OWL Kids Care Centre Setia Alam - Outcome with Learning

Therapy is for all #13

Saya terbaca something recently dekat applikasi Threads yang buat I rasa sangat uncomfortable. 😣

A woman was looking for adoptive parents for her unborn child. I think she wasn’t in a position to raise the baby herself, and she was reaching out, hoping someone would step forward with love and a home. Then someone commented. Another woman. Not to offer help. But to warn others to be careful because what if the baby turns out to be autistic? What if the genes aren’t “healthy”?

I sat with that for a while. Sebab honestly, what does that even mean — healthy genes? We take that gamble with every child we bring into this world, adopted or biological. Not every child grows up to be the pride of the family. And not every parent grows up to be the parent their child deserves either. That’s just life. Nobody gets a warranty.
But here’s what I really want to talk about. Because I’ve seen what it looks like when a family decides that difficulty is not a dealbreaker.

I work with a woman I’ll call Anastacia. Nama sebenar tapi bukan nama pertama dia😝😝She’s 30 now and celebrated her big birthday last year. Her mother is a law lecturer. Her father, a barrister. Both her sisters are educators. A household full of books, arguments, and very high expectations. Her mother told me that the pregnancy with Anastacia felt different from the start. She didn’t move much. And when Anastacia finally arrived, she came out blue starved of oxygen. Possible brain injury at birth. She could have not survived. Her family could have crumbled. Instead, from young, her mother started looking for therapies early, before anyone even gave Anastacia a formal diagnosis. She just knew something needed attention, and she got to work.

Anastacia has all the hallmarks of autism. Adolescence was rough for her with constant anxiety, emotional dysregulation, challenging behaviour. The kind of thing that breaks families who aren’t prepared for the long game. But her family played the long game.

They treated her according to her age. Told her off when she needed to be told off. Loved her fiercely but didn’t make the world revolve entirely around her — they made sure she revolved around their world too. When she smashed her phone in a meltdown, the mother made sure she saved up to replace it. When she couldn’t save enough, she went without. Not as punishment. As life.

Her mother was also very clear about one thing: Anastacia has a carer who supports her to school. And from the beginning, her mother made sure Anastacia understood why the carer was there — bukan sebab orang kena layan dia. But because she needed support, and accepting support with understanding is different from expecting people to serve you. That distinction matters more than people realise.

I’ve seen the other side too. A parent I asked recently to stop carrying his son’s school bag. His response: “Dia kecik lagi.”

I told him — the bag has a snack box and a small towel in it. Bukan sekampit beras. But the bag is still being carried. And the boy still has people attending to his every move, with very little room to do anything for himself — yet somehow, he’s expected to get better. Apakah?

Neurodivergence isn’t something you can neatly explain or treat in a straight line. I’ve met parents who are desperate for the right diagnosis so they can find the right channel. I’ve met a father who wanted to survey how many autistic children have been “cured.” Bizarre? Maybe. But I respect that he was trying to make sense of something he didn’t have a map for.

The question isn’t really what’s right or wrong about being autistic. The question is — what are we actually preparing this person for?

Because here’s the thing nobody likes to say out loud: parents don’t live forever. The support system that seems solid today will, at some point, start to slip. And when that happens, the person we spent years protecting needs to be someone who can, at least in part, depend on themselves.

Anastacia is 30. Every developmental stage came late. But it came. And her family never stopped learning alongside her.

That commenter in Threads who warned people away from an unborn child — I think she was afraid. Fear makes people say things that sound like caution but are really just cruelty dressed up neatly.

A child, any child is not a guarantee. They are a chance you take. And some of the most remarkable people I know are the ones whose families decided that an unexpected kind of hard was still worth showing up for.
Peluang tu ada. We just have to want it enough to not walk away before it begins.

People will tell you, with your special child, that’s your ticket to masuk syurga. But honestly it may down to you to guide them into that direction. Ada juga special person ended up in a wrong path with misguided beliefs and decisions. Masuk syurga atau tidak is not something that we readily know but can always hope for the promise.

