s proud of himself or when he is excited. And when he’s overwhelmed, I feel his pain in my bones. Even when he doesn’t say, “Mom, I need help,” I know. And I respond with everything I have.

One of the greatest lessons I’ve learned as a mother is this: communication is so much more than words. It’s gestures, eye contact, presence, energy, and love. In our home, we celebrate every form of expression. Whether it’s pointing, using a communication device, pulling me toward what he needs, or simply placing his hand in mine when he’s seeking comfort. These are his words. And they are valid. They are powerful. And this is when I feel so connected to the idea of connection.

I’ve always been a people person. I may not excel at the things most people do, but I get people. I easily read between the lines, I am very aware of the subtle shifts in body language, the emotion behind a glance, the weight carried in a quiet moment. I’ve come to understand that everyone has a story, and that what we see on the surface is just one layer of many. I know that life can be painful. And I find grace in my ability to hold space for others, not to fix or solve, but simply to sit with them in their pain, to truly see them, and to understand even just a fragment of what they’re carrying.

But it’s my son, my beautiful, non-speaking son — who has helped me take that ability to a deeper level. He has taught me how to truly listen without words, how to tune in to the language of presence, energy, and emotion. In walking alongside him, I’ve learned to support what’s unspoken with more compassion and clarity than I ever thought possible.

Autism Awareness Month is about more than awareness, it’s about acceptance, understanding, and celebration. It’s about recognizing that autistic individuals, whether they speak or not, bring extraordinary strengths, perspectives, and beauty into this world. My son has shown me that every child deserves to be seen, heard, and honored exactly as they are.

So if you’re reading this, I invite you to lean in. Listen. Learn. Unlearn. Listen to parents like me, yes — but more importantly, listen to autistic individuals themselves. Their voices matter most. They are the true experts on their own experience. And often, the very people the world tries to speak for.

Let’s build a world where all kinds of communication are valued, where neurodiversity is not just accepted but embraced, and where being non-speaking never means being unheard.

To my beautiful boy: you are brave, man, you are brave. You are brilliant and I know more brilliant than I could even understand. And you are deeply loved, exactly as you are. I will always be your voice until the world learns how to truly listen. 

Edited and enhanced by ChatGPT

By Kayla Myers, Family Peer Supporter

November 19, 2024

To celebrate National Child’s Day, I find myself reflecting on the incredible journey of motherhood and the two beautiful boys who have forever changed my life. It’s a day to honor children, yes, but for me, it’s also a moment to pause and truly appreciate the little hands that grip mine so tightly, the laughter that echoes through our home, and the endless moments of joy and challenges that come with raising two unique and wonderful souls.

I still remember the day each of my boys was born, how I felt a rush of love so deep it felt like it could never be contained. Years later, that love continues to evolve into something even more profound. Watching them grow and navigate the world makes me marvel at their strength, curiosity, and boundless imagination. Each day they remind me of the simplest things like a butterfly on a spring morning or the joy summer time approaching brings with warm weather and longer days. They both have so much beauty and magic in their souls, I am so thankful to watch them grow. In their eyes, life is an adventure; every day is an opportunity to learn and discover something new.

Easton is my firstborn and is a wild spirit, the one who keeps us on our toes. He’s full of energy, always moving, always asking questions. My youngest is the thinker, and Easton is the doer. He doesn’t wait for the world to come to him, he runs headfirst into it. His confidence is contagious. It’s impossible to feel sad when Easton is around. He has this way of making even the most mundane activities feel like an exciting adventure. Whether he's telling a joke, building a tower that’s taller than he is, or exploring the backyard like it’s a jungle, Easton brings an infectious joy to our home that makes life feel like one big celebration.

Bryce, my youngest, is an old soul in a young body. He’s the quiet thinker, the one who keeps to himself and finds joy in the simple things in life. Although he is non-verbal, his curiosity never seems to have limits, and his mind is always working. What I admire most about him is his ability to touch your heart and soul without saying a single word. Even at a young age, he has this incredible ability to sense when someone needs comfort, whether it's his family, someone he knows well, or a stranger. It humbles me to watch him interact with the world in such a thoughtful way.

