Where Parents Feel at Home and Families Thrive

My “why”…

“She’s got blonde hair!” is the first thing I heard the morning my daughter was born. The sun was rising and she was here, finally. After a relatively easy labor and delivery, I couldn’t wait to soak in every ounce of her. To study her blonde hair and her toes and her see what her nose looked like and savor that Golden Hour I kept hearing about.

Instead, she was carted off. Not knowing what was happening, the room full of medical professionals ignored my pleas to hold her. Despite the rising sun, my husband was just as in the dark as me. Until the supervisor came in to examine her, explaining that – not only did she have blonde hair – she also showed characteristics of Down syndrome.

“How sure are you?” I asked. Only it wasn’t really a question, more of a plea for her to tell me “it’s not likely, but let’s check”.

Instead, she said she was 95% sure my daughter had Down syndrome. She rattled off what she was seeing physically and I no longer wanted to soak her in. Suddenly, my heart was the fullest and heaviest it had ever been. At that moment, I stopped breathing.

My husband and I spent her first few weeks in the NICU wondering how this could possibly happen. Grieving a life we thought was ending. The hiking and traveling we wanted to do with our child, suddenly vanished into a world of what we THOUGHT parenting a child with a disability meant.

Those were dark days.

Once I caught my breath after her birth diagnosis, I decided it was time to reach out for help. This mental, emotional, and spiritual load was too big to carry alone.

My counselor was lovely and talented. In any other situation, she would have been a great fit. But one session, when I tearfully explained that I was having a hard time navigating specific fears about her future – a moment that took great courage because I felt so much shame about these fears – and she told me “all parents worry, you just have to learn to live in the moment”.

Boom – deflated. And not in a good way. I shrunk back down and brought my shame with me.

Instead of being met and seen for the specific, nuanced experience I was having…I was reassured that my experience was just like everyone else’s.

But here’s the thing disability parents live with: we love our kids just like anyone else. We celebrate them just like everyone else. There is a lot that’s similar to parenting a typical kid. Yet, our fears are specific and real. We wrestle with challenges that are not like other parents. Just like our kids, WE have different needs. And that deserves recognition.

So while therapy was helpful in many ways, there were moments I felt even more alone.

As a licensed professional counselor, I’m on a mission to change that for other parents.

I believe that – as parents to children with disabilities – we are at our best when we take care of ourselves first. Mentally, emotionally, and spiritually*.

I’ve developed a specific way of supporting parents through navigating the challenges they face, while also helping them gain the skills and awareness to be the person and parent they want to be.

Powerful. Grounded. Joyful.

If you’re a parent to an exceptional kid, too, and you can relate to this story…I’m SO glad you’re here!

Stick around for meaningful musings in the form of my regular writing, opportunities for support in the form of counseling/events/retreats, and a beautiful community that’s being built along the way.

All my love,

Ashley

*a word about the word “spiritual” 😉 I believe that having a child with a disability opens doors to deeper lessons and a greater understanding of the world and our place in it. I do not guide or provide counseling from a specific religious point of view.