***Haniz masih berasap juga dgn comment yg macam tu but masih nak bersangka baik kat perempuan tu. I also sincerely hope that the baby gets adopted by good people. This is a picture of me and Anastacia yang kadang kadang memeningkan kepala juga🤭🤭🤭***

Cerita Hadiff. Jemput baca :)

Therapy is for all #12

Kita masih lagi berada dalam bulan April yakni Bulan Menghargai Autisme so adalah elok kiranya kita share kisah-kisah menarik dalam subject ni🤓🤓

Dan, masih lagi nak cerita pasal rakyat OWL. Tapi moral dari kisah ni p**a ialah, kita masih ada masa dan ada harapan… selagi kita mahu berusaha.

Cerita seorang Hadiff Iman. Hadiff lahir tahun 2019, dan tahun seterusnya tu satu Malaysia berada dalam fasa uncertainty.

Hadiff Iman. Nama tu dah cukup untuk cerita ni bermula.Dia datang ke OWL pada usia 6 tahun. Diagnosis nys, Autisme tahap sederhana. Realiti dia ketika itu, seorang budak yang sangat frustrated, hyperactive, compulsive, dan belum mampu nak uruskan diri sendiri sepenuhnya — termasuk masih dalam pampers. Bukan sebab dia tak boleh. Tapi sebab arah tuju dia masa tu tak kena dengan siapa dia sebenarnya.

Hadiff sebelum ini menjalani intervensi dgn provider lain. 2 tahun juga kalau tak silap. Sepatutnya dalam dua tahun, banyak juga pelajaran dan pengalaman yang kita boleh dapat. Not in Hadiff’s case lah kiranya.

Kita tak boleh salahkan sesiapa dalam perjalanan ni. Every provider, every school, every centre — semua ada cabaran tersendiri dalam bidang ni. Tapi kita kena jujur dengan diri sendiri: adakah kita betul-betul faham apa yang diperlukan oleh kanak-kanak di hadapan kita? Atau kita ikut formula yang sama untuk semua orang?

Di OWL, kami selalu pesan pada diri sendiri — kita bukan lebih baik dari orang lain. Tapi kita kena berusaha untuk jadi person-centred. Apa yang penting untuk kanak-kanak ini, itulah yang kita dahulukan.
Jadi bila Hadiff tiba, kami tak tengok apa yang dia tak boleh buat dulu.

Kami tengok dia. Seorang budak yang energetic. Yang belajar laju kalau dia engage. Yang ada motivasi dan initiation yang luar biasa — tapi tengah duduk dalam kekeliruan sebab kekuatan tu tak pernah diberi arah yang betul. His frustration made complete sense, actually.

Sebelum intervention Hadiff ni susahnya nak duduk diam lebih dari beberapa minit. Attention span pendek, especially bila ada table task. Umur dah nak masuk sekolah tetapi masih pakai pampers. Pun bukan salah cikgu mengajar nya dulu dan mungkin dia yang masih tidak boleh terima arahan, dulu. Hadiff lambat respond bila dipanggil nama atau diberi arahan. Bergantung sepenuhnya pada orang dewasa untuk life skills — mandi, pakai baju, jaga barang sendiri. Pencil grip yang lemah dan immature. Susah nak tunggu giliran. Tak faham sepenuhnya emosi — orang lain punya, apatah lagi emosi sendiri. Otot badan bahagian atas lemah, postur duduk tak stabil. Dan komunikasi verbal yang minimal — cakap pun kalau diprompt je.

Semua ni sebenarnya bukan satu masalah. Semua tu seorang budak 6 tahun yang dah penat cuba tapi tak tahu macam mana.

Rasanya, tak mudah untuk ibu bapa Hadiff buat keputusan tukar sekolah ni. Kena akui yang progress anak dah stagnant, kena cari alternatif baru — tu bukan keputusan yang senang. Tapi mereka buat. Dan itu yang penting. Tak guna nak mengulang cerita dan menyesal.

Yang penting, apa yang boleh kita buat untuk Hadiff sekarang? Dia ni dah makin membesar.

Minggu-minggu pertama? Tak glamour langsung. Budak lelaki dah 6 tahun, dah tegap, dah ada fizikal, dan dia tahu kalau sesuatu tak kena dengannya. Siapa je yang s**a kerja keras, kan? Kami faham tu. Dia pun manusia. Tapi less than 6 months later?

