The Girl Gangs gonna do what the Girl Gangs gotta do

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It probably comes as no surprise to anyone to hear that parenting is getting harder as Sarena gets older. What may be less obvious is that Sarena herself is not the most challenging part of this crazy ride. 

In case you forgot, or didn’t get a chance to read my earlier blogs (critics say they are highly recommended, also, I’m calling myself “critics” now), our youngest daughter, Sarena, was diagnosed with Dravet Syndrome at 14 months old. Quick review, Dravet is a rare, severe form of epilepsy that brings with it relentless seizures, developmental delays, and definitely keeps us on our toes. It’s not just a diagnosis. It’s a full-time, unpaid, high-stress job with zero vacation days and the world’s most expensive (retail) therapy bills.

But this reality isn’t just about Sarena or blaming her for my credit card debt.

It’s also about the Girl Gang that surrounds her with love, sass, sparkles, and strength. Her sisters Dodi, Sophie, and Atara have grown up (ahem, are still growing up) in the whirlwind of seizures, emergency meds, and last-minute hospital runs. You would think all this chaos would cause even more chaos (and you would be right), but they’ve also somehow managed to turn that chaos into grit and unexpected grace.

They’re fierce.

They’re funny.

And they’re tired. Tired in the deep, invisible way that comes from carrying too much emotional weight for too long.

Because it’s not just Sarena’s seizures that hit hard.

It’s the stress.
It’s the sleep deprivation.
It’s the hypervigilance.
It’s the constant wondering: Will today be the day we call Hatzalah again?
It’s the fear.
It’s the guilt.
It’s the grief. Grief for the life we imagined, and for the normal our girls never got to have.

Mental health matters.
Mental health matters.
Mental health matters.

I say it three times because we live in a world where it’s often said once and skipped over. But here, in this house, it’s part of everything. Going to therapy is as common as going to the mall (aka, a lot!) Because the invisible weight is just as heavy, if not heavier, than the visible one. 

I watch my girls carry it.

Dodi notices every flutter of Sarena’s eyes and tilt of her head, never letting her guard down.

Sophie’s first question after school is always “Is Sarena ok, did she have a seizure?”. That is, if she waits until after school, often calling for a mid-day check-in.

Atara asks the kinds of questions that keep me up at night. The kinds of questions no child should have to ask and no parent should know the answer to.

Tzvi is like the coach from A League of Their Own. Managing schedules, driving carpools, and reminding us that there’s no crying in baseball. 

And me? I cry in the pantry. I eat too much. I smile when I’m breaking. I put on my makeup even when I’m exhausted. Because that’s how you survive sometimes. That’s how you keep going when you don’t have the option to fall apart. Even when falling apart sometimes feels like the only option.

But here’s the miracle in the mess:

We are still standing.
We are still laughing.
We are still showing up for Sarena, and for each other.
And sometimes, we still do it in matching outfits.

Sarena, or “princess mermaid ballerina scientist” as she is formally known around here, brings light like no one else. Her singing fills a room. Her attitude is spicy. Her twirls are flawless. And her spirit? Untouchable. Thanks to her, we’ve learned to breathe between emergencies. We’ve learned that strength looks different on different days. And we’ve learned that even during a siren, you can dance.

And her sisters? They are the real MVPs (not the sports kind, though). They are wise beyond their years. They are strong when they shouldn’t have to be. Going to therapy is hard. Facing your problems is scary. 
But they keep going.
They keep showing up.
They keep loving Sarena with everything they’ve got.

And when that gets hard, they each have their therapists on speed dial! 

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