Meltdown City

Most days are fairly normal.

Most of them.

I say that because our youngest was diagnosed ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder) and ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) at age five, a few years back. Usually, as long as we stick to a routine or, at the very least, give him enough notice of when new things are going to happen, he can roll with it. He's highly energetic, a constant ball of zoomies, and has a hard time falling asleep every night.

But every once in awhile, something throws him for a loop at he winds up on the ground, fists clenched and crying, in what appears to be a temper tantrum. He does, in fact, smack himself in the head from time to time, though not hard enough to do any damage and he does yell at me like I'm an idiot, which is hard not to take personally.

I can't, though. In these moments, I have to remember that he needs some extra time, extra attention, extra hand-holding, and any extra patience I can muster because part of what happens next depends on my actions and reactions.

My immediate response inside my head is, "This is ridiculous. This is one of the most intelligent 8-year-olds I've ever met in my life. We have existential discussions and he reads teen books. Why is my tiny adult acting like a toddler right now?"

Social intelligence, emotional intelligence, and academic intelligence are so very different and they don't all match with one another as a child grows, particularly ASD/ADHD kids. So, while he's academically intelligent at a fairly high level, that does nothing for what he's able to handle emotionally at any given time. What keeps him on an even keel is routine and, failing a routine, he needs something he can depend on.

That 'something' is my ability to regulate my own emotions as a model for him. So, while there are days I can't hold in my frustration and I yell (which just makes things exponentially worse), I do my very best to stay calm, stay level with my voice and volume, and ask him questions that will help to regulate him as well.

"What's frustrating you right now?" "What can I do to help you?"

"Are you able to pause and take a few deep breaths yet? If not, let me know when you can."

"Do you want to squeeze my hand?"

"What's the first thing you'd like to do to make this better?"

Is this going to work for every kid across the board? Of course not. It works for my kid, though. And that's what we need to figure out in the moment - what works for each kid? There's no universal bandage, no perfect template, no map to drive out of Meltdown City. What works for one of your kids might not even work for her identical twin, you know? They're all different. WE'RE all different.

I don't have answers, I just have anecdotes. This week, we lived through the journey and ended up on the other side of Meltdown City but I never know when our next trip is going to come.

Stephanie