Hadiff sekarang ni dah boleh duduk hingga 10 minit untuk table task. Dah boleh siapkan kerja dengan minimal supervision. Dah toilet trained. Boleh jaga barang sendiri, mandi sendiri, pakai baju sendiri — dengan minimal reminder je. Pencil grip dah stabil, dah mula menulis sendiri tanpa guided hand. Boleh tunggu giliran. Dah mula show awareness terhadap emosi orang sekeliling dia, dan lebih baik dalam manage emosi diri sendiri. Komunikasi verbal dah improve — dan dia dah mula express macam-macam ekspresi muka yang sebelum ni tak nampak.

Dan yang paling kita semua tak sangka?
Dia sekarang pergi sekolah rendah. Dah naik darjah satu☺️☺️☺️☺️ Something that, not long ago, felt very far away for him — and maybe even for the people who love him most.

Cabaran hidup Hadiff tak berhenti di sini. Life will keep adding new chapters, new obstacles. Tapi cerita dia dah buktikan satu benda, bila kita fokus pada apa yang betul untuk seseorang — bukan formula, bukan assumption, tapi betul-betul tengok individu tu — progress tu ada.

Kredit penuh untuk Hadiff, yang selalu try walaupun penat. Dalam nangis nangis hentak hentak kaki tangan pun masih mahu habiskan kerja yang cikgu bagi.

Dan untuk ibu bapa dia, yang berani percaya pada dia, dan pada proses ni.

Kalau anda sedang dalam perjalanan yang sama, jangan berhenti cari sistem sokongan yang betul untuk anak anda. Bukan semua tempat sesuai untuk semua kanak-kanak. Dan itu okay. Yang penting, jangan putus asa dalam mencari.

Ada harapan. Selalu ada. 🧡

***Haniz ambil SPM tahun 1990 dan score A1 dalam Bahasa Malaysia dan credit dalam matapejaran Matematik yang masa tu pada dia agak mustahil nak lulus. Zaman tu kena paksa dgn MakBapak. Syukur kepada Mak Bapak yang sentiasa beri sokongan, walaupun dgn paksaan 😘😘😘***

Therapy is for all #11

April is Autism Awareness Month. And I have a story to tell.

At OWL, autism is not a once-a-year conversation. It is our everyday. It is the reason we show up, pay attention, and sometimes spend a good ten minutes trying to figure out what our students are telling us — without a single word spoken.

We work with children and adults with neurodiversity. Some carry a formal diagnosis. Some do not. But all of them, without exception, have taught us something we did not know before.

A little about us first. I founded OWL, which was originally my community pet project in Dorset UK. I am lucky to have been trained and exposed to complex needs through the UK National Health Service — working with children and adults across all walks of life, from the very young to the very old. Whatever I have learned, I brought it back here. I share it. I train each other with it. Good practice should not stay in one place.

At OWL, we do not just teach. We train. We nurture. We try to understand complexity. We read between the lines and learn the language that is never spoken out loud — because many of our children communicate in ways that take patience, attention, and a willingness to look a little closer.

What makes OWL different is that we do not look at a child through just one lens. We bring together occupational therapy, physical therapy, behavioural support, and intensive interaction — and we let them work as one. Because a child is not just a set of motor skills. They are not just a behaviour to manage. They are not just a communication target. They are a whole person, and we treat them that way.

Now. About Izz Airell. I remember his journey very well. Actually what appealed to me was the willingness of his parents to take the unconventional approach I suggested. Here’s his story.

When Izz Airell first came to us, he had limited mobility and an awkward gait. His upper body muscle tone was weak, and his hand function was limited. Sitting at a table was a challenge — his posture made it clear that just staying upright was already hard work. He had been diagnosed with Autism and Global Developmental Delay, with difficulties in both fine and gross motor skills.

His parents came to us the way many parents do — full of hope, navigating tight financial constraints, and willing to try anything that might help their son move forward. That kind of quiet determination is something we have a lot of respect for.
Early on, we had an honest conversation with them. We said — we understand you want him to learn, to read, to write. And we will get there. But right now, let us focus on building the foundation. Help him walk steadily. Help him sit comfortably. Help him use his hands. Help him feel safe and present in the world around him. The rest will come when he is ready.

