The ‘TALK’ Without Words

Supporting Parents of Children with Multiple Disabilities

By Neelu Grover

Parenting a child with multiple disabilities is not just a role—it’s a journey. One filled with breathtaking love, deep-seated resilience, and yes, a staggering complexity that most cannot begin to fathom. Over the years, I’ve sat across from countless parents, mothers, fathers, grandparents, who carry more than just the weight of daily care. They carry guilt. Isolation. Exhaustion.

They are often navigating a relentless maze: therapy sessions that stretch their time and resources, bureaucratic systems that lack empathy, stinging societal judgment, and an uphill battle of advocacy that never seems to rest. While all parenting involves a steep learning curve, for these parents, every step feels like a battlefield. Every milestone—no matter how small—is hard-won.

The Weight of Parenting

What makes it even harder is the silence—not just the silence of children who may not speak, hear, or see, but the silence of society. These parents are rarely part of the so-called "mainstream" parenting groups. They are often left out of casual conversations, parenting circles, and peer networks where shared learning thrives. Their needs, and their children’s needs, are different—and too often, they are ignored.

The Silence of the Society

One of the most daunting challenges they face is how to talk—the talk about bodies, puberty, boundaries, and personal safety. Now imagine having that conversation with a child who is both deaf and blind. There are no ready-made answers here, no step-by-step manuals, just a deep yearning to do it right and a void where guidance should be.

Listening and Giving Space

When I began working with these parents, I aimed not to arrive with solutions, but with presence. I wanted to create a space where they felt truly heard and understood without judgment. I learned quickly that what they needed most wasn’t perfection. It was affirmation. They needed to know their struggles were valid, their instincts were strong, and their voices mattered.

We built more than a workshop at Helen Keller Institute—we built a community. We offered tactile tools, Braille diagrams, and alternate ways of communicating that honoured each child’s reality. But more than that, we brought together parents who could lean on each other. We created peer support systems and shared resources that said, but powerfully: you are not alone.

Workshop for Parents at Helen Keller Institute

These children may not be on the same developmental page as their neurotypical peers, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve the same rights. The same education. The same care. The same love. As Helen Keller once said, “We should try to give every person every right that we claim for ourselves.” That is a truth I carry with me every day.

When parents feel supported emotionally, socially, and practically, they begin to trust themselves again. And when that happens, their children bloom. I’ve seen it: the spark in a child’s eye when they feel safe, the sense of joy when a child begins to understand their body through touch and trust, and the shift in a parent’s shoulders when they realise: I can do this. I am not alone.

This is the power of the unspoken ‘talk’—the one that happens not just with words, but with hands, hearts, and unwavering compassion.