On National Children’s Day, I think about what it means to raise these two boys. How I am both a teacher and a student in this journey of parenthood. They are constantly teaching me to be more patient, more present, and more open to the world around me. I have learned to find joy in the smallest moments. Whether it’s a homemade card that reads “I love you, Mom” or the way they both rush to greet me after school, faces lit up with excitement to share the details of their day.

I also reflect on the responsibility that comes with being their parent. Every decision I make, every lesson I teach, and every word I say, will shape their understanding of the world. I want them to grow up knowing they are loved unconditionally, that kindness is one of the most important virtues, and that they are capable of achieving anything they set their hearts to. I want them to embrace their uniqueness, to be proud of who they are, and to never lose their sense of wonder.

Being a mom is a wild ride, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Watching my boys grow and develop into their own little people, each with their own dreams, quirks, and strengths, fills me with love and pride that words often fail to capture. National Child’s Day serves as a reminder to celebrate not just the joys of being a child but the incredible privilege it is to be a parent.

To my boys, Easton and Bryce: thank you for making every day an adventure. Thank you for showing me what true joy and love look like. You are my heart, my world, and my greatest blessings. I can’t wait to see where life takes us next.

Happy National Child’s Day! Here’s to all the giggles, the messes, the milestones, and the beautiful moments we share together. You are my everything.

*Edited and Formatted: ChatGPT

As a parent of a nonverbal child with autism, our journey has been a tapestry woven with both challenges and triumphs. One of the most significant threads in this tapestry has been understanding sensory processing disorder (SPD) and its profound impact on my son. SPD is often found in children on the autism spectrum and manifests in various sensitivities and reactions to sensory stimuli. By sharing our experiences, I hope not only to advocate for my son but also to raise awareness and support others who are facing similar challenges.

Sensory processing disorder refers to the brain’s difficulty in interpreting and responding to sensory information. This can include sensitivities to light, sound, touch, taste, and smell. For children like my son, everyday environments can become overwhelming and stressful, leading to withdrawal or, when multiple irritations stack up, meltdowns.

Simple activities, such as grocery shopping or attending social gatherings, can be daunting for my son. Bright lights and loud noises in stores often lead to sensory overload. I vividly remember a trip to a crowded supermarket; the bright fluorescents seemed to pulse, and the announcements echoed. My son quickly became agitated, covering his ears, his stimming became louder, and he was tensing up. In that moment, I realized that what might seem like a routine errand to others was an overwhelming experience for him.

At home, certain textures can trigger strong reactions. For instance, he struggles with shirts that feel staticky against his skin, finding certain fabrics unbearable. This has taught me the importance of being mindful of his clothing choices and providing comfortable alternatives. Food can also be particularly challenging; he tends to avoid trying new things and prefers to stick to familiar favorites.

Through trial and error, we’ve developed strategies to help him navigate these sensory challenges. Here are some approaches that have worked for us:

1. Creating a Sensory Retreat: We’ve designated his room as a “sensory retreat.” It’s equipped with soft pillows, weighted blankets, dim lights, a soft rug, a rocking chair, and calming toys. When he feels overwhelmed, he knows he can retreat to this safe space to decompress.
2. Establishing Routine: A consistent daily routine has helped my son feel more secure. Knowing what to expect reduces anxiety and prepares him for sensory-rich environments.
3. Visual Supports: Visual schedules, social stories, and his communication device have been invaluable in preparing him for new experiences. By explaining what he might encounter, we can discuss potential challenges and strategies in advance.
4. Stimming: I’ve witnessed how stimming helps my son regulate his emotions and navigate challenging situations. For example, during a busy family gathering, the noise and commotion can quickly become overwhelming. In those moments, I see him begin to pace or hum softly to himself, “eee”. This rhythmic movement offers him a sense of grounding, helping him find calm amidst the chaos. Stimming, or self-stimulatory behavior, encompasses a wide range of actions, such as hand-flapping, rocking, spinning, or making sounds. For many children with autism, these behaviors serve as a way to self-soothe, manage sensory overload, or simply express joy. It’s a natural response to their unique ways of interacting with the world around them.

