By month four of those meetings, I’d stopped taking notes. I already knew what they’d say. Someone would ask what we’d tried. I’d list it. Someone would suggest something we’d tried multiple already. I’d nod, say I’d give it another go, and drive home knowing it wouldn’t touch what was actually happening in her body that morning. For a long time I thought that meant I was failing to explain her properly. It took me longer than I’d like to admit to realise the problem wasn’t my explaining. It was that nobody in that room had ever been trained to read a nervous system in alarm. They weren’t bad people, but they were doing a job built around the wrong measurement. So I stopped waiting for the room to catch up and started figuring out the actual sequence myself - what her body needed before I asked anything else of her at all. That daughter successfully graduation high school with entry into her first choice university and degree. Everything I built to get from those meetings ...