Becoming a mother is unforgettable. To hold in your arms a creature so small and fragile that she looks at you as if to say, "Here I am, I exist too"—that is miraculous.
In those early days, Simona and I merged into one. Like any parent, I was convinced of her exceptional gifts. At three months old, when she made a small sound, I was certain she had spoken the word mama. Really, I was chasing my own expectations and ignoring her own pace of growth.
For the first few years we lived in this dangerous spell. When she started preschool, I finally saw the struggles she faced—learning difficulties, trouble making friends her own age. The pain was enormous. I had no words to scream my rage. My maternal instinct was to shield her from the world, to spare her life's disappointments. But in trying to protect her, I was extinguishing her dreams instead of nurturing them.
Then, with help from special people in my life, I understood something crucial: when something painful happens, you must react. You cannot give up. A child is always special to a mother, even if she is not the top of the class.
Once I accepted Simona's disability, everything changed—the way we lived, and how others treated us.
Released from the protective isolation I had, with good intentions, forced her to endure, Simona took her first steps alone. She began to face life in all its complexity—to care for herself, to overcome her insecurity, to manage her anxiety, to believe in herself. And she knew, always, that her mother was there when things got hard.
A turning point came when we found Faith and Light.
At first I hesitated. I worried that a group of people and families struggling with disability would not help me raise and educate a disabled daughter. I was wrong. What I learned was that being with others—facing their lives, their challenges—is a gift. Their ability or disability did not matter. What mattered was the richness of encounter.
Everyone carries dreams, possibilities, or limits. Everyone is one of us, part of a community that sees value in the other person—not as a tool to fulfill our own expectations, but as a human being worthy of respect.
In the group, Simona found people who truly understood and accepted her. She made deep friendships that held her up in moments of fragility. And I, too, felt supported and relieved of my burden.
Together we lived through meaningful, peaceful experiences as a community. We learned to relate to people different from those we normally knew. Simona now has a network of human relationships that sustain her. Our own relationship became lighter, freed from the weight of being everything to each other. People from Faith and Light have become part of our life, bringing us not just support but moments of joy and lightness.
Franca, 2016