As we navigate the complexities of SPD together, I’ve learned to embrace my son’s unique perspective. His heightened awareness of sensory details often leads to moments of profound wonder. He notices the rustle of leaves, the patterns of sunlight through trees, he watches every ripple and wave in the water, and the intricate details of everyday life that many of us overlook. This sensitivity, while challenging, enriches our shared experiences and deepens our connection.

Connecting with other parents of children with autism has been incredibly beneficial. Sharing stories and strategies creates a sense of community and reassurance. Support groups, both in-person and online, serve as lifelines for parents seeking understanding and advice. If you’re on a similar journey, know that you’re not alone. Together, we can navigate the complexities of sensory processing and celebrate the unique perspectives our children bring to the world. Let’s continue to learn, share, and support one another in this remarkable journey of parenthood.

Living with a son who has autism and sensory processing disorder has reshaped my understanding of the world. While the challenges of navigating what works and what doesn’t can be overwhelming, they are accompanied by moments of profound beauty and connection. By focusing on understanding his sensory needs and advocating for him, I aim to create a nurturing environment where he can thrive.

by Beth Ayers, Family Support Lead

June 11, 2024

I did not expect to be raising a child with a disability. In fact, I’m pretty sure no parent does. When I dreamed of having children, I imagined them healthy and living life like their peers. Sure, there was bound to be misbehavior and bumps along the way, but not a disability. Certainly not one that would shatter my hopes and dreams and force me to change my expectations. Adapting to being a parent or caregiver of a child with a disability can be hard.

Dr. Nancy Miller, a psychotherapist and social worker, developed the Stages of Adaption from her work with parents of children with disabilities. Understanding the stages and where we are in them can help us navigate our new world and not feel quite so alone in it. The 4 Stages of Adaptation are: Survival, Searching, Settled In, and Separating.

Stage 1: Survival

Common emotions parents and caregivers experience in this stage are denial, anxiety, and fear. We are learning the rules of the game and finding out who’s on our team. Our social groups often change, and we lose friends simply by being on a different life path. In this stage, we cycle through a pattern of plan, fix, reassess, plan, fix, reassess, etc. Attempting to fix our emotions, we believe when we find the answer, everything will get better. For me, planning is my go-to for dealing with stress. As long as I am planning, there is hope for everything to be okay and I can avoid dealing with my feelings. Denial sounds like “My life won’t have to change. I won’t have to adjust my expectations.” And so, we don’t change what we do or how we do it and continue in denial. Anxiety asks “Can I handle it? What’s coming my way next?” Anxiety, in the right dose, can be helpful. If someone has no anxiety, they usually have no motivation. But when anxiety gets too high, it turns into despair and causes paralysis. An anxiety level that allows us to be highly motivated is the sweet spot. This is where we can dream again and engage in action. Fear triggers the fight in us, always looking for who or what we will have to fight for our child’s best?

Stage 2: Searching

Emotions include guilt, shame, depression, and anger. I find myself repeating, “This isn’t the way things were supposed to be.” Searching can be inward where we question what our child’s disability says about us and outward where we question what it says about our child. Guilt is a normal feeling that causes us to ask ourselves what did we do wrong, did we miss something, what can we do now. It’s when we hang onto the guilt and carry it around that it weighs us down. When I am weighed down by guilt, I say things like “If I was a good mom, I would….” And “I should be able to do…. like all the other moms.” Mom guilt is real! Shame is a form of self-loathing. Shame says there is something wrong with me to make my child like this. Dads tend to experience shame more. Brene Brown writes, “Parenting is a shame and judgement minefield.” Shame tends to come from fear of judgement or self-judgement. Depression can happen in this stage because reality is hitting us. We see the long road we and our child have in front of us and we’re not sure we can do it and sometimes we’re not sure if we want to. Anger is depicted as blowing up, raging, or throwing things, but more often it looks like blame. We control the outbursts but focus our anger on who we think is to blame and direct our anger there. When we see our kids having value and meaning as they are, our anger and comparison decrease because we aren’t trying to measure up to anyone or anything anymore.

