Doing Too Much? At Which Point Is Enough?

Among the many confusing decisions, countless opinions, and overwhelming unknowns that come with raising a child with special needs, parents often find themselves asking questions that don’t have simple answers. What is really expected of me? How many medical opinions should I pursue? At what point have I done enough, and at what point am I doing too much? Where is the line between advocacy and overexertion? And perhaps most deeply of all, how do I balance my effort with my faith in Hashem? In other words, to what extent should I work within the reality of my child’s needs, and when do I push harder? When do I gently accept?

These questions don’t always come with guidance. They sit quietly in our minds, surfacing late at night when we’re tired, emotional, and unsure if we said the right thing, chose the right therapist, or made the right call. Parenting a child with special needs means constantly walking a tightrope between hope and acceptance, between doing everything possible and trusting that some outcomes are not in our hands.

Part of the confusion comes from misunderstanding what real effort looks like. We often equate effort with doing — appointments, therapies, research, meetings, experts, charts, tracking, advocating, adjusting. And yes, there is beauty in commitment and effort. But effort does not always appear as action. Sometimes true effort is simply showing up with love, patience, and calm persistence. Sometimes it is choosing to pause, breathe, and notice who our child is right now — not only who we hope they might become.

Being constantly busy does not mean we are being productive. We can be exhausted, running from one thing to the next, without actually helping our child or ourselves. Our power as parents is not in controlling outcomes — because we cannot — but in choosing how we respond to them. We cannot control therapists, doctors, teachers, or even our child’s pace of growth. But we can control our attitude, our compassion, and the environment we create for our child to feel seen, safe, and valued.

A parent once told me that she knew she was crossing a line when she started to feel more like her child’s full-time therapist than their mother. That realization is profound. There is a difference between helping a child grow and trying to reshape their essence. It is natural to hope for progress and improvement. It is beautiful to want your child to thrive. But when our entire identity becomes treatment, fixing, and chasing milestones, we risk losing our connection with our child — and sometimes with ourselves.

A balanced parent gives their child love, structure, comfort, discipline, patience, and support — the same foundation they would give any of their children, just adapted to this child’s needs. That means providing food, clothing, emotional warmth, safe boundaries, appropriate therapies, medical guidance when needed, and a nurturing environment. It means taking away a toy thrown in frustration — and then being the same person who holds that child when they cry because the world feels hard. That blend of firmness and tenderness is parenting at its most grounded and authentic.

And after we do what we can, we turn to Hashem. Not in defeat, but in partnership. We say: “I am doing my part. Please help me see my child for who they are meant to be. Give me patience, strength, and clarity. Help me support them in becoming the best version of themselves, not someone they are not.” Faith does not mean stepping back from effort; it means trusting that once we have done our part, we are not alone in the rest.

Accepting your child as they are does not mean giving up on growth. It means recognizing that growth is not only measured in medical charts or milestones — sometimes it is measured in a new smile, a calmer evening, a moment of connection, a small step forward that only you notice. Progress is not always loud. Sometimes it is quiet and holy.

There will always be voices — experts, relatives, strangers — offering opinions about what you should do, what you haven’t tried, what they heard worked for someone else. But only you live this life. Only you know your child’s heart. And only you can balance effort with peace, drive with acceptance, and action with stillness.

At the end of the day, parenting a child with special needs is not only a journey of development — it is a journey of faith, humility, strength, and profound love. We learn to celebrate differently. We measure success differently. We grow in ways we never imagined. And we discover that “doing enough” is not about doing everything — it is about doing what is right, with intention, love, and trust.

When we honor our child’s pace, value their essence, and bring faith into our effort, we create space for calm, clarity, and real connection. And in that space, we discover that we truly are doing enough — and Hashem is doing the rest.