Finding Strength in the Storm: The Power of Self-Care

Gan Hashlosha

Parenting a child with special needs is a journey filled with love, devotion, and countless challenges. This past week, having Asaf at home has been both joyful and incredibly demanding. For the past three and a half years, I had the "luxury" of visiting him a couple of times a week—taking a walk, sharing a meal, or even just running errands together. Sometimes, he would be lost in his autistic world, unresponsive. While that used to frustrate me, over time, I learned to cherish the small moments of connection. At the end of each visit, I would return home knowing that someone else was handling his daily care. I carried on with my life, believing he was safe and that his needs were being met. I allowed myself to let go of that responsibility—not because I didn’t care, but because I had to, in order to survive.

Now, everything is different. Having Asaf home means being immersed in his autism 24/7, facing every challenge head-on. I find myself questioning things I never had to before:Can I really do this?Can I radically accept his disability?How will I manage?What if I fail him?What if I fail myself?The weight of it all is suffocating at times. I don’t regret bringing him home—not for a second—but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared or doubting myself. I feel like I’m constantly trying to find my footing in a reality that keeps shifting beneath me. I also keep reminding myself that this is a marathon and not a sprint.

On top of everything, I also have to help Alex. Becoming a carer within a family unit is not an easy task, and i also need to help him understand what it means to support Asaf—not by doing everything for him, but by encouraging him to develop skills for independence. And then there’s the endless bureaucracy—the mountain of paperwork, the waiting, the approvals—it never seems to end.

Sometimes, it only takes one small thing to push me over the edge. Last weekend, it was a power outage that left my house with barely any working sockets and some rooms in complete darkness. It seemed like such a minor issue in the grand scheme of things, yet it felt like too much in that moment. Taking away one of our most basic needs made me question myself again. Will things be okay? Will I manage to make this work? In my head, I knew I would call the electrician on Sunday morning, and everything would be fixed. But the uncertainty, the upheaval—it sent me spiraling. If something so small could shake me, what did that say about everything else? About Asaf? About my ability to handle this massive change?

I shared my feelings with a friend. She reminded me of something simple yet profound: I’m undergoing a massive life transition, and adjustments take time. Then she said seven words that I desperately needed to hear: "Don’t forget to take care of yourself."

I talk about the importance of self-care in my lectures, yet when I’m drowning in responsibilities, I sometimes forget to practice it myself. But I listened. I packed my bag, grabbed my phone, and drove just eight minutes from my home to Gan HaShlosha—a breathtaking national park with natural pools that stay at 28°C year-round. It’s a paradise for photographers, and as I stood behind my lens, just being in the moment with the background noise of the waterfall and the birds, I finally felt myself breathe again.

I followed this with a swim. I can’t fully describe the feeling of swimming in a 100-meter-long, warm natural pool with the fish. It felt so freeing, so relaxing. I decided to swim until I felt a sense of balance returning. The challenges haven’t disappeared, and the fears and doubts still linger, but I feel stronger now. I can see the bigger picture—the reasons I brought Asaf home—and the deep love that fuels this journey. And most importantly, I know I’m doing the best I can. 

I want to share this because it’s important to talk about the struggles, not just the victories. There are so many parents out there barely keeping their heads above water, giving everything they have to their children. This post is for them. Raising any child is demanding—raising a child with special needs is even more exhausting and relentless. To all those parents, I see you. I salute you. You are true heroes. And I want to remind you: Take care of yourselves. Even the smallest acts of self-care—whether it’s a short walk, a deep breath, or an hour doing something you love—can give you the strength to continue being the incredible parent your child needs.

Our children are blessed to have us, but we must also make sure we have enough in us to give. 

You matter too.