Stage 3: Settled In

This is the stage we want to get to. Emotions experienced in this stage are hope and acceptance. We are more balanced in this stage. We might still be looking for an answer, but our hope does not depend on it. We are okay either way. In our families, hope looks like finding meaning in the life our children are living and finding meaning in our own life. Hope is a result of struggle. We have to do hard things in order to believe that we can do hard things. Struggles produce lessons learned useful for the continuing journey we are on. Acceptance is understanding and being okay with where we are. Through encouragement and building community around us and pointing each other towards possibilities, we are able to move toward acceptance. The challenger to acceptance is change- change in our season of life, change in diagnosis, change in progress from a setback. Here we are threatened again in survival mode and searching for answers. But when we have done it a few times, we can move more quickly through the stages, coming back to acceptance.

Stage 4: Separating

This stage is about finding the appropriate amount of independence. It is important as we move toward the transition of our children becoming adults. We need to encourage our children from a young age to have a picture of what the future might look like for them. Struggling to separate ourselves from our child sounds like “We have an appointment.” Or “We have a procedure next week.” Or “We have homework tonight.” It is easy to connect our identity to our child and their disability. It is important to remember that we have other roles such as spouse or significant other, parent to another child, friend, and unique individual. All of these roles in our life demand our attention and energy if we are to stay healthy.

Learning the Stages of Adaptation helps me see where I am and where I’ve been. It shows me the progress our family has made. It gives me a sense of belonging knowing that others have had these experiences too. I go easier on myself when I find myself back at survival, again. I am encouraged to keep dreaming. It helps me adjust my expectation of what a “good” life is. Instead of always trying to change things, I appreciate what I can and focus on what I have. And I am thankful for that.

Generated by AI, Edited by Beth Ayers, Family Support Lead

May 7, 2024

Strategies for Enhancing Mental Health in Children

In the complex landscape of mental health, resilience stands out as a beacon of hope and strength. For children dealing with mental health challenges, cultivating resilience is key. Resilience equips children with the ability to navigate adversity, bounce back from setbacks, and thrive despite life's inevitable challenges. As a mom of two fabulous children with mental health challenges, I often feel unequipped to help them navigate these challenges. If I had a magic wand and could, “poof,” free them from their mental health struggles, I would. I would give anything to take away their pain and my hurt that comes from watching my kids go through that pain. The following are tangible skills our kids can learn to increase resilience. Resilience in turn fosters their capacity for emotional well-being and success.

Resilience is not a fixed trait but rather a dynamic process influenced by various factors, including genetics, environment, and personal experiences. At its core, resilience encompasses the capacity to adapt positively in the face of adversity. Demonstrating resilience through adversity is not about avoiding stress or hardship, but rather about learning to cope effectively and grow stronger as a result. Children who possess resilience are better equipped to navigate challenges, form healthy relationships, and pursue their goals with determination and optimism.

Building Self-Esteem and Self-Efficacy:

A fundamental aspect of resilience-building in children with mental health challenges is fostering self-esteem and self-efficacy. Positive self-esteem provides a solid foundation for resilience, enabling children to maintain a sense of self-worth and confidence in their abilities. Encouraging children to recognize their strengths, celebrate their achievements, and embrace their uniqueness helps bolster self-esteem. Similarly, promoting self-efficacy—the belief in one's ability to achieve goals—empowers children to tackle challenges with a sense of agency and optimism.

Cultivating Social Support Networks:

Social support plays a crucial role in nurturing resilience in children with mental health challenges. Strong, supportive relationships with family members, friends, teachers, and other trusted individuals provide a buffer against stress and adversity. Encouraging children to cultivate meaningful connections and seek help when needed fosters a sense of belonging and security. Helping children learn effective communication and interpersonal skills enhances their ability to navigate social interactions and build supportive relationships. I have found help with this through individual and family therapy.