They listened. They kept an open mind. They said yes — and they meant it. That is not a small thing.

One year later or maybe slightly more 🤓🤓🤓…

After consistent therapy — and a parent who showed up every single time, to send him to the centre on time — Izz Airell has made real, meaningful progress.

His walking is more stable now, with better balance and improved speed. He can go up and down stairs with just a hand to hold. His upper body strength has grown, and he is now using his hands functionally — feeding himself, picking things up, exploring objects with purpose. He sits well during table tasks. He is alert, responsive, and notices the world around him in ways he did not before.

He makes eye contact. He mirrors simple actions. He plays alongside others. He explores his school environment on his own, with what we can only describe as quiet confidence. He is beginning to participate in life skills — learning, step by step, to do things for himself.

This is what one year looks like when a child is challenged with care, supported consistently, and believed in without condition.

But here is something many people do not realise.Progress is rarely a straight line. And growth — real growth — almost always comes with a little turbulence.

When Izz Airell began to open up to the world around him, something interesting happened. He became more alert. More curious. More aware. And with that awareness came something that can surprise parents if they are not prepared for it — resistance. Frustration. Moments where he pushed back, acted out, or struggled to manage what he was feeling inside. This is actually a sign that something good is happening. A child who was once withdrawn and disengaged is now engaged enough to have an opinion about things. That is progress — even when it does not look like it.

This is where our combined approach becomes so important. As our physical and occupational therapists work on building his body’s strength and function, our behavioural support and intensive interaction work begins to address what is happening on the inside. We start working on emotional regulation — helping Izz Airell learn to express what he feels in ways that work for him and for the people around him. Not suppressing what he feels, but giving him the tools to communicate it. Because the goal was never just to help him walk better or sit straighter. The goal is to help him live — to be curious, to explore, to feel things, and to find his place in the world without being overwhelmed by it.

That is why combined therapy matters. One approach alone would only take a child so far. But when physical, occupational, behavioural, and intensive interaction work together — each one informing the other — the progress becomes something much bigger than the sum of its parts.

Izz Airell’s parents did not just send their son to therapy and wait. They became part of the process. They adjusted not their hopes, but their approach — learning to celebrate the small wins while continuing to push him, gently and firmly, beyond what was comfortable. When the harder moments came — and they did come — they did not retreat. They stayed the course. That openness and consistency made a difference that no therapist alone could have made. And Izz Airell — he did the hard work. Every single session.

Autism is not something to fix. It is something to understand, to work alongside, and to build around — so that every child finds their way to belong in this world.

If you have a child with special needs and you are wondering where to begin — or where to begin again — we would love to talk. Not to make promises, but to sit with you, understand your child, and figure out the next step together.

OWL — We train. We nurture. We believe.

***Haniz founded OWL with group of friends who believe. And we’re still the same boring people. Still doing same things. Still believe. You know who you are 😝***

Therapy is for all #10

Hari Raya And The Exhaustion Nobody Puts In Their Caption

Hari Raya is almost over. For some of us, the baju raya has been washed. The kuih raya tin is down to crumbs. And somewhere between the last open house and the drive home, a lot of us let out a quiet exhale — alhamdulillah, habis jugak.

Which is worth pausing on, isn’t it? That the most honest feeling at the end of Hari Raya, for many people, is relief.

Let’s be real about what’s actually going on beneath the matching outfits and the ketupat. For a lot of people, Hari Raya functions less like a celebration and more like an annual performance review. Except the KPIs aren’t work-related. They’re your weight, your marital status, your salary bracket, and whether your children are developing at the pace your relatives have independently decided is correct. You walk through the door and within five minutes, someone has clocked your face, your body, your career, or your parenting choices. Not with bad intentions — and that’s honestly the complicated part. They think they’re making conversation. “Eh, you look different lah” delivered warmly is still “eh, you look different lah.” And you smile, because what’s the alternative? Starting a debate at the open house? No thank you. You take a breath, grab some air sirap, and carry on.
That ability to keep it together when you’d rather not — nobody talks about how much that actually costs.

