Post 59: You Need a Grammy — What Families Taught Me About Asking for Help
In one of our weekly group calls inside TheraParent, a mom was having one of those days.
She wasn't in crisis. She was just tired — the kind of tired that builds up slowly when you're managing a child's therapy routine, the household, the other kids, the appointments, and everything in between. She was doing everything right. She was just doing too much of it alone.
And a grandmother on the call said: "You need a Grammy."
Everyone laughed. But I couldn't let it go. Because behind that joke was something I hear all the time in different ways — parents who don't know how to ask for help, and family members who want to help and don't know how to offer it. Two people on opposite sides of a door, both waiting.
That comment planted a seed. A few weeks later, we created a special call to talk about exactly that.
The two sides of the same problem.
Most conversations about fascia therapy focus on the parent doing the work. And rightly so — the parent is the one learning the techniques, building the routine, showing up day after day.
But what makes that sustainable?
What I've seen over the years is that the families who keep going — the ones who find their rhythm and stay in it — almost never do it completely alone. There's usually someone behind the scenes. Someone who takes the other kids for the afternoon. Who brings food. Who quietly makes space for the therapy to happen.
And yet, most families never talk about this out loud.
On one side, parents feel like they shouldn't burden anyone, or that no one would really understand what they're doing, or that it's easier to just carry it themselves. On the other side, grandparents and friends genuinely want to help — but they don't want to get in the way, and they're not sure what would actually be useful.
So nothing gets said. And the parent keeps carrying it alone.
What Happened When We Opened The Door
Two grandmothers from our TheraParent community joined the call to share their own experiences as helpers. What moved me was how different their roles were — and how both were making the therapy possible in their own way.
One of them is the one doing the therapy work with her granddaughter. She has learned the techniques, she knows how to place the supports, she shows up for the sessions. But what she shared on the call went beyond the mechanics. She talked about how being part of this process has given her a completely different kind of connection with her granddaughter — a quiet, physical presence that goes deeper than words. She's not just helping. She's with her granddaughter in a way she didn't know was possible before. That's something I don't think either of them expected when they started.
The other grandmother contributes in a completely different way. She helps with childcare, with meals, with the everyday weight that would otherwise fall entirely on the parent's shoulders. As her daughter shared on the call: "I wouldn't be able to do as much fascia work if I had to worry about every meal and cleaning the house." She also networks, stays curious, and connects her family to resources and information they wouldn't have found on their own. And when there's a win — when the child does something new, something unexpected — her daughter said it clearly: it's a team celebration. Everyone who contributed to that moment gets to feel it.
Different roles, both immensely valuable. Because a child thrives when the people around them each bring what they do best — and together, that becomes something no single person could build alone.
One of the questions I hear most from family members and friends is: but what can I do, specifically?
And my honest answer is: it depends on who you are and what your family needs. There is no single right role. What matters is that you find yours.
For some helpers, that looks like learning one small thing — how to place a support, how to carry the child in a way that helps rather than hinders. Over time, that one thing becomes two, and two becomes a real contribution to the child's daily experience.
For others, it looks nothing like the therapy itself. It looks like cooking dinner on Tuesday so the mom doesn't have to. Taking the other kids to the park. Sitting with the child during a quiet moment. Researching a question the parent didn't have time to look up.
All of it counts. All of it makes the therapy more possible.
What I told the helpers on that call was simple: find your one step. Do it consistently. And ask the parent — really ask — what they need from you right now. Not "let me know if you need anything." Something specific. Something real.
What I Believe About Families Who Thrive
After more than two decades working with children with cerebral palsy and their families, I've come to believe something I don't say often enough:
Progress is rarely made by one person doing everything alone.
Behind most of the real gains I've witnessed — the child who suddenly tolerates a new position, the family who finds their routine and sticks to it, the parent who stops feeling like she's failing — there is almost always a network of people holding things up. Sometimes it's a partner. Sometimes it's a grandmother. Sometimes it's a friend who doesn't know anything about fascia but shows up anyway.
That network doesn't do the therapy. But it makes the person doing the therapy feel less alone. And that changes everything.
If You're A Parent Reading This
You are allowed to ask for help.
Not vague help — specific help. The kind that actually makes a difference. "Can you come on Sunday and sit with me while I do the routine?" "Can you watch the kids for two hours on Wednesday?" "Can you just read this one thing so you understand what I'm doing?"
The people who love you are probably already looking for a way in. You just have to open the door.
If You're A Helper Reading This
You don't have to understand everything to be useful. You don't have to do the therapy yourself. You just have to be willing to learn a little, show up consistently, and ask the parent what they actually need — and then do that thing.
One role, done with love, is worth more than a hundred good intentions.
That grandmother who said "you need a Grammy" was right. And I think most parents already know it. Sometimes they just need someone to say it out loud.
Ready to Start?
Take your first step into fascia therapy with our short, parent-friendly workshop:
The #1 Fascia Therapy To Improve Torso Control. I teach you the first exercise and how to make the binder so you can help your child today.
Gentle, effective, and easy to begin—no experience needed.
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