Developing Coping Skills:

Equipping children with effective coping skills is essential for resilience-building. Coping skills empower children to manage stress, regulate emotions, and adapt to change constructively. Teaching children mindfulness techniques, relaxation exercises, and problem-solving strategies equips them with valuable tools for managing challenging situations. Additionally, encouraging healthy lifestyle habits such as regular exercise, adequate sleep, and nutritious diet promotes overall well-being and resilience. Other coping skills can include hobbies, music, art, talking to someone, labeling feelings, reading, asking for help, journaling, spending time with friends, or playing with a pet.

Fostering Emotional Regulation:

Emotional regulation is a cornerstone of resilience, enabling children to navigate intense emotions without becoming overwhelmed. Teaching children to identify and label their emotions, express themselves constructively, and regulate their reactions fosters emotional resilience. Mindfulness practices, such as deep breathing exercises and guided imagery, can help children cultivate awareness of their emotions and develop healthy coping mechanisms. Creating a safe and supportive environment where children feel comfortable expressing their feelings without fear of judgment is essential for emotional resilience. Counselors, teachers, pastors, and support groups often provide this.

Encouraging Growth Mindset:

Instilling a growth mindset in children with mental health challenges is instrumental in fostering resilience. A growth mindset emphasizes the belief that intelligence and abilities can be developed through effort and perseverance. Encouraging children to embrace challenges, learn from failure, and persist in the face of setbacks cultivates resilience. By reframing setbacks as opportunities for growth and learning, children develop resilience-building attitudes that empower them to overcome obstacles and achieve their goals. I have heard it said, “If you’re not failing, you’re not growing.”

Promoting Meaningful Engagement:

Engaging children in activities that align with their interests, passions, and values creates a sense of purpose and resilience. Whether through sports, arts, hobbies, or community service, meaningful engagement provides children with opportunities to develop skills, build confidence, and connect with others. Encouraging children to pursue activities that bring them joy and fulfillment nurtures their resilience and fosters a sense of agency and purpose.

In the journey of navigating mental health challenges, resilience serves as a guiding light, illuminating the path towards healing and growth. By empowering children with the skills and attitudes to bounce back from adversity, we can help them thrive despite the challenges they face. Through building self-esteem, cultivating social support networks, developing coping skills, fostering emotional regulation, encouraging a growth mindset, and promoting meaningful engagement, we can equip our children with the resilience they need to navigate life's ups and downs with strength and resilience.

by Beth Ayers

February 15, 2024

While raising children with behavioral health challenges, many of my relationships became strained. Some due to stress, others to comparison and self-pity, and a lot from feeling alone and misunderstood. The most important relationships impacted were my marriage, my relationship with my child, and my support network.

My husband and I had been married for 9 years when mental health began to serious affect our child’s health and our family’s life. Parenting in general can cause tension between couples. Being on the same page as each other, having similar parenting styles and values, agreeing on consequences, communicating effectively, and supporting each other are all things I have found important in raising children with my husband. And all things I have had to learn and work on. Every family has their struggles and goes through ups and downs. Through trying times, I was able to turn to my parents, friends, and other moms for support. When my difficulty became more than common parenting challenges but parenting a child with behavioral health needs, those relationships shifted and the way I needed to be supported changed. My husband and I had been going to marriage counseling. I had been attending Al-Anon meetings. I had made friends with other moms with kids in the same grade as mine. I was part of a church community and Sunday school class. My loving and supportive parents lived close by.

When we discovered our child was self-harming, we had no clue who to turn to. I didn’t know anyone who had dealt with this with their children. We called our counselor, who had also been seeing our child for a short time after teachers expressed concern. He suggested talking in a safe environment, asking what was going on and how we could help. When that didn’t work, the counselor went with us to the ER to have our child evaluated. Behavioral health, mental illness, and psychiatric hospitals were not things I was familiar with. I didn’t know what decisions to make, what questions to ask, or how to help my child. My husband and I found ourselves on an emotional rollercoaster and didn’t know where it was taking us or how to make it stop. Our child was admitted into the youth in-patient psychiatric center, and we went home heartbroken, panicked, exhausted, and unsure if we had done the right thing.

