Two years ago, I sat down in the park between Gabby’s playgroup and our house and called the family advice line for our town, asking for any support they had for Squidge.

She was just 5 years old and her dad was in hospital. I had wrung myself out trying to be 2 parents and a supportive wife and my little girl, tired and tearful had finally uttered the words: “Mummy. you’re asking me to do too much.”

I had always been terrified of the moment my disability would burden my precious little girl. But as it was, it wasn’t just me. Her dad had a as yet diagnosed condition and we were in amongst each of us losing a parent and my daughters therefore, 2 grandparents a piece. My mental health was in the toilet (and would remain there for a full two years.) I didn’t have a clue what to do about it, because I could barely reach myself and I couldn’t bear the idea of my hurt hurting my girls too. She needed all the help she could get, before it became her whole job to care for all of us. I never wanted that for her.

This week, with less than a week’s notice, Squidge was offered counselling. For a moment, a thought struck me. “Would they see how much Squidge has gone through? Would they judge me for not protecting her more?”

As it was, Squidge’s therapist was a marvel. She ushered us into a roomful of toys with a smile. She wasn’t looking for Squidge to be broken. Do broken kids even look broken anyway? I told her how much our family had been through, how I just wanted Squidge to be seen through it all, to have a safe space to say whatever it was she needed to say to feel heard. Because I recognised that amidst crisis, her dad and I may not be the most available of people, however much we love her.

Kindly she said: “You have all been through so much.”

Yep. “And Squidge was right there through it all. She’s so empathetic and loving, I worry she doesn’t feel as though she can add her emotions to mine.”

I grew up never feeling heard and I do not ever want the same for my girls. But I know I am incredibly emotionally led, however hard I am working on myself.

So we drew around Squidge’s little hand and wrote down the names of the people she felt able to talk to. I was relieved to make the list because I do not always feeling deserving of my place.

We talked about how Squidge manages her emotions and I mentioned that we do 5 minutes of Theraplay activities each day, which we call “Five Minutes with Mummy”, how she’s requestd a journal so I’ve bought one for Christmas. How she’ll take herself off to her room to be alone, to cry, or scream into a pillow if she needs to.

“It’s fantastic she has those avenues.”

“She is the most beautiful soul. I am completely in love with her. But I have only just learnt it’s not because she is growing into herself. It’s because of the love I have poured into her. I am allowed to be proud of that.”

“You absolutely should be. I can see how much support you give her.”

Squidge mentions how she feels like Gabby’s needs have taken over our lives slightly. I feel sad for a moment, until I tell her “You are her favourite person though aren’t you? You make her laugh the most because you are you.”

“Yeah. I love that.”

And I realise, that Squidge doesn’t need to be broken to be worthy of further support, or a safe space to be heard. It doesn’t have to matter that she’s safe and loved and clever and strong in the face of any children who sadly are not. She’s still allowed to feel a little forgotten in the face of the needs of a 3 year-old. She’s allowed to feel whatever the hell it is she feels because they are her feelings. Every one is just as valid as she is.

It has taken me all of my 34 years to know this. I have only been in counselling for 2 years myself but I am never going to relent now. I have finally learnt that I am important, with or without crisis and I choose to be proud that I am teaching my daughters from the earliest age that they matter too. They matter for no other reason than that they are themselves. They are enough. And they deserve to have the world on side.