As (foster) mama of six little people and sometimes more, my day is full of lifting.

Time and time again, I lift little bodies, bringing them close for comfort, play, safety, and nurture.

The heaviest of my physical lifting is woven into the care of my oldest children who use wheelchairs, require total care, and are becoming less little every day.

All day long, I lift them in and out of wheelchairs, in and out of carseats, into bed, out of bed, onto and off of the floor, into and out of the bathtub…the list goes on and on.

More times than I can count, I take a deep breath and gather my strength before filling my arms with their precious bodies.

In addition to lifting their bodies, I hoist their equipment.

I heave their wheelchairs into and out of the back of our big van.

I lift positioning seats, walkers, and medical equipment. The fronts of my legs are never without multiple bruises and I’ve twisted a joint or pulled a muscle more than once.

It is hard work—really hard work.

It is the most consistent and heaviest physical lifting I’ve done in my twenty-six years of life.

Observers around me often feel led to offer their opinion in regard to the physical aspect of my children’s care:

“Oh, you really need to get a wheelchair accessible van!” (I always want to ask if they are offering to pay for that…)

“Don’t you think you are too tiny to be lifting him/her?”

“You know they aren’t getting any smaller right?”

“I hope you know you are going to ruin your back.”

While I understand the concern, there is so much more to this heavy lifting than the simplicity of my body working to lift theirs.

In additional to the physical weight of my children’s care, daily, I lift the weight of making sure their hearts and souls are held close and cared for just as well as their bodies.

I worry about, pray over, and fight for their futures. I make endless phone calls, stand against negative people and doctors, research like crazy, and advocate like the mama grizzly God has created me to be.

I carry so much more than that which I lift physically. Of course I become tired.

Somedays, I do wonder what the future holds. Yes, there are days when I feel like I simply can’t do it. But more than anything, I have grown stronger than ever before.

Not only have my muscles grown stronger as I have cared for my children, but my love for them has grown exponentially more.

More than causing me to feel overwhelmed or exhausted, each lift fills my heart with gratitude that I am the one given the honor of caring for such priceless gems.

Each time I hold them close, whether for a hug, diaper change, or positioning transfer, I gaze into the most beautiful faces and feel the beating of a warrior’s heart beside my own.

When I am weary of fighting for the world to view my children with their full worth, their simplistic trust brings bravery rushing back to my mama bear roar.

Each time my muscles clench, straining to find the strength for one more lift on the hard days, the strength of these brave souls infuses into my own.

My strength is theirs and theirs is mine.

But the truth is that my strength has never been my own, nor will it ever be.

I depend on the strength of a mighty God who equips me to care for the children He has given me.

I also depend on their strength—the strength of children the world is quick to label as weak and cast aside—because tucked inside their hearts is strength greater than the largest army, given to them by a God who created them with world-changing purpose.

I carry an enormous amount of weight physically and mentally every day.

But each lift, each push, each roar is not done alone and is not done in vain.

How immensely blessed I am to be the heavy lifter for souls so precious and so much stronger than I can begin to comprehend.

Parents and caregivers of people with special needs may spend a good deal of time in the hospital, unfortunately.

While this almost always proves to be a stressful time, I have learned a handful of tips that make hospital stays a little less stressful for the child in the hospital, the parent or caregiver at the hospital, and the rest of the family back home.

1. Prepare meals or ask for meals to be delivered

While hospital stays are not always planned, when they are, planning meals ahead can be helpful. One of our children recently had a major surgery.

In the weeks leading up to surgery, I cooked double when I made dinners.

We would eat one meal and I would place the other in the freezer to be used during the hospital stay.

This allowed me to worry less about if things were taken care of at home while I was with our child in the hospital.

We also let some friends know that providing meals not only during the hospital stay, but in the weeks, after would be a blessing.

It is also important to prepare food for the parent at the hospital to eat, as hospital food is not always provided or appetizing.

