He runs to me after only 15 minutes since arriving to a place that, in terms of sensory needs, should be a utopia for a child who loves to jump and climb. But Brady is now by my side, looking up at me. His face is distressed, and his eyes are brimming with big tears.
“They need to take down that part of the obstacle course. It’s not possible!” Brady tells me in a repetitive loop as I try to calm him by applying deep pressure to his head. I don’t say anything while he continues to speak to me in a trembling voice. I’m studying all his emotions though. I detect mostly sadness but also heartbreak mixed with some frustration.
As his mom, I know what’s happened inside his head. I know that he desperately wanted to mimic other kids by successfully launching his body through a part of the obstacle course that he’s not able to do yet (his arms aren’t long enough). I am positive he tried very earnestly quite a few times.
I’ve always been proud of his persistence with all things physical. When he’s not able to accomplish something after trying, his brain immediately fills up with distress. He’s also overwhelmed by negative thoughts that flood uncontrollably into his mind. His little boy hands shake, his voice trembles as he enters into a looping reel. It’s like his brain has been hijacked and all I can do is listen and apply deep pressure to his head, arms, and back. This is a part of autism and it’s one of the hardest parts for me to help him through. It can take 30 minutes, an hour, or the entire day to escape anxiety’s ugly hold.
He’s almost 10 years old and this type of scenario presents itself in some way every week, sometimes every day.
At first, I hug him tightly and run my fingers through the top of his head with compression that only occupational therapists would nod to in approval. I’m calming his tense body with the pressure of my own hands. Why, you might wonder? Therapists believe that deep pressure stimulation positively affects children with autism and those with ADHD through their central nervous system.
According to the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development in the US, autism is a nervous system disorder. In a person with autism, the working of the central nervous system gets DISRUPTED and results in changes in the way the brain is wired to process information. This can cause behavioral and language issues, sensory problems, and even seizures.
“Mom, have them take it down. Please. PLEEEZE. Tell them that it is impossible. Take it down.”
As hard as I try to comfort him by telling him to just go around that section and continue with the next obstacle, he doesn’t seem to be able to take this in and change his mindset. This kind of ‘there is only one solution and it has to be the extreme one’ is just one aspect of autism that affects Brady. Rigid thinking and the twisting, suffocating anxiety is heart-wrenching for me to watch, but I’m sure it’s even more treacherous for him to grapple with. It seizes his mind and WILL NOT LET GO. It knows no time span.
There are no quick and easy solutions.
Autism affects the wiring of the brain and the nervous system, how it perceives the outside world and how it reacts (or doesn’t react) to incoming stimuli including sound, light, touch, taste, and smell. Brady is hyper-sensitive, meaning that all the sensory stuff pounds into his nervous system in a heightened manner; he hears things our brain automatically tunes out (e.g., the humming of office lights). Certain sounds physically feel so much louder than they do to my neurotypical children. In fact, they can be completely overbearing, and Brady has to leave the scene before a meltdown occurs from what is known as ‘sensory overload.’
Imagine being an autistic person, trying to live in a world where you feel things so differently and those around you don’t quite understand how radically your whole being is affected. Physically and mentally you have to find ways to cope.
Now imagine trying to socialize with (or at least be noticed by) peers when you don’t quite get the innuendos of speech and all the colloquialisms. You think literally, and so interpreting hidden meaning and tones is very difficult. Social cues are even harder to notice. Sarcasm is incredibly confusing and frankly, just feels mean and isolating.
Imagine wishing that you’d find a kid friend who loved talking incessantly about your preferred topics of fixation but never finding that peer willing to jump into your world for more than a few seconds. Sure, there are many caring adults who like the way you think and recognize you are a real person who craves social interaction. But you want a friend. A real friend.
Then, unexpectedly, it happens. New neighbors move into a house on our street. As movers are hauling boxes into their home, you are on your bike in our driveway and you see a boy with his older brother in the front yard. I see you go right up to him and you both start talking. Face to face, you are about the same height. I stay back observing from our yard; I cannot hear you, but I see you being brave. I sense your excitement.
After some time, you come back to me.
“I met him, Mom! I met him! He’s going to be my friend!” you exclaim with such joy.
I meet his mother later that day and find out he’s Brady’s age. He’ll be attending the same elementary school.
Doors of possibility are opened. They may even be in the same classroom this school year. Even if they aren’t, Brady will have a friend just doors away. This is all new and only time will tell how things will take shape. All of this gives me tremendous hope, and reminds me that although it may take time, Brady will find his friends, feel confident in himself, and accomplish things that will make us both proud.
Friendship isn’t an easy feat for a child on the autism spectrum. Not only does Brady need the kind of friend who overlooks his quirky ways, he also needs someone who is willing to see beneath the surface. He needs a devoted pal who sees the good stuff – like the fact that Brady is humorously observant, intensely loyal and truly kind. Someone who sort of gets it and thinks: “So what? That’s just Brady. He’s different, but that’s okay. I’m different too.” As his mother, I’m looking for that friend who sees beneath it all and embraces the peculiar.
I’m looking for a hero of sorts. A four-leaf clover in a field of green. I know they are out there. We will find another one. The comfort and support Brady and his friend will give one another will be nothing short of life changing, for both.
There are no quick and easy solutions when you have a child on the spectrum. For now, Brady and I will continue to work on his social skills because true friendship is worth the wait.
“Friendship isn’t about who you’ve known the longest. It’s about who came and never left your side.” – Charles M. Schulz
This blog post is part of Finish the Sentence Friday, hosted by Kristi Campbell of www.findingninee.com; this week’s topic is heroes.
❤️
Rebecca,
What a well written and continual enlightening on understanding children with autism. Not to forget the depth and breadth of being a mom to an autistic child.
Thank you for continuing to share Brady’s journey.
Hugs,
Jeanine
Thank you, Jeanine. Your friendship has always meant so much to me.
True friendship is so very worth the wait. I hope that the new neighbors will become that for Brady. If not them, another kid at OES, because they’re so good at facilitating that. I really hope for a true hero friend for Tucker this year too. It hasn’t happened since we moved but I will ALWAYS hope. <3
Your interpretation on the Hero sentence for FTSF is awesome, by the way. I really love it and again, so hope this happens for both our boys this coming school year (btw ours is in like 2 weeks and I'm so not ready).
I’m so happy for Brady — and for all of you — Your kids are great kids — and you have the most wonderful way with words, Rebecca —