Forget your cape.

You know the phrase. The one strangers, therapists, and school staff say like it’s supposed to make us feel better:

“'Special needs' parents are superheroes.”

Oh, yeah totally. I’m just out here flying through the insurance portal like Wonder Human, holding down waitlists, waving denial letters, ever-changing politically correct terms, and holding a screaming toddler in one arm and a broken system in the other.

Let me tell you a "superhero" story: I have a toddler with a whoooooole bunch of stuff going on. It took me nine months to get him speech therapy. Nine. Like a whole-ass human pregnancy. And PT/OT? Still. Fighting. And I’m not fighting for a miracle or a label or a magic eraser. I love my child and I know damn well that I created a pretty awesome little dude. But. I’m tired of fighting for the absolute bare minimum that should’ve been offered at the first red flag. 23... months... ago.

So no, I don’t feel like a "superhero." I feel like a very tired human who has to take five deep breaths before calling yet another medical gatekeeper who needs me to “follow up again in 2–3 week or months.”

Superheroes save the world. I’m just trying to get my kid onto some iota of the playing field (I didn't say even for a reason) without me aging 10 years and him falling even further behind in the process. I could break out DEBT SPREADSHEETS of all the DIY at home activities and crap I've bought. The books. The toys. The "specialists." Its not a flex. It's actual debt.

(He's freaking worth it. Best koala cuddler you ever did see too.)

But you want to know what “'special needs' superhero parenting” really looks like?

• It’s being on hold with insurance for 42 minutes only to be told you called the wrong department.

• It’s having to explain your child’s needs to a revolving door of professionals who will still spell his name wrong in the report.

• It's constant refreshing and obsessing over every lab result.

• It's having first name basis' with every doctor and nurse at a practice.

• It’s celebrating the tiniest win, while internally panicking about the next battle.

• It’s never really exhaling - because if you let your guard down, something will fall through the cracks.

  
  

People call us superheroes like it’s a compliment. But here’s the thing: Superheroes have powers. They have support. They have sidekicks. We have spreadsheets, coffee, and rage.

We are not magical. We are not "stronger than everyone else." We are just parents who don’t get the luxury of quitting. It's not a "mine is worse than yours" game. We are all fighting like hell for our kids the same. It's not a "club" but it sure is nice to have a village who gets it.

So unless that “superhero” title comes with a personal assistant, free services for life, and a guaranteed IEP compliance team - I don’t want it.

Keep your cape. Give him services.

xoxo

Madi