Ten Years of Therapy, Why I started building Hiro...

Ten years ago, the day my first son was born was the happiest day of my life, but it was also the scariest.

A healthy pregnancy turned into unexpected complications at birth. Within moments, our world changed. The sound of machines that keep beeping, and the most beautiful baby you have ever seen fighting for his life.

As a parent, you would give anything you have. Every dollar, every ounce of energy, every bit of strength to change your child’s health. But this wasn’t something we could fix with effort alone. It was health. And there was nothing we could do except move forward.

So we did.

Six months later, the diagnosis was cerebral palsy. In an instant, the future we had imagined shifted into something unknown and overwhelming.

The long journey begins

For the next decade, physiotherapy became our routine.

We lived far from the clinics, so we drove back and forth several times a week. We spent all our savings on therapy. We traveled to many countries searching for new approaches, new methods, new hope.

And after every clinic session, we came home… and kept going.

The therapist would say, “continue these exercises at home.”

So, we tried.

But here’s the reality: he was just a kid.

He wanted to play.
He wanted to watch TV.
He wanted toys, laughter, normal childhood things.

Instead, we were asking him to do push-ups. Squats. Repetitive, exhausting movements.

Imagine being two. Or four. Or six years old, and instead of playing, you’re being asked to repeat physical exercises every day.

Consistency is everything in therapy. But consistency is incredibly hard when you’re asking a child to choose hard work over play.

And for parents, it’s exhausting.

The Hidden Burnout of Families

Over time, the fatigue sets in.

You are physically tired.
Financially stretched.
Mentally drained.

You feel guilty when you want to rest. Guilty when you just want to watch TV together. Guilty when you just want to do the dishes without thinking about therapy.

In the back of your mind, there’s always that voice:

“He needs to do his exercises.”

Family time starts to feel like treatment time.

That wasn’t the life we had imagined, but it became a life that reshaped us in beautiful ways.

As parents, we want joy for our family time. We want laughter. We want to create memories. Not manage rehabilitation schedules.

And that tension stayed with me for years.

The Moment Everything Changed

One day during a therapy session, I started talking with my son’s therapist about his exercise at that session.

I casually said,
“What if I could turn this movement into a game?”

What if the squat became something playful?
What if during his arm reach exercise he was collecting stars?

She was skeptical.

I don’t blame her. It sounded ambitious. Maybe even unrealistic.

But that conversation didn’t stop there. She must have felt that there was something behind this wishful thinking, so she connected with the innovation team there, and from there, it evolved.

Bridging the Clinic to the Living Room

That’s how Hiro was born.

The mission is simple:

Bridge therapy from the clinic room into the living room.

If kids want to play, then therapy should feel like play.
If consistency is critical, then motivation must come naturally.
If parents are burned out, then we need to give them their time back.

Hiro transforms therapeutic movements into interactive games kids can play at home. Instead of saying, “Do 10 squats,” we can say, “Collect 10 coins.” Instead of “Reach higher,” it becomes “Catch the star.”

The movement stays the same.
The experience changes.

Giving Families Their Time Back

Hiro isn’t just about technology.

It’s about reclaiming family life.

And giving families their time back.
Time to laugh.
Time to connect.
Time to enjoy childhood , and make beautiful memories, together.

Parents of children with disabilities are some of the strongest ever, believe me, I have met so many!

But they are tired. They deserve support. They deserve tools that make life easier, and not harder.

We can’t change the diagnosis.
But we can change the experience.

And if we can turn therapy into something joyful…
If we can help kids choose movement because it feels like play…
If we can help families spend more time laughing together…

Then maybe, just maybe, we can give families a little bit of their life back.

And that’s why I built Hiro.