ABA with US

One of the hardest things about being a special need and complex child(or raising one) is this cruel cycle:

You start to breathe. You see progress. You think, “Maybe we’ve turned a corner.”

Then—without warning—something new shows up. A fever. A seizure. A gut issue. A regression.

And just like that, you’re back. Or worse, a few steps behind.

No fault. No fight missed. Just the relentless reality of a body that doesn’t read the manual.

But here’s what I want you to know: those small steps forward? They still happened. They still matter. And you’re not starting over—you’re just navigating a new detour.

Keep going. ❤️

They don’t fit in a box. They don’t follow a typical timeline. But my kids — my beautiful, fierce, wonderfully unique kids — are the reason for my everything.

Because of them, I know what real happiness looks like. Not the polished, picture-perfect kind, but the messy, loud, tear-stained, gut-deep joy that shows up in small victories and quiet moments.

Because of them, I found strength I never knew I had. On the hard days, when the world doesn’t understand or the system fails us — they keep going. So I keep going.

They are my teachers, my heart, my why.

Every breakthrough, every smile, every single step forward… that’s all them. I’m just lucky enough to be their mom/dad.

There’s something so powerful about a caregiver who doesn’t just “do a job” — but truly shows up with heart. 💛

As a special needs mom, I see it in the little moments that mean everything. Like when Abdullaah walks through the door after school, and without hesitation, he goes straight in for a hug. That hug says it all. It’s comfort, trust, safety… love.

A great caregiver doesn’t just take care of your child — they treat them like their own. They learn their ways, understand their needs, celebrate their wins, and stand by them through the hard moments. They become part of your village, part of your family.

And for parents like me, that kind of support is priceless.

After a long, exhausting journey… I can finally share some beautiful news about Joji 🤍

Her stomach is FINALLY closed after 6 surgeries and multiple washouts due to the +AFB infection. What a fight she has fought.

Her VP shunt is now internalized, another huge step forward in her healing journey.

And the most emotional moment… her nurse sent me a video of her after the VP shunt was internalized 🥹 Seeing her like that filled my heart with so much relief, gratitude, and hope.

Now it’s my turn to learn—getting trained on managing her medications and checking her blood sugar so I can take the best care of her at home.

And the words I’ve been waiting to say for so long…

SHE CAN COME HOME!!!! 🏡✨
We have prayed, waited, and held onto hope through every difficult moment… and now, finally, things are coming together.

My brave girl never gave up. Please keep her in your duas as we take this next step toward healing and home 💛

Me vs. Me.
I’ve reached a point where I want to do better — mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Not for anyone else, but for me.

Me vs. Me… and I’m showing up for myself.
❤️

When your child is hurting… there’s no pain like this. 💔
Watching your baby suffer through a pancreas attack, crying and curling up from pain — and you can’t do anything except wait for the medicine to finally kick in… that’s the kind of heartbreak only a mother understands.

You sit there holding their hand, praying the minutes go by faster, wishing you could take every bit of that pain into your own body instead.
It’s the waiting… the helplessness… the fear…
And somehow, you still show up with strength you didn’t know you had.

Being a mom to a medically complex child is carrying a pain nobody sees and a love that refuses to break.

❤️

Some days I struggle. Some days I cry.
Some days I’m just trying to hold all the pieces together so I don’t fall apart.

Being a mom to children with special needs is beautiful, but it’s not easy. It’s hospitals, appointments, sleepless nights, constant worry… and still showing up every single day with love. Going back and forth to the hospital drains you in ways people don’t always see. It’s tiring. It’s heavy. It’s a different kind of strength.

And on the days I feel like I can’t keep going, I remind myself of one thing:
everything I’ve survived… everything that was meant to break me… made me stronger instead.

I’m still standing.
I’m still fighting.
And I’m doing it all for my babies.

Alhumdulillah for the strength I didn’t know I had.