Then there’s the family itself. Parents who, no matter how old you are, still see you as a work in progress. You could be forty, running a household, raising children of your own — and the moment you walk into that family home, something shifts. Suddenly you’re sixteen again and someone is explaining to you how you should be doing things differently. Siblings who compete in ways they may not even be aware of. Whose kids are more clever. Whose spouse seems more sorted. Whose raya spread looks more impressive.

It’s not always intentional — sometimes it’s just the dialect your family communicates in. But being in a room full of people who love you and still feeling quietly assessed is its own particular kind of tired. And you can’t say any of this out loud, of course. Because it’s raya. Jangan buat hal. So you fold it up neatly, smile for the camera, and post something about being grateful.

Speaking of the camera… well, almost everyone is with their mobile phone camera now.

You know the photo — coordinated outfits, everyone smiling, soft lighting, a caption about family and blessings. It looks lovely. It is lovely, in its way.

What it doesn’t show: the argument that happened in the car twenty minutes before. The spouse you’re currently not okay with, standing beside you looking like everything is fine. The child who cried getting dressed because the baju was scratchy and the day was already too much before it even began. The parent who spent money they didn’t really have because turning up without enough felt like a kind of shame.

Take the photo. Really, go ahead. But let’s at least privately acknowledge that for a lot of families, that image represents an enormous amount of invisible work — emotional, financial, psychological — just to hold the frame together for one day.

And for some people, it goes deeper than family friction. Some people walk into Hari Raya already carrying something heavy. Grief. Depression. A marriage that’s quietly coming apart at the seams. An anxiety that doesn’t take public holidays off. A diagnosis that nobody in the family knows about yet. And the expectation is still to show up, baju on, smile ready, because it’s raya and raya is joyful.

Pretending to be okay on a regular day is already draining. On Hari Raya — with the noise, the crowds, the loaded questions, the pressure to perform happiness for an audience of people who know you — it can feel genuinely suffocating. Nobody announces this at the open house. They just sit quietly near the edge of the room, eat their rendang, and wait for the day to be over.

And if you have a child with sensory sensitivities or special needs, you’re carrying all of the above plus a whole separate layer.

Hari Raya is unpredictable. It’s loud. It completely dismantles routine. Strangers want to hug your child. Relatives who mean well say things that don’t land well. And you are simultaneously managing your child’s overwhelm, fielding questions about him, keeping everyone comfortable, and trying to look like you have it together — because the alternative is a conversation you genuinely don’t have the bandwidth for today.

“Is he okay?” Have he started his therapy? Have you spoken to any professionals about him?

He’s okay. He’s just not built for this. Truthfully, neither are you right now — but here you both are, doing your best.

We tell ourselves we do all of this for the kids. So they’ll have beautiful Hari Raya memories to carry into adulthood. But what are they actually seeing? They’re watching adults perform happiness. They’re watching stress dressed up as festivity. They’re watching parents spend money that creates a low hum of tension for weeks afterward. They’re watching the people they love most work very hard to appear fine. Kids don’t need a perfect Hari Raya. What they need is to not grow up thinking that love looks like quietly falling apart behind a smile.

Our society has a complicated relationship with being seen to struggle. Ada standard. Ada maruah. And Hari Raya, with all its visibility, becomes the day everyone is expected to prove they’re doing well — financially, emotionally, relationally, aesthetically. The thing is — not everyone is doing well. And that’s not a failure of character. That’s just life, happening to real people, who also happen to celebrate raya.
We don’t need to dismantle the whole tradition. But maybe we can loosen it a little. Enough to let someone say “we’re keeping it low-key this year” without it reading as a sign that something is wrong. Enough to skip the loaded questions disguised as small talk. Enough to let the overwhelmed child sit somewhere quiet without it becoming a whole situation. Enough space for people to show up as they actually are, not just as they’re expected to be. Raya yang bermakna doesn’t have to mean raya yang sempurna.
Sometimes meaningful just looks like everyone making it through the day in one piece. And honestly — that’s enough.

