When Your Kid Finally Loves Therapy

There was a time when therapy felt like war.

Not the inspirational movie kind. The real kind. The one with screaming, resistance, heartbreak, and me standing in the hallway taking deep breaths as I fought back tears, telling myself this is good for him. Kaedyn has hated therapy more times than I can count. And honestly? I’ve tried to black out most of those sessions.... #PTSD

But this year… something changed. Kaedyn started asking questions, and so we started having some pretty big conversations. The kind no parent really wants to have but knows they have to. The ones that pull no punches and leave your heart sore for days.

“If you want to walk, buddy… you have to want it. You have to fight for it. You’re allowed to hate it—most people would. But five or ten years from now, you could be walking with a frame, or a stick, or maybe even unaided. That future? It’s yours to shape. We’ll help you, but we can’t do it for you.”

I didn’t think it had sunk in. He’s 11. His world revolves around Gaming, jokes I apparently don’t “get,” and reminding me that I’m “old.” and saying "PERIOD!" But something clicked.

He didn’t say much, I could tell he was thinking. He sat with it for a few weeks.
Then, one night he looked at me and said: “I want to do more therapy.”

So we did.
I cut back on school visits. We moved him 100% to clinic-based therapy, and that helped us stretch therapy sessions out more.

And the difference? It’s not subtle.

I feel the change when I lift him.
I see it when he moves.
I hear it in the way he talks about himself.
His body is getting stronger, but even more than that, his belief in himself is, too.

But let’s be real, it’s not just about therapy. It’s about who is in the room.

Kaedyn doesn’t suddenly love therapy because he’s become some mobility-obsessed fitness freak. He loves it because he works with people who truly get him. People who don’t therapize him, they joke with him, play with him, push him, and listen when he says he’s done. They show up for him, not just his goals. And in that connection, real magic happens.

I gave him the last week of school holidays off therapy. After a full term and a marathon of appointments, I thought he’d appreciate a break. Apparently not.

It’s almost 10:00pm.
He’s sending me voice messages like: “Can I do therapy tomorrow? Just email Kate now!”

Buddy… she’s pregnant. LET THE WOMAN SLEEP.

But also? I love this.
I love that this is how he wants to spend his day.
Not because he has to.
Because he wants to.

And that’s the kind of shift no NDIS plan review can measure. That’s growth.

The laughter of birthing a baby in breech on a reformer (don’t ask, but if you know, you know).
The tackles with Ben.
The slow, steady climb up the hydro ramp with the other Ben.
The jokes, the high-fives.

There’s something in the way it all feels now.
Therapy doesn’t feel like work anymore.
It feels like his place. Something he owns. Something he’s proud of.

And yes, he’ll absolutely murder me for sharing this, but he has a full squad of licensed teddy bears who rotate nightly like a therapy-themed Avengers team.

Currently starring:

Glinda (aka Ash)
Merida (aka Kate)
Belle (aka Sharn)
Ariel (aka Krissy)
Mario (aka Ben 2)
Luigi (aka Ben 1)
…and the one, the only: Donkey. (Yes, from Shrek. Sorry, Kal 😂)

These aren’t just plush toys. They’re named after the people who lift him, believe in him, and walk (or wheel) beside him every step of the way.

Even when it’s late, the room is dark, the door is closed I still hear him. Full-blown teddy bear therapy sessions.

Apparently, Ben 1 (Luigi) is the serious one.
He often gets asked: “Why so serious?”

It’s comedy gold.
I’ve seriously considered setting up a night vision camera just for content.

But somewhere between “I hate this” and “Can we go tomorrow?” Kaedyn found joy in the hard stuff.
And he started choosing it. And maybe that’s the most powerful transformation of all.