Today, Sienna and I walked the halls of her outpatient therapy center again.
It’s a place that holds nearly a decade of memories—milestones, breakthroughs, battles.
It’s seen us warrior through the messiness of progress.
So I don’t know why I was surprised when the emotions hit hard today.
But they did.
Because here’s the truth:
Imagine it taking three times the energy to do something that comes naturally to everyone else.
Imagine muscles so loose they can’t hold a pose, or a pencil, or a jumping jack without double the effort.
Imagine watching other kids leap, spin, kick, and laugh—while you try your hardest just to keep up.
I don’t have to imagine. I live it. I watch it through Sienna’s eyes.
When she was born, the part of Down syndrome that scared me most wasn’t the diagnosis. It was the struggle.
I didn’t want her life to be harder.
That fear hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s sharpened.
She’s turning nine soon. Her feelings are deepening. Her awareness is growing.
Her peers are doing things she still can’t.
And while I know she’s on her own timeline, it still hurts. Because she knows. And I see how much that knowing weighs on her.
Today, she began intensity therapy again—three weeks, five days a week, three hours a day.
Last time, it was magic. She learned to ride a bike. Her confidence soared. The progress was fast and beautiful.
That’s the memory I’ve been holding onto—the joy. The win. The miracle.
Not the sweat.
Not the tears.
Not the way her body shakes as she pushes herself beyond what seems fair.
This time, our goals are different.
We’re focused on movement for sports—cheer, dance, maybe even tennis.
She’s switching cheer programs, starting over. Again.
I want her to walk into practice knowing she belongs. Knowing her three years of experience matter.
But nine is a tough age.
It’s the year everything starts getting serious.
The benches are filled with sideline coaches. The playing time debates begin.
And suddenly, kids like Sienna get quietly redirected—to Special Olympics or Buddy Programs.
Now hear me clearly: I’m not knocking those programs.
But I am saying something raw and probably unpopular:
It sucks that those are the only options.
It sucks that inclusion too often stops at the photo op.
That kids like mine get turned into inspiration reels—until the moment it actually requires effort.
It sucks that the world says, “She’s amazing!”
But also says, “It’s just too hard to include her.”
It sucks that her access often depends on a college kid needing volunteer hours or a résumé booster.
That the only “yes” comes when it’s convenient for someone else.
Last year, we tried a buddy tennis program. The age gap was too wide—most players were adults.
She didn’t like it. And she shouldn’t have to pretend to.
Right now, I’m searching for a new cheer program. I’ve gotten suggestions. I’m making calls.
I’m hoping there’s a fit.
I’m hoping she won’t feel the sting of starting over—again.
Because lately, inclusion feels like something in the rearview mirror.
Like it’s moving farther away just as Sienna is becoming more aware of what she’s missing.
It feels like the “inconvenience” of including her mirrors her own growing insecurities.
And it’s hard not to wonder if the fear I felt holding her tiny newborn body was valid all along.
I didn’t want her to struggle.
But this world of ours seems determined to make it harder to belong—just because she’s different.
This therapy program we started today is designed to help her meet the goals I put on paper—climbing backwards down a ladder so we can finally build her big girl bed.
Hitting a tennis ball with a racket.
Nailing high kicks, jumps, and sharp arms for cheer.
Those are the visible goals.
But a few people have asked me what the big goal is this time around. Is there a bike ride at the end this time?
And here’s the truth:
It’s not something that fits on a therapy intake form.
This time, the only goal that truly matters is this—
That Sienna walks out of this program with more confidence.
That she starts to believe she belongs.
Because every child deserves that.
And right now, that’s the win we’re chasing.
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