Selamat Hari Raya, everyone. To those who found it harder than it looked — you’re not alone, and you don’t owe anyone an explanation. 🌙

***Haniz really struggled to keep herself cool this Raya. People were okay. Food was brilliant. But temperatures outside? We also lived next to neighbours who fancy themselves battling in war with the most up-to-date explosives mercun. Yes, I am glad that I am back at work. ***

We’re so excited to welcome new students and families into our community 💙

At our school, we believe every child is unique, capable, and full of potential — and we’re here to help them grow, learn, and shine every step of the way ✨

With a caring environment, passionate educators, and engaging learning experiences, your child will feel supported, confident, and inspired every day 🎓

📚 All year round enrolments
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Spots are limited, so we encourage early registration to secure your place!
📩 Send us a message or contact us today for more information or click on this link https://wa.me/+600104558140 — we’d love to hear from you and welcome you to our family 🤗

Therapy is for all #9

Minggu ni InsyaAllah kita akan beraya. To some if us, this may be the time bila kita boleh rest sikit. Especially cikgu cikgu EIP, atau maybe if you’re caring for someone who is ill, bila anak atau adik beradik yg lain balik, boleh la you nak bernafas, sepuluh minute dua. Harapnya.

I nak cerita sikit pasal ada seorang parents yang setiap kali perjumpaan I dgn dia, I have proposed that she consider respite care untuk anak nya. 3 tahun I cakap benda yang sama dan agak nya dia pun dah terasa kot yang I am always on her case, tau tau, she discharged her son from our EIP.

Sebelum tulis panjang panjang, have you heard of Respite Care?

Jom kita cerita pasal sesuatu yang ramai tahu tapi ramai tak mahu bercakap pasal atau consider pasal Respite ni.

Some of us are caregivers. Kita nak cerita pasal orang yang buat semua kerja penjagaan ni dan lebih dari tu. Yang drive ke mana sahaja yang perlu, yang set reminder ubat, yang lap air mata orang lain sambil telan air mata sendiri. Yang tidur dengan satu telinga terbuka setiap malam, takut terlepas kalau ada bunyi dari bilik sebelah. Yang kena jadi strong untuk seseorang — tak kira siapa seseorang tu dalam hidup kau.

Sebab caregiving ni tak datang dalam satu bentuk je. Ada yang jaga parents yang aging. Ada yang jaga anak. Anak sakit, anak autism. Ada yang jaga pasangan. Ada yang jaga adik-beradik. Ada yang, tanpa merancang pun, terjebak menjaga seseorang yang simply ada dalam hidup mereka dan tak ada siapa lain.

The face changes. The exhaustion doesn’t.

Kita nak cerita pasal **kau** — si caregiver yang penat tapi still kena bangun esok pagi dan buat semua dari awal lagi.

Sebenarnya, menjaga dan memberi jagaan tu sebenarnya bukan benda yang susah. Serius. Technically speaking, kita boleh belajar pasang tube makanan, tube pundi kencing. Tukar diapers or hourly body positioning. Kau boleh belajar cara suap ubat.

Kita boleh belajar cara handle meltdown anak special needs. Cara cakap dengan orang yang ada dementia — slow, sabar, ulang benda sama berpuluh kali dengan muka yang sama tenang, walaupun dalam hati dah nyanyi lagu lain dah.

Yang susah bukan the act of caring. Yang susah adalah, buat semua tu sorang-sorang, hari demi hari, tanpa ada orang yang tanya balik: “Eh, kau okay tak?’’

Itu yang penat. Bukan tangan. Tapi hati. The loneliness orang yang menjaga ni sangat real, tapi invisible.

Kau boleh duduk dalam bilik penuh orang dan masih rasa sunyi gila. Sebab semua orang dalam bilik tu tengah cerita pasal hal masing-masing, dan kau senyum, kau ketawa sama, tapi lepas tu masing masing tadi akan p**ang ke life masing masing cerita pasal concert Siti Nurhaliza dan kau p**ak, cannot remember when was the last time ko pergi One Utama window shopping. dalam kepala kau masih fikir ehh Tadi dah bagi ubat ke belum?

Kau baru plan nak tengok wayang dengan BFF, pastu Mak kau p**ak cakap nanti kau takda dekat dia, tolong dia, kalau dia jatuh malam ni macam mana?

Kau literally tak boleh off.

