The Origins of External Reliance
As adults, we’ve all realized how much of our self-perception was shaped in childhood. For me, every task I approached—whether difficult or enjoyable—was met with dread. I constantly worried that I couldn’t finish it, wouldn’t do it properly, or worse, would fail entirely.
Ironically, I didn’t have a track record of doing poor work. In fact, my history was one of exceptional performance. But I struggled with follow-through. I’d lose faith in myself, get stuck, and have trouble coming back to the task. It wasn’t until adulthood that I self-diagnosed ADHD, which explained so much. For years, I believed I was the problem. It turns out, the undiagnosed ADHD created a host of challenges that were misdiagnosed as other issues.
I knew I was intelligent, but I never seemed to reach the levels of success expected of me. I thought this was why I operated externally, putting blind trust in others. But in hindsight, I see it differently: I wasn’t supported the way I needed as a child. My mother, while incredible in many ways, was raising me alone and managing her own pain and generational trauma. I learned early that there wasn’t room for my emotions, so I locked them away. I felt I needed to take care of her because, as she often said, no one else had.
My strengths were known but never celebrated. Instead, they were expected. So, I learned to live externally—giving everything I had to receive the love, acceptance, and support I desperately needed. I didn’t realize that I could trust myself. Instead, I gave blind trust to others, believing they knew better than me. This pattern created trauma throughout my life, but at the time, I didn’t recognize it.
Reclaiming My Power
Now, as an adult working to heal, I see the many ways I gave away my power. I didn’t understand that power is authenticity—standing firm in who you are, setting boundaries, and holding standards for how you’re treated. I thought power was the commanding presence my mother displayed or something only decision-makers and authorities possessed. I didn’t realize that by doubting my value, I was giving away the very thing that made me valuable. And while people happily benefited from my compassion, empathy, problem-solving, critical thinking and higher level knowledge, they never truly reflected the value of what they received from me. But its true what they say, “you teach people how to treat you.” I didn’t recognize my worth—and subsequently neither did they. If you give it away for free, people will take it without question.
Reclaiming my power has also helped me understand the importance of being fully present in life, especially for my son. By breaking free from the fog of my pain and old patterns of thinking, I’m able to truly see his needs and not make the mistake of assuming they’re being met—as was done with me. Healing from my own experience allows me to identify the challenges he faces and correct them, setting him on a stronger, more positive trajectory during these critical formative years. I’ve learned to reject the narrative of powerlessness and misplaced responsibility and instead embrace the role of being his strongest advocate. In doing so, I not only empower myself but also create real, lasting change in his outcomes. This clarity is why I created this blog—to share my journey and inspire others to trust in their ability to create better paths for their children.
The Fog of Assumptions
Parenting is hard enough on its own. Add special needs into the equation, and the weight feels astronomical. We rely on others to take on their areas of expertise—doctors for health, the government for resources, and educators for knowledge. But over time, the fog of those assumptions begins to lift, and what we see can be unsettling.
We’ve learned that the food we eat is often tainted, “Big Pharma” prioritizes profits over wellness, and systemic cracks trickle into every corner of our lives—including education. For children with special needs, these cracks can become canyons.
I once believed I could entrust Cairo’s education entirely to his teachers and staff. I wanted, or needed, to believe they had the tools, strategies, and expertise to meet his unique needs while I managed my 60 hour work week. But as I peeked behind the curtain, I began to see mishandling and regression. The progress I celebrated last year had stalled—or worse, reversed to some degree. It was painful to watch, but it illuminated the gaps in the system.
This isn’t about pointing blame. Many of these issues are symptoms of a larger systemic problem. Underfunded schools or departments, underpaid staff, and outdated approaches leave little room for innovation or tailored support. Para-professionals, critical to children like Cairo, are paid barely more than fast-food workers. Navigating special needs takes skill, creativity, and understanding, yet the system often places these enormous responsibilities on people without the necessary training, experience or resources.