I called my 3 closest friends. They were as shocked as I was. I remember one praying with me over the phone and how comforting that was. The next day we went for visiting time and met with the case worker. The whole process was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. I had to leave my coat, cell phone, keys, and purse in a locker. I signed in and was given a visitor’s badge, buzzed through the wide double doors, walked down the long hallway pass children in the day program, and buzzed into the ward. My parents also visited. This was all new to them, too. If our youngest child was with us, we would meet in the common area with supervision. Our child asked us to contact her friends’ parents and ask if the friends could call her. I called, explained the situation and the request, and none of the friends called. I don’t blame the parents or kids. I’m not sure I would have wanted my child to call a friend in the psychiatric hospital. Not knowing any better, I probably would have also discouraged their friendship. What I, and a lot of people, thought of as “bad behavior” was actually mental illness. And mental illness isn’t contagious. If our child had been in the hospital with cancer or a burst appendix, friends and parents and all who cared for us would have visited and called. We would have asked openly for prayers at church. Casseroles would have been delivered. The stigma of mental illness kept us quiet and friends away.

We continued raising our child through high school with many more hospital stays, challenges, and healing. During that time, it was hard for me to see the grade school friends, now distant, out with their parents, going to prom, working at their first job, and getting their learner’s permit. I saw other parents doing things with their kids that I had dreamed I would be doing with mine. I compared my life with others’ social media posts and felt alone, sad, and sorry for myself. We told very few people, even my grandparents and aunts and uncles didn’t know. Close friends who I could be honest with didn’t know how to respond. I often heard “I’m sure it’s only a phase.”, “Did you put them in enough activities when they were young?”, and “Maybe what you both need is a day to relax or a family vacation.” My well-meaning friends were also unfamiliar with mental illness and wanted to treat it like a bad mood or bad parenting. Their desire to fix or say the right thing to make me feel better left me feeling misunderstood and isolated. The chronic stress and constant battles of raising a child with any extra medical needs is exhausting and can affect parents’ mental health, physical health, work, and home life. I spent so much time making appointments, driving to appointments, waiting in waiting rooms, fighting for services, learning all I could about mental illness and how to be a better parent, researching treatments and resources, and trying to care for and not fight with my child, I had little time or energy for my marriage. Worrying about my child often came out as anger towards my husband or irritability at everything. It was hard to remember we were on the same team in a house at war. I felt overwhelmed and unsupported. My parents were always supportive in their own way and loved all of us. I found it hard to make different choices for my child than they made for me without defending myself or criticizing them. They loved me, their daughter. But they also fiercely loved their grandchild and would do anything they could to help, even if it meant going against me. I felt hurt and angry.

I have found relationships involve hard work, vulnerability, the risk of being hurt or let down, uncomfortable conversations, honest feelings, acceptance, forgiveness, and healing. They are ever evolving. They come and go depending on what season of life I’m in. They are important to me. Some of the relationships I had I no longer have. Some have grown for the better. Some are still strained. Some are stronger. Some are new. All have been changed by mental illness.

by  Beth Ayers, Family Peer Support Lead

October 3, 2023

I am a mom of two, now adult, children with behavioral health challenges and I work as a Family Peer Supporter helping other parents currently raising children with special healthcare needs including behavioral health. As a Family Peer Supporter, I get to walk beside families and help lift their burden by listening and connecting through a shared lived experience. Parenting is stressful in and of itself. It’s a full-time job with no training manual. Parents don’t clock in and clock out. They don’t get to call in sick. And a literal life depends on how well you do! Like most moms, I envisioned the future for my children including friends, activities, school, summer camp, growing up, high school dances, graduation, college, marriage, children of their own, and so on. I also envisioned my relationship with my kids to be loving and close. Of course, I was aware all this included the terrible 2’s and rough teenage years. But never did I imagine mental health diagnoses, psychiatric hospital stays, broken relationships, not finishing high school, or residential programs for my children. I suppose nobody does. We all want the best for our children and it’s hard to watch our kids struggling and hurting.