It can be easy to skip meals when you are focused on caring for your child, but this decreases your own strength and stamina.

My husband or I make sure to pack some of our favorite snacks and non-perishable meals to take with us.

2. Make documents/signs for the things you have to repeat

One of my pet peeves about hospital stays is how often I have to repeat the same information to different people.

Over and over again, medical team members come in and ask the same information about medical history, medications, etc.

Therefore, I have created a document for each of my children who have medical needs that lists their health history, birth history, past surgeries, diagnosis, medications, and any other information that is usually asked for.

At the top of the page, I list a few things about who the child is such as: “loves to laugh, super smart, loves The Grinch, communicates with eye gaze” so that staff are reminded to see the child for who he/she is and not just the medical needs.

I print off multiple copies of this document for each hospital stay and am able to hand it to each person who asks without worrying about getting the paper back.

Another way I use paper documents in the hospital is to advocate for my child.

One of my foster children is blind and staff almost always start working on her without speaking to her about what is happening.

I made a document that hangs over her hospital bed that says “Hi, I’m _________! I cannot see you but I can hear and understand you. Please talk to me about who you are and tell me everything you are doing. Please tell me if it will hurt or not.”

I made almost an identical sign for my foster son, explaining that he understands and loves to be talked to even though he is non-verbal.

These signs are a constant reminder to staff that these children are people who have feelings and not just medical needs.

When these signs are hanging over my children’s hospital beds, I see a change in how staff interact with them and I do not have to constantly narrate or ask each staff person to treat my children a certain way.

3. Say yes (and no) to visitors

When we have a child in the hospital, there is usually someone who offers to come sit with the child so I can get away from the hospital for a while.

I tend to come up with excuses to turn these offers down, as I prefer to be close to my little one at all times while he/she is hospitalized.

However, I have discovered that I love to have someone come sit with both me and my child at the hospital.

During our most recent hospital stay, my little sister came by with coffee and stayed for a few hours just to talk and be present.

It meant so much to me and I did not feel any pressure or anxiety about being asked to leave my child with someone else.

Hours upon hours in the hospital can feel depressing and lonely. Having a loved one close greatly lifted my spirits.

In the future, I will kindly say no to those who offer to sit with my little one when I do not feel comfortable leaving but I will also ask loved ones to come be present with both me and my child.

4. Don’t be afraid to be the boss

Before I became the mama of children who have medical needs, I tended to believe that doctors and other medical staff were always the expert and I had to follow their every recommendation.

However, I have learned that this is not the case. Rather, doctors and medical staff are one piece of the puzzle and members of a team that I am on as well.

As the mother of my children, I am the one who knows my children best and my opinions should be honored.

Near the beginning of our journey with children who have medical needs, some very dangerous decisions were made and life-threatening situations ensued because doctors did not respect my opinion (backed by fact and experience) in regard to my child’s needs.

Since then, I have learned to speak up and to do it loudly.

In the past, I felt as if I was in the way and had to ask permission to assist the staff. I felt self-conscious when I questioned what was being done.

Now, I feel confident jumping right in and asking about every procedure that is done, medication that is given, etc.

There have even been times that a wrong medication was about to be given and it was my questioning that brought the mistake to light.

While my involvement does irritate some medical staff, overall, the staff respond well and end up respecting me as they see that I am informed and will advocate lovingly and boldly.

I make sure to remember that medical staff are people too and I make a point of being respectful and kind.

My respect for them, as well as for my child and myself as a mom, creates an environment where my child can be well cared for.

5. Keep a notepad and pen handy at all times

Any medical parent knows that the number of professionals who come in and out of a child’s hospital room throughout the day is pretty crazy!

Add up a few days in the hospital and that is a lot of faces, names, titles, information, and care plans to keep track of.

I keep a notepad and pen handy at all times during hospitalizations.

As soon as someone walks into the room, I grab my pen and jot down his/her name, title, and some bullet points of what he/she said.

I also use the notepad to keep track of questions I want to ask and things I want to follow up on.

