Some days, the world feels like it’s not built for my daughter. It’s too loud, too fast, too confusing — and yet she moves through it with a strength that leaves me breathless.
My daughter lives in a world most people don’t see. She has hearing difficulties, autism, and ADHD. That means her brain processes the world differently — and beautifully. But it also means every day brings challenges many people couldn’t imagine.
I used to worry constantly. About whether she’d fit in. Whether she’d make friends. Whether she’d be understood. I grieved the parenting journey I thought I would have — not because of who she is, but because I knew how hard the world can be when you don’t fit the mould.
But she’s taught me to slow down. To listen with more than my ears. To celebrate small wins that are actually huge victories — like trying a new food, making eye contact for a second longer, or walking into a loud room even when every sense is screaming not to.
She sees details I miss. She hears patterns in silence. She feels emotions deeply and loves wildly. Her joy is unfiltered, her questions endless, her humour wickedly brilliant.
Some days are hard. We navigate meltdowns, audiology appointments, school meetings, stares from strangers, and a society that often doesn’t understand neurodiversity. But every challenge is paired with a lesson in patience, compassion, and unconditional love.
I used to think I needed to change the world for her. Now I realise — she is already changing mine.
If you’re reading this and walking a similar path: I see you. The exhaustion, the fierce love, the moments of doubt and celebration — all of it. You’re not alone. And neither are our children.
Their world may be different. But that doesn’t make it less.
It makes it extraordinary.
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