Date night dengan suami pun, kau tak boleh fully enjoy sebab phone kau mengadap atas meja, screen facing up, just in case.

Tengah me time kawan ajak minum petang pun kau kena calculate dulu, berapa lama boleh pergi, sebab your husband setiap 5 minute msg tanya bila nak balik sebab anak autism ko meragam, siapa yang tengokkan dia, kalau emergency macam mana.

Hidup kau dah lama bukan milik kau sepenuhnya.

Dan paling sakit, actually bila orang cakap, ‘’ Wah, baik nya kau. Sabar betul ko dengan sekian sekian ya?

Drama keluarga dalam family yang ada orang tua atau orang sakit memang tak boleh lari.

Siblings yang tiba-tiba jadi panel juri bila kau tersalah buat sesuatu padahal sepanjang tahun hilang entah ke mana dan tidak menolong.

Parents yang pandai mainkan anak-anak mereka satu sama lain, Abang kau tak buat macam tu, Kakak kau lebih faham Mak. Classic. Mak tak faham yang script tu dah kau hafal luar dalam.

Yang main religious card, anak lelaki yang bertanggungjawab jaga Mak Ayah.

Okay, fine. Tapi anak lelaki tu duduk kat rumah sendiri, dan isterinya yang jadi “tanggungjawab” tu setiap hari. Siapa yang appreciate dia? Soalan tu selalu tak dijawab.

Dan dalam semua penat tu, kau masih senyum. Kau masih tahan. Kau masih cakap, Takpe, aku okay. Tapi kita tahu kita dah tak okay. Tapi kita rasa macam, kalau kita komplen, macam tak elok p**ak dan kalau komplen pun, ada ke yang nak menolong?

Persoalan nya sekarang, kenapa ramai rasa bila kita bersuara minta tolong, nampak macam kita ni teruk?

Nak explore sikit boleh?

Bila kita tanya caregivers yang burnout ni jawapan nya sentiasa ‘’Tak ada orang lain nak buat.”

Ke sebenarnya…tak ada orang lain yang ‘kau bagi chance’ untuk buat?

Like, kalau orang lain jaga, mesti tak betul dan tak perfect macam kau. Tapi adakah perfect itu syarat untuk survive?

Caregivers jawab - Dia tak mahu orang lain, nak aku je. Adorable. Tapi kau bukan franchise 24-hour. Kau manusia.

Caregivers jawab - Nanti orang kata aku tak sayang, anak tak mengenang budu. Orang yang sibuk cakap tu, berapa kali depa datang tolong minggu lepas?

All of the above is understandable. Bukan senang nak bagi orang lain masuk dalam ruang yang kau dah guard dengan seluruh jiwa raga kau. Tapi kita kena jujur sikit, bab tak ada pilihan tu kadang-kadang bukan fakta. Ia adalah perasaan yang kita dah mistaken sebagai fakta.

Dan ni yang paling kita tak s**a dengar tapi kena dengar jugak.

Sesetengah kita, tanpa sedar, dah jadi terlalu comfortable dalam ketidakselesaan kita sendiri. Boleh la play victim lepas tu kan? Like, no one cares, no one wants to stand up, so I had to.

Maksudnya macam ni, bila kau dah lama jadi the only one who does everything, identity kau dah mula wrapped up dalam peranan tu. Kau dah jadi the one who copes. The strong one.The responsible one.

Dan bila ada orang offer nak tolong, something dalam diri kau yang resist. Sebab kalau ada orang lain yang boleh buat — apa maknanya selama ni kau penat sorang-sorang?

Sakit sikit nak admit tu. Tapi ia real.

Dan dalam masa yang sama — orang sekeliling kau pun dah selesa. Dah tahu kau akan handle. Dah tahu tak payah risau sebab kau kan ada? Ko tak bising pun. So mereka buat apa? Mereka biarkan. Bukan sebab jahat tapi sebab kau dah train dah bagi peluang untuk depa untuk biarkan.

Kau dah jadi terlalu reliable sampai kau kena exploit, dan kau buat tu dengan ikhlas. Itu yang paling tragic sekali.

So apa itu Respite Care, dan kenapa ia penting?