According to research, 31% of parents of children with special healthcare needs experience clinical depression. That’s compared to only 7% of parents of children without these extra needs¹. Special healthcare needs can include physical, developmental, or intellectual disabilities, mental health or substance use disorders, or any complex medical care need. The two most likely contributors to the increased risk for depression are chronic caregiver stress and financial stress. From my own experience, it encompasses much more.

For me, depression came as part of the grieving process as I let go of my hopes and dreams for my children. I also experienced depression from trying to do everything perfectly and worrying the worst would happen if I didn’t. Depression was the result of long days of constant parenting battles and treatment plans and emotional escalations. It was from all of the feelings I felt (sadness, desperation, anger, love, loneliness, fear, joy, hope, heartache, compassion, resentment, self-pity) and not knowing what to do with most of them. It was the stress of constant appointments and therapies on top of the other daily responsibilities of school, work, chores, dinner, homework, pets, bills, etc. that I didn’t have the physical, mental, or emotional energy for. Depression was the result of the judgement and misunderstanding I felt from others and the blame and guilt I felt from myself. Depression for me was feeling overwhelmed, irritable, and hopeless. Depression made me want to give up and give in. Some days I just couldn’t do it anymore.

And then I was told the answer was self-care. I needed to manage my stress better. What?! How?! When?! With what “extra” time and money and energy?! I was so busy and focused on caring for my child and their needs and wellness that I overlooked my own. My child’s health and safety were my top concerns. I just wanted everyone to be okay and life to go as I had planned. But we’ve all heard the saying, “You can’t pour from an empty cup.” The depression I struggle with is part genetic, part situational. Over the years, I have learned the signs of my depression and how to remove stress from my life. I’ve learned how to work through feelings and accept life’s messiness better. The Family Peer Supporters at MPN are taking a Caregiver Wellness training. I have learned some great strategies and been reminded of things that have worked for me in the past. Here are a few:

• Deciding, on purpose, how I will react to stress. I can view it as something to be avoided at all costs and react with survival methods such as fight or flight. Or I can view stress as helpful and see it as a challenge. Fight or flight responses deplete my energy, whereas a challenge response energizes me to rise to the occasion.
• Realizing I stress about things because I care about them. I love my children. I can focus on the gratitude I feel for having someone so special in my life.
• Changing my view of stress. Whether I think stress is harmful or helpful, I’m right. I can let stress drive me towards people and connection or I can let it drive me away towards isolation. I can learn and grow from stress and find new tools to help me handle stress better. I can find meaning in my circumstances such as helping other families as a Family Peer Supporter.
• Adjusting my expectations to meet the reality of my situation. Unrealistic expectations add stress to my life and increase my depression. My child may not get through the school day with a regular class schedule like other kids. But we can shorten the day or adjust the number of times they change classes, relieving unneeded pressure and helping them succeed and thrive. Which in turn lessens my stress.
• Protecting against “Decision Paralysis.” When raising a child with a special healthcare need, not making a decision is usually not an option. I want to see into the future and make the “right” decision. I have found that there usually isn’t a “right” and “wrong” decision and it’s okay to make one based on the information I have right now. There will be more decisions to come. And when I realize a decision I made wasn’t the best, I can make another decision based on the new information I have.
• Accepting I don’t have the luxury to say yes to everything. I might want to be the class mom, Sunday school teacher, and the mom that makes every birthday treat from scratch. But the reality is my child’s needs are higher than most. My time and energy are more limited. Trying to do more than I can adds unnecessary stress to my life.

And last but not least: Being gentle with myself. Life is hard and messy and beautiful and wonderful all at the same time. I am going to mess up. I will make mistakes. I can learn from my mistakes. My patience will run out. I will have to apologize. I am human. I can take life one day at a time. I can enjoy the little wins, the moments of peace, the times I get to hug my children or kiss them goodnight. I love my children and I love myself. I am doing the best I can. You are doing the best you can. We are enough.