Why have I started an art school?

One day when my cheerful, smiling three-year-old sat on the steps and cried with grief changed my life, plans for the future...

I sent her upstairs to tell her brother that lunch was ready.  My goal was to push her to speak more clearly and deliver the message to her brother.  (I was somewhat concerned, but our last appointment with speech evaluation had convinced us that the root of the problem was in our bilingual family.  Denial…)

She goes upstairs and in a couple of minutes comes back crying and in despair.

She sat on the bottom stairs and huge tears roll down her cheeks, “No one understands me, no one understands me, Mommy.”  

 My heart just goes into such a strong shock that I can almost feel the heart muscles clenching like a fist; I feel overwhelmed by her pain.  There is no space between her being and mine.  I feel that my whole being goes into resolve that I will change it, I will change it.  I will do something, whatever it takes, to help her.  Eventually it all turned into Biryukov Academy.  It feels like a long time ago, different life, different person.  I often feel I lived several lives within this life-time.