It Begins with a Step.
- abigail0269
- 3 days ago
- 4 min read
An ordinary evening at home.
Asaf gets up to make himself chocolate milk.
Such a small thing. So ordinary.
The kind of thing most people do without thinking, finishing the task in under a minute.
But with Asaf, chocolate milk is never just chocolate milk.
And it is never a one-minute story.
He starts beautifully.
He opens the chocolate powder. Scoops one spoonful into the cup. He walks to the fridge and takes out the milk.
And then - the cap.
He tries to grip it.
That alone is an effort.
Fine motor control does not come easily to him. The pressure in the fingers. The stability in the wrist. None of it is automatic.
One hand has to hold the bottle steady. The other has to twist and release the lid.
Such a small movement. For him, it demands focus, coordination, strength, and determination - all at once.
He adjusts his grip and tries again.
He looks at me, asking me to help.
And I say,"Asaf, you can do this."
I remind him that he's capable - even when it doesn't look like it.
You can see the frustration rise in his body.
Asaf suffers from Apraxia and Dyspraxia. Apraxia and dyspraxia are neurological conditions that affect the brain’s ability to plan and coordinate purposeful movement. The muscles are usually not weak, and the person knows exactly what they want to do, but the brain struggles to send the correct instructions to the body. This can affect speech, gestures, balance, posture, or fine motor skills. It is not caused by a lack of intelligence, motivation, or understanding. It is a breakdown in motor planning.
It's a mind body disconnect. The intention is clear. The desire is present. The understanding is intact. But the body does not always cooperate. What may look like refusal, laziness, or inability is often a motor planning challenge, not a lack of competence.
Only four months ago, for the first time in twenty-four years, he opened a milk cap on his own.
Twenty-four years.
So when I stand there and don’t step in, it is not due to indifference.
It is belief. Belief that he can succeed.
Because inside that small twist lives a victory most people will never see.
Almost always, before the milk, the hummus comes out of the fridge.
It’s part of the ritual now. Every version of "Asaf makes chocolate milk" somehow includes hummus.
He pulls it out. Tries the lid.
Then he hands me the spoon.
That is his way of saying,"Mum, I want this."
Sometimes he succeeds. Often he doesn’t. This time he didn’t.
So he pivots.
The cabinet opens. Two jars of chocolate spread appear. He manages to take the lid off one. I defrosted a pita. But then he notices the pizza that just came out of the oven. He indicates that this is what he wants. I place a slice on a plate and he walks away minus the pizza. He returns and attempts again to open the milk.
Within ten minutes, the kitchen tells the story:
Milk on the counter. Chocolate powder open. Hummus. Two spreads. Pita. Pizza.
From the outside, it looks chaotic.
But he understands exactly what he is trying to do.
He knows he needs milk.He knows he needs chocolate powder.He knows the sequence.
His brain clearly send the message but his body doesn’t respond accordingly.
When something doesn’t work, Asaf doesn’t give up.
He shifts.Searches.Reroutes.Tries again.
There are countless versions of "Asaf makes chocolate milk."
Sometimes it ends with four empty cups on the counter.
He goes for milk -comes back with a cup.
Goes for the chocolate powder -returns with another.
And another.
The kitchen starts looking like a late-night bar.
And the hardest part for me?
Standing still.
Feeling my hands want to step in.
It would be easier.Faster.Cleaner.
But I know what is being built in those moments.
Another neural pathway. Another connection strengthened. Another step toward independence.
And then, just when I think the story has reached its peak -
He comes back.
He grips the bottle.
Twists.
The cap gives.
He pours the milk.
Lifts the cup.
Drinks it in one long gulp.
(Yes, I filmed it. Some moments are sacred.)
And then - the smile.
Not small.Not polite.
A full, radiant, victorious smile.
The kind that says:
I did this.
And just when I think we are finally done -
I find him eating pizza, because with Asaf there is no such thing as "just chocolate milk."
Maybe that is the real story.
Not the milk.Not the mess.Not even the pizza.
But another small moment of capability coming into view.
There is a song that has become an anchor for me lately -"It Begins with a Step" by Adi Avraham.
I cannot hear it without thinking of Asaf.
"It begins with a step."
That line holds everything.
They remind me that it begins with imagination. That courage turns difficulty into opportunity. That journeys are built step by step. That sometimes all it takes is one person who believes.
The song reminds me why patience matters. Why time matters. Why we must presume competence - even when it isn’t visible yet.
And that night, in a kitchen filled with hummus, pizza, and spilled intentions,
I saw it again:
A small step.
Becoming a journey.
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