Our home has always been filled with love, laughter, and a determination to thrive despite challenges. Every milestone my son has reached—whether mastering a new skill, showing self-advocacy, or simply expressing his unique personality—has been a victory for us all. Watching him grow into an adult with a remarkable sense of humour and curiosity reminds me that the journey, while unpredictable, is deeply rewarding. 

 

His sister’s strengths have also shone brightly. Her resilience and empathy often amaze me, especially as she navigates her own challenges. Watching the bond between them has been heartwarming, as they support and understand each other in ways that only siblings can. 

 

These moments remind me why I do what I do. The insights gained from celebrating these wins fuel my counselling practice, helping me guide other families toward understanding something clearly at last even in tough times. 

But not every day is a win. The journey to adulthood has been fraught with hurdles. Transitioning into adult services was daunting. Questions about their future—employment, independence, social connections—have kept me awake at night. Watching their peers move through life’s milestones, like moving out or starting families, can sometimes sting, not out of envy but out of a deep longing for their world to be a little easier to navigate. 

 

There are moments when the weight of advocacy feels unbearable. Fighting for the right support or being misunderstood by systems designed without families like ours in mind has tested my patience and resolve. The emotional toll of being constantly "on" as a caregiver, while trying to maintain a sense of normalcy for everyone in the family, is a balancing act I’ve yet to perfect. 

One of the most profound chapters in our family’s journey has been transitioning my son into supported living. It’s a decision I wrestled with endlessly, a tug-of-war between heart and head, between what felt right and what felt unbearable. 

 

The questions were relentless: Is this the right time? Are we doing the best thing for him? What will his life be like in an unfamiliar environment? And the hardest of all: Will he feel like we’ve abandoned him? 

 

The thought of someone else caring for him—a son I had nurtured and fiercely protected for so long—filled me with a sorrow so deep it felt impossible to articulate. It wasn’t just about entrusting others to meet his practical needs; it was about letting go of the familiar rhythm of our lives. 

This transition affected all of us deeply. It forced us to redefine what our family dynamic looked like. My husband and I grappled with the weight of the decision, often questioning ourselves even after the plans were in motion. His siblings struggled with their own feelings—missing his presence at home while adjusting to a quieter household and worrying about how he would adjust to his new life. 

 

And for me, it brought a profound sense of chronic sorrow, a mix of grief and guilt. Handing over his care felt like a part of my identity was being stripped away. I kept wondering: Does he feel rejected? Will he understand this choice came from love, not a desire to push him away? 

Over time, as he settled into his new home and we saw glimpses of his happiness and growing independence, a new perspective began to take shape. I realized this wasn’t about "giving him away"—it was about giving him the opportunity to flourish in ways he couldn’t at home. His new setting allowed him to form relationships, learn new skills, and establish a sense of self outside the family unit. 

 

That doesn’t mean the sorrow disappeared. It lives alongside the joy I feel when I see him thriving. It’s a paradox I’ve learned to hold: grief for what I can’t provide and pride in what he’s achieving. 

This experience has profoundly shaped how I work with other parents. I understand the ache of letting go and the weight of the “what-ifs.” I’ve walked the path of second-guessing and chronic sorrow, and I know how isolating it can feel. 

 

In my counselling practice, I often meet parents at similar crossroads, facing complex decisions about their children’s future. My own journey helps me hold space for their fears and grief while gently guiding them toward seeing the possibilities these transitions can bring. It’s about helping them trust that love and letting go can coexist. 

Though this chapter began with heartache, it has also brought growth for all of us. My son’s journey into supported living has taught me the importance of trusting in his resilience and recognizing that independence looks different for everyone. It has deepened my understanding of the complexities of parenthood and caregiving. 

 

This transition continues to shape our family, but it also reminds us of the strength we’ve built together. Letting go doesn’t mean losing him; it means allowing him to step into a life where he can shine in his own way—and knowing that, wherever he is, we will always be his family. 

Our family dynamic is unique, shaped by both challenges and love. My husband and I have learned the importance of teamwork, even when stress and fatigue threaten to pull us apart. Our children’s needs have taught us to communicate openly, adapt quickly, and cherish the small, quiet moments of connection. 

 

For my daughter, growing up alongside a sibling with more severe and complex additional needs has fostered empathy and resilience. But it’s also been complex—they’ve sometimes had to shoulder responsibilities beyond their years or deal with feelings of being overlooked. As a family, we work hard to ensure that everyone feels seen and valued. 

Parenting my children has profoundly influenced my approach as a counsellor. I understand the exhaustion, the guilt, and the hope that many families carry. I’ve walked in their shoes, advocating fiercely for my children and grieving the gap between what is and what could be. This lived experience allows me to connect with clients on a deeply personal level. 

 

I also draw on my journey to help parents focus on what they can control—their responses, their boundaries, and their capacity for joy amidst the challenges. It’s about finding strength in vulnerability and embracing the messiness of life while celebrating its beauty. 

It took me years to realize that I couldn’t pour from an empty cup. For a long time, self-care felt selfish, especially when my children’s needs seemed so pressing. But I’ve learned that taking time for myself—whether it’s a quiet walk, a creative outlet, (I love colouring!) coffee with friends, or seeking my own support—isn’t just important; it’s essential. It allows me to show up fully for my family and my clients. 

 

Self-care also means giving myself permission to grieve, to rest, and to celebrate my growth. It’s about acknowledging that while I am a caregiver, I am also a person with my own needs and dreams.