Additionally, the old-school approach of dogma or “ruling with an iron fist” no longer serves our children—and perhaps never truly did. This method relies on a fear of consequence or harm that children with special needs often don’t cognitively process in the same way. It assumes a level of understanding and reasoning that many of these children are still developing. As a result, traditional discipline techniques often fall flat, failing to address the root cause of the behavior and instead eroding the child’s sense of autonomy. This is especially damaging for a group of children already struggling to communicate their needs and feel heard in an ableist society.
On the other hand, enabling our children without structure can be just as detrimental. Without proper expectations, consistent interventions, and effective follow-through, behaviors can spiral out of control. For children with cognitive delays, correcting these behaviors becomes even more challenging, as they quickly absorb and internalize patterns that may gain momentum over time. Left unchecked, these behaviors can snowball, creating a downward spiral that disrupts their educational progress and makes the classroom environment increasingly difficult for everyone.
In this new era, it’s clear that discipline needs to evolve—not just for children with special needs but for all children and adults. Strategies that focus on collaboration, understanding, and respect for individuality are more likely to create positive outcomes. Our children need approaches that build their autonomy and empower them to grow, rather than ones that reinforce powerlessness or confusion.
How the Fog Impacts Our Children
Children with special needs absorb their environment in profound ways. Their absorbent minds are like sponges, soaking in everything around them—both the good and the bad. When placed in environments without proper engagement or positive modeling, they can adopt behaviors that widen the gap between them and their peers. Cairo’s regression was a painful reminder of this.
During Thanksgiving, I noticed that Cairo, who typically interacted with peers, was now lying on the floor and grunting—a new behavior. While stimming has always been part of how he self-regulates, this severe form was not his own. It was learned. Without meaningful engagement or redirection, Cairo’s absorbent mind, so beautifully designed to soak in and replicate his surroundings, is unintentionally being exposed to behaviors that widen the gap between him and his neurotypical peers.
Cairo no longer blends into certain social settings the way he once did, sitting among his friends and engaging as best he could. Instead, he finds himself off to the side, laying on the floor and grunting. This regression in socialization skills is heartbreaking to witness, not because of the stimming itself but because it reflects a loss of tools in his “toolbox”—tools he once used to navigate his world with confidence.
This shift isn’t just about behavior; it’s about connection. Cairo longs to be part of the group, to make new friends and to interact and engage with his friends the way he so deeply desires. But as his learned behaviors create a larger divide, he feels more isolated, and the weight of that exclusion takes a toll. He becomes visibly sad and wants to leave, retreating from an environment where he feels unable to interact in the way he knows he should.
This experience underscores the importance of providing Cairo with a stable, inclusive environment that prioritizes positive peer modeling and engaging interactions. The behaviors he adopts in the resource room aren’t just harmless mimicry—they’re shaping how he sees himself and how he relates to others. Without the right tools in his sensory and social “toolbox,” Cairo risks not only falling further behind his neurotypical peers but also losing confidence in his ability to connect, learn, and thrive.
This is yet another reminder of how critical the least restrictive environment is for Cairo’s development. By keeping him in a setting where he can observe and learn from peers who model positive behaviors, we’re not only honoring his sensitive period but also giving him the best possible foundation for growth. Inclusion isn’t just a principle—it’s a lifeline to the social and emotional connections that every child deserves.
The Weight of Two Weeks: A Window into What’s Possible
When I removed Cairo from school for two weeks and engaged him in an enriching environment at home, his stimming nearly disappeared, and his participation in learning flourished. This highlights how much his current environment is contributing to the behaviors the school is struggling to manage.
As wonderful and life-affirming as those two weeks were in resolving some of the regression I saw in my son, it came at a significant cost—our livelihood. As a single mother, the rigorous schedule I maintained to ensure Cairo was engaged all day left no room for managing the finances, maintaining the household, or even attending to basic self-care. The hard truth is that I had to choose Cairo’s well-being over the security of our family, a choice I cannot afford to make long-term.
