Dear Mitzvah Lady
Please know this: You wrecked my day
Dear Mitzvah Lady,
Please know this: You wrecked my day
You called today, out of the blue, with a litany of opinions on how I was investing too much effort in my daughter. You said it was futile, and I should be conserving my energy for things that are “actually doable.”
You meant well. I know you care. Even more, I know you’ve been on a similar journey — you also have a daughter with Down syndrome — and when you speak to me, you’re speaking to your younger self.
Or maybe my advocating for my child triggers guilty thoughts in you: “Maybe I should try once more, maybe there is a path to a better quality of life for my child. Maybe there is a program that could mitigate some of my child’s challenges.” But you’ve been through the wringer and have no more koach to try again.
Like I said, I know you felt you were doing me a favor.
But please know this: You wrecked my day.
You took a mother who is battling so much, advocating for her daughter in every possible way… and broke the foundations she was standing on.
Please: If you can’t encourage my efforts, stay quiet.
Over the years, I’ve spoken to so many parents whose children were given different incredible challenges: spiritual, mental health, physical health, learning. Not once have I ever heard a parent express regret over consulting with mentors, therapists, and specialists.
Regrets I have heard? Bowing to others’ opinions, ignoring their G-d-given parental intuition, not paying attention to their inner cues due to the busyness of life, acquiescence to being micromanaged, or squeezing the chiyus out of a child’s personality to get them to conform to societal expectations.
When I decide on a course of action for my child, I think of these parents. I try to learn from their wisdom and also from their mistakes. With every decision I make for my daughter, I ask myself:
Am I trying to control the situation or trying to work with it? Hashem designed our challenge to perfection. He placed us in our specific state, city, county, and school district.
When am I overstepping and taking over Hashem’s domain? By which I mean: Am I operating within my limitations? These are my very personal physical, emotional, and financial limitations, as well as the needs of my other children. If I’m working within my limitations, I know I’m doing what I need to do.
Am I bowing to societal pressure? Like the beds in Sedom, societal pressure demands that we all fit into one mold. I ask myself: Am I deciding things based on what’s good for my child and her future? Or am I trying to twist her into something she isn’t meant to be?
Have I turned my child into a project? Am I living in a reality show where I’m the hero? I’ll arrange all the perfect therapies, I’ll advocate for all the services that are rightfully hers, and then I’ll be the model mother.
Parenting is a journey of tiny steps that transforms us into the people we’re meant to become. I try to emulate Hashem. Just as He has mercy on His children, I have mercy on my own. Just as He is just and righteous, I try to make just choices and do right by my child — not by the yentas in the neighborhood park.
This is the cumulative wisdom of years of experience, hours of soul-searching, and endless conversations with wise and experienced people I trust.
So before you call to give your two cents, please remember this: Yes, my daughter has Down syndrome. But she is still a child — my child, just like my other children. I don’t call you on random Tuesdays to tell you how to parent your children. I ask for the same respect.
The Recipient of Your Well-Intentioned Phone Call
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 984)
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