The notepad system is super helpful for making sure that everyone is on board with the plan and there is not contradicting information.

As a foster parent, this also makes it easier for me to document what is happening each day and send it into our case team.

6. Be intentional about activities you bring for yourself

During some hospital stays, I have had too high of expectations for what I would accomplish in the downtime at the hospital and have brought large amounts of work I wanted to get done.

As it turned out, a lot of the time my child was needing held, comforted, etc, and even when he/she was resting well, my brain felt fried and I had no desire to get work done.

On the other hand, there have been hospital stays where I did not bring anything but mindless activities and after hours of scrolling through social media or playing pointless games, my brain felt anxious and restless.

Instead of swinging to one extreme or the other, I now try to find a mix of activities to bring to the hospital.

I do bring some work with me, but with the expectation that if it doesn’t get done, that is OK.

I also bring a good book I know will engage me, some movies, and other activities that I know can give my brain a break but won’t leave me feeling like I wasted my time.

My main focus is my child and if I do nothing but comfort him/her, that is fine.

However, I do want to have a plan of how to use the times that he/she is sedated, sleeping, in surgery, etc, in order to reduce anxiety and boredom.

While we all hope that yet another hospital stay is not in the near future, I hope these tips prove helpful when the need arises.

Being a parent of children with special needs is without a doubt one of the most wonderful, most beautiful callings I have ever lived out.

It is also the hardest.

At the end of a particularly trying day recently, my husband had arrived home from work and asked how my day with the kids had gone. I struggled to put the immense heaviness in my heart into comprehensible words.

Finally, in a gush of hot tears, I blurted out, “Sometimes, I just want to be seen! No one has any idea what my days are like. No one knows how much I do in a day or how much I pour myself out for these kids. Does anyone really see me anymore?”

On that day when I told my husband I just wanted to be seen, I was talking about the hard parts.

My heart was in a selfish, weary place and I wanted the accolades. I wanted someone to say, “Hey, I saw how you got up early and haven’t stopped going since. I saw you push through your own exhaustion and sickness. I saw how many times that feeding pump clogged and you had to fix it once again.”

“I saw every medicine you gave, every meltdown you turned right-side up, every seizure that broke your heart, every pool of bodily fluids you cleaned up with a baby strapped to your back and toddlers being overly helpful. I saw every diaper changed and every behavior you guided.”

“I saw every phone call with doctors and social workers and pharmacies and home medical suppliers. I saw every therapy session you did, every game you played and snuggle you gave. I saw how much you gave of yourself today and every day. I saw you.”

I am human. There are days when exhaustion and self-centeredness take over.

Life went on after that hard day, and when the morning after came, I awoke filled with joy and once again felt the grace and strength God gives me each day. I was reminded how much it is not about me—how much I don’t want it to be about me.

Since then, I have dwelled a lot on how unseen we can be as parents/caregivers of children with special needs. I honestly believe until a person has lived this role, he or she cannot fully understand.

Even after working with children with special needs for years, my perspective and experiences changed entirely as a parent.

There is nothing we can do that will cause people to understand this dynamic experience.

What I have begun to treasure so dearly in my heart is the knowledge that for every challenging aspect I have to keep to myself, there are one hundred beautiful ones.

Among the unseen hard work I do every day, there are a thousand unseen hugs and kisses, silly songs, happy tears, victories big and small, laughing fits, dance parties, and the mightiest, most extravagant waves of grace I have ever known that can only be found crashing into the places where refining fires rage and sanctifying storms swell.

Friend, I know there are so many days that are hard—unbelievably hard. But I hope you also find great peace in the knowledge that this journey you are on is not in vain, but laced in beauty reserved just for you and yours.

Remember that there is mightiness in the mundane as the smallest acts add up to be the greatest.

Remember the precious eyes that do see you—your children see you. You see you. God sees you.

If you remember nothing else from this day, remember this: Keep going. You are enough. You are seen.