Respite care ni macam kau ambil cuti. Bukan dari orang yang kau sayang. Tapi dari peranan yang dah perah kau kering.

Ada orang masuk ganti kau untuk beberapa jam, beberapa hari — supaya kau boleh jadi kau balik. Bukan caregiver. Bukan the strong one. Just kau. Orang yang ada nama sendiri, ada interest sendiri, ada hak nak duduk diam dan buat absolutely nothing kalau nak.

Respite care bukan sign of failure. It is actually a sign of intelligence.

Sebab kau tahu sesuatu yang ramai tak sedar, orang yang burnout tak boleh provide good care. Orang yang penat buat silap. Orang yang dah hilang diri sendiri — apa yang dia ada lagi nak bagi kepada orang lain?

Kau pernah dengar dalam flight, diorang cakap pasang oxygen mask kau dulu sebelum tolong orang lain.

Bukan sebab kau penting dari orang lain. Tapi sebab kalau kau pengsan, kau tak boleh tolong sesiapa pun.

Jangan lah kita tak tahu bahawasanya, orang yang memerlukan penjagaan ni pun boleh je berperangai monster dalam penyamaran.

Orang yang sakit, orang yang lemah, orang yang takut, mereka kadang-kadang, tanpa sedar, jadi manip**ative. Mereka nak kau ada. Selalu. Entirely. Exclusively.

Tak mahu orang lain, nak kau je. Kau terasa touched. Kau rasa needed. Tapi lama-lama, kau rasa trapped.

Anak I tak mau dgn bapak dia. Bapak dia tak reti handle bila anak nya tantrum. Maka tetiba lak p**a kau rasa kau lah jagoan dlm hidup anak tu.

When your child only knows you and allow no one else, there’s nothing touchy or romantic about it. You know people always refer to mother and son or whenever people say she’s a Daddy’s girl sebab bapak dia je yang boleh handle dia bila dia tantrum.

This is not wrong or unhealthy but I think this is something worth pointing out and perlu diperbetulkan. Untuk kebaikan dia juga. Sebab kalau kau jatuh sakit esok, dia takde siapa. Kalau kau tak larat satu hari nanti, apa jadi pada dia?

Respite care bukan hanya untuk kau rehat. Ia juga peluang untuk orang yang kau jaga kenal bahawa dunia dia lebih besar dari satu orang. Itu pun salah satu cara untuk kau train dan biasakan dia untuk terima opportunity lain.

Nowadays people just die. Unexpectedly. We heard this.

Apa salahnya kalau kita bersuara. Stand up for yourself. Saya dah tak larat. Kita kena hantar dia pergi respite sekejap supaya saya boleh recharge.

Kalau kau nak duduk dan luah dah penat, aku dah fed up, aku sayang dia tapi aku rasa nak lari kadang-kadang, itu bukan dosa. Itu bukan tanda kau jahat. Itu tanda kau dah lama simpan benda berat sorang-sorang.

Rasa nak rant pasal siblings yang tak tolong tapi banyak cakap? Rant.

Rasa penat dengan mak mentua yang tak habis-habis complain? Boleh rasa penat.
Rasa sunyi dalam perkahwinan sebab suami tak faham betapa exhausted kau? Itu valid.

Untuk caregivers yang masih cakap “tak ada pilihan lain” tu….

Ada. Pilihan tu ada. Mungkin tak perfect. Mungkin tak senang. Mungkin kena ada awkward conversation dulu dengan keluarga yang selama ni comfortable biarkan kau buat sorang. Tapi pilihan tu ada.

Kau layak rehat. Kau layak ada masa untuk diri sendiri. Kau layak rasa jadi manusia balik, bukan mesin yang on-call 24 jam, 7 hari seminggu, 365 hari setahun, tanpa annual leave, tanpa EPF. 😅

Minta tolong. Cari respite care. Cakap dengan doktor atau kaunselor. Atau start dengan something kecil — cakap dengan seseorang yang kau percaya bahawa kau penat.

Sebab cerita kau pun penting. Bukan hanya cerita orang yang kau jaga.

**Jaga diri kau — supaya kau masih ada untuk jaga mereka.** 💛

***Haniz introduced respite care for weekends, for parents to have their alone time. Maybe you should call us***