Navigating Tough Choices with Love and Purpose

When my sons were around 11 and 12, they approached me with a surprising request: they wanted to go to sleepaway camp. They had always loved day camp, but this felt like a big leap. I was hesitant. I had never been to sleepaway camp myself, and my husband hadn’t even attended day camp. It just wasn’t “us.” And while we were fortunate enough to afford it, the idea seemed extravagant and unnecessary.
I secretly hoped their enthusiasm would fade, but it didn’t. Eventually, we started researching different camps and found one that seemed like a good fit. They went, and to my surprise, they loved it. Summer after summer, they returned—first as campers, then as staff members when they aged out. They built lifelong friendships, gained independence, and learned the value of hard work through their first real jobs. They became part of a community, a team, and an extended family away from home.
Looking back, I couldn’t have predicted how transformative it would be for them. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was the wave of judgment and unsolicited commentary that came with it.
Over the years, I heard things like, “I could never send my kids away like that. Don’t you miss them?” or, “My kids would never want to be away from me for that long. It must be so nice to get a break like that.” The comments were often loaded with criticism and negativity. I understood where they were coming from, to some degree—before my sons went to camp, I might have judged in similar ways.
But one comment cut especially deep: “Do you send the boys to sleepaway camp because it’s too hard to be home in the summer with them and care for Sydney?”
Sydney, my daughter with special needs, has always added a layer of complexity to parenting. Balancing her needs with those of her brothers has been one of the greatest challenges of my life. Normally, I don’t let judgment get to me, but when it comes to decisions about my kids—especially those informed by the unique dynamics of a special needs family—I am sensitive. That comment felt like an attack on my parenting and my choices.
The decisions we make as parents, whether for typical or non-typical children, are rooted in years of learning and growing alongside that child. They’re not made in haste. Instead, they’re driven by the belief that this is, first and foremost, what will benefit that particular child the most. And sometimes, those decisions are not easy.
Sending my kids to sleepaway camp, however, wasn’t a difficult decision. They asked, we could afford it, and I figured, why not try? Other people’s judgments rarely bothered me unless they implied I sent my boys away because I couldn’t meet their needs or make time for them due to Sydney’s special needs.
But the decisions I am about to make regarding my daughter’s future are far more complex, gut-wrenching, and unclear. What is best for her and her unique needs isn’t black and white. So many factors play into the long-term care of an individual with special needs. These decisions are multifaceted, and because of that, they often open the door to a world of judgment from others.
Now, Sydney is about to turn 19, and we’re entering a new phase of uncertainty: adulthood. Questions about her future loom large. What will she do? What is she capable of? What support will she need to live her best life? The clock feels like it’s ticking loudly, and while we try to focus on what’s best for her, the opinions of others can be deafening.
“You’re going to send her to a group home, right?”
“Don’t you and Chris deserve some time for yourselves?”
Comments like these—though often well-meaning—are dripping with judgment. While I’ve learned to brush off most of it, what stings the most is the perception that any decision we make about Sydney’s future, like considering a residential program, stems from an inability to “handle her.”
Within the special needs community, I’ve encountered similar judgment. Some families assume that sending a child to a residential program means giving up. While I understand where that perception comes from, it’s not the full story. Families like mine aren’t looking for the easy way out; we’re trying to do what’s best for our individual situations.
What upsets me the most is this: no one can truly understand the intricate, deeply personal considerations behind these decisions unless they’ve walked in our shoes. We’re not giving up on Sydney. We’re working tirelessly to find the path that will give her the greatest chance at a fulfilling, independent life.
Parenting—whether typical or special needs—is full of tough choices. And sometimes, those choices are misunderstood. But at the end of the day, what matters most is doing right by our children, no matter what others think.
For me, sending my boys to camp wasn’t about getting a break. And making decisions about Sydney’s future isn’t about lightening our load. It’s about love, growth, and giving each of my children the best opportunities to thrive—on their own terms.