How could she possibly make it through school— and life— if we didn’t help her to succeed, or at least not fail dismally, in the academic realm?

My daughter Kayla was born at a time when early intervention was just becoming popular and the frum community was beginning to take advantage of the many therapies available to help kids develop to their full potential.

Kayla lagged behind other kids her age in practically every area, consistently failing to reach developmental milestones at the appropriate time. At the age of two, she was not even babbling or saying “Ma-ma,” and that’s when I began taking her for speech therapy. Since early intervention was all the rage, her twice-weekly speech therapy was quickly augmented by occupational therapy, physical therapy, and sessions with a special ed teacher. By the time she was five she was receiving therapy at home five days a week. On the whole, however, she was a regular child, with no identifiable learning or behavioral issues.

Her deficits— in speech, in physical dexterity, in cognitive function— became more pronounced when she started school. While she was never diagnosed with any official problem, and therefore was not a candidate for special-ed programs, she had a hard time absorbing what the teachers said, especially when they were conveying abstract concepts. Math, in particular, posed a massive challenge to her. She could readily understand that three apples and four oranges made a total of seven fruits, but she could not translate that knowledge into the ability to add three plus four on paper. In first grade, therefore, we added a private math tutor to her therapy regimen.

Being a teacher myself and having some experience with reading remediation, I made sure to teach her how to read, both English and Hebrew. I knew it was unlikely she’d pick up reading in a classroom setting, so I sat with her night after night for months and patiently taught her to read, using a special method I had once learned. It took her a year longer than her peers to start reading, but eventually she did.

When Kayla was in second grade, we hit a snag. All this time, I had been schlepping her conscientiously to her tutoring sessions, pushing my double stroller with kids holding on to both sides. But now, Kayla started realizing that she was different from other kids— none of her siblings or classmates went for tutoring after school or had therapists coming to the house— and she began throwing tantrums before each session.

“I don’t want therapy! I don’t want tutors!” she would yell.

Like any responsible mother, I sympathized with her, but did not even entertain the possibility of allowing her to stop therapy and tutoring. How could she possibly make it through school— and life— if we didn’t help her to succeed, or at least not fail dismally, in the academic realm?

You can lead a horse to water, the saying goes, but you can’t force it to drink. Kayla was still young enough that I could force her to go to her sessions, but I couldn’t make her concentrate or cooperate when she was there. I tried bribing her with treats and prizes, but that very quickly stopped working.

Not only did Kayla rebuff help, she also became deeply unhappy in general. She wouldn’t smile at all, but instead walked around all day looking angry and miserable. She started tantruming about everything, not just therapy, and she became obsessed with food, eating all day long.