This experience gave me a sobering realization: it underscored the critical importance of FAPE—Free Appropriate Public Education. This foundational Special Education law guarantees that students with disabilities are entitled to programs and services that meet their unique needs and provide genuine educational benefits. Furthermore, the law states that if a school lacks the necessary resources, they are obligated to secure them, even if that requires partnering with other schools or districts.
As much as I would love to homeschool or provide a private school experience with specialized resources that my mother provided for me, my life circumstances do not allow for either option. Additionally, although my mother worked hard to seek the educational environment that was ideal for me, having transferred every year or two from a good school, to even a better school disrupted my ability to forge long term connections.
Therefore, having researched and made a permanent move to a school district known for focusing on inclusion, I am eager to work collaboratively with his educational team to bring improvements to his current environment that mirror the progress I saw during those two weeks at home. Together, I believe we can craft an even more enriching and supportive educational experience for Cairo within his current placement, ensuring he continues to thrive without sacrificing the security and well-being of our family and his valued friendship connections.ue in.
How to Get Out of This Fog
1. Get Informed
Knowledge is your greatest weapon in navigating the fog of uncertainty. Familiarizing yourself with special education rights, such as IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act), FAPE (Free Appropriate Public Education), and LRE (Least Restrictive Environment), empowers you to advocate effectively for your child. Understanding the guidelines and strategies being used in classrooms ensures you can actively participate in shaping interventions that truly meet your child’s needs. With a clear grasp of your rights and the tools available, you can confidently step into your role as your child’s strongest advocate.
2. Advocate for Inclusion
Champion the importance of placing your child in General Education settings where they can benefit from positive peer modeling and thrive in the least restrictive environment. Inclusion fosters opportunities for social interaction, emotional growth, and skill development that a segregated setting simply cannot provide. Advocate for a balanced approach that recognizes the value of your child being part of a diverse classroom while still receiving the individualized support they need.
3. Limit Restrictive Practices
Reduce reliance on overstimulating tools like tablets and instead promote hands-on, engaging activities that align with your child’s developmental needs. Overuse of technology can hinder progress, while activities that actively engage their senses and encourage participation help build critical skills. Advocate for practices that keep your child involved, curious, and connected to their learning environment.
4. Build Incrementally
Support the focus of a curriculum that is building upon the foundation of skills your child has already mastered, moving them forward rather than repeating concepts they’ve already conquered. Progress is fueled by small, meaningful steps that create momentum and confidence. By nurturing this forward movement, you can help unlock your child’s full potential and ensure their growth remains consistent and impactful.
5. Partner with Educators
Collaboration is key. Work closely with educators and the school team to design an environment that nurtures your child’s academic, social, and emotional well-being. Share insights about your child’s unique strengths and challenges, and push for meaningful changes that address their individual needs. Your voice as a parent is powerful—use it to build a true partnership with the school for your child’s success.
Often, educators are not acting with malice; their intent is good. However, their perspective is limited to what they observe within the school environment, while as parents, we see the full picture—how our child operates across all settings and circumstances. This broader view gives us invaluable insight that educators may not have. By bringing your knowledge of your child to the table, you can create a partnership that bridges these gaps. Many educators are eager to work cooperatively with parents to build a more enriching learning environment when given the opportunity. This teamwork can make all the difference in shaping your child’s educational experience.
Conclusion
At Cairo’s Clan, we believe that advocacy begins with knowledge, connection, and community. Our mission is to empower parents and caregivers like you to navigate the fog, uncover clarity, and champion your child’s potential. By being part of this community, you’ll gain access to valuable information, resources, and strategies that help you advocate effectively and confidently.
But we don’t stop there. Cairo’s Clan is also your gateway to connect with organizations that teach and inspire, communities that share our mission, and local events that bring opportunities to socialize, empower and uplift. Plus, explore our exclusive apparel to proudly display your love for advocacy and show the world you’re part of a powerful movement.
Stay connected! Check back frequently for updates, insights, and new tools designed to support you on this journey. Don’t forget to sign up for our newsletter to stay up-to-date on all the latest Clan news. Together, we’ll ensure our children thrive—one step, one victory, one connection at a time.
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