In a recent episode of my favorite podcast, "We Can Do Hard Things," the hosts discuss the etymology of the word "responsible." Viktor Frankl, the Austrian psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor, coined the term "response ability."
Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.
In our response lies our growth. C struggled during July. Life is not a lab, and it's impossible to perform a randomized control trial. His difficulty could stem from any number of things: too much screentime, not enough of a regular routine, too much sugar, too much Panera pizza, too little structure. Now that I'm reviewing the list, these all fall into what I see as my parental purview. I haven't been coping well either, so my ability to create the right environment has suffered. Or is that part of the problem? My desire to control and create the perfect setting? It hasn't been truly terrible most of the time, but I haven't possessed the emotional stamina to cook healthy meals or wean C off of the extra screentime habit we developed during vacation. There are factors I'm not in charge of, too: medication, physical growth, mental growth, and environmental allergies.
I'm trying to take a measured approach. We met with his developmental pediatrician last week. A tiny part of me hoped for a magic bullet, but this is real life. I trust the doctor, though, and found comfort in his assessment of the situation: C is at the age where he is becoming more aware of his emotions and his surroundings and developing empathy. I'd argue that he's always possessed a strong core sense of empathy, but it's getting more fleshed out at this age. It's ok to talk with him directly about the feelings he's expressing, even if they're scary. "I hate my life" may be the best, most accurate way he can reflect his sadness, but it doesn't necessarily mean he wants to truly die. This is work I want to run away from, screaming, and never discuss again. Denial is much more palatable.
Dr. B also told me that we could try reducing his sertraline to see if that helps with his elevated state at night.
He also gently shared that he thought continuing with public school, rather than homeschooling, could be beneficial. For children who experience high levels of anxiety, the relief of not facing the daily challenge of attending school can actually have an adverse effect by compounding their isolation and making it even more difficult for them to get out of the house at all.
Fucking exposure therapy.
I'm not making any hard and fast decisions. The private board certified behavioral analyst (BCBA) is coming tomorrow to observe, and a couple of dear friends are bringing their children over for a playdate so we can make the situation a little more organic. Observe the animals in the wild, so to speak.
For the past three days, we've worked on more structured screen time. An hour or so in the morning, an hour after lunch, and an hour before dinner. We reduced his medication on Saturday. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday we experienced big but relatively short-lived explosions with hitting and biting, and it was hard for him to fall asleep. The daytime was basically ok, and he played well with new friends at the beach and pool.
Sunday he had another pool playdate that lasted a couple of hours. We eliminated screentime around 5:30, and he, B, my husband and I cooked dinner together. And then ... he fell asleep at his normal bedtime and slept through the night! In his own bed! Yesterday, more progress. He had a tough time transitioning after his mid-day screentime, probably due to his discovery of the incredibly-addictive Minecraft. During the transition, he whacked the dog with his stuffed snake and then, when I loudly and sharply told him we never EVER hit animals, he burst into tears and hit himself with a toy truck. He felt horrible that he hit his beloved dog (she's fine). I tried talking to him the way Dr. B suggested. I was calm, I said I understood that he was feeling very sad but that we were figuring out different ways to express that sadness. That when he says or does hurtful things to himself it makes me sad. And he recovered. He helped me build a pre-fab bookshelf, and he scootered with B to the school when it was time for her piano lesson. And last night we cooked together again and he fell asleep at a normal time.
It's taking all of my mental and emotional energy to respond from a place of calm. In the evening, when my husband doesn't have the bandwidth to remain patient or deal with the constant barrage of stimuli that is our household, I get resentful. Intellectually I understand that he's been at work all day and is only human, but it's hard to extend that grace sometimes. Even though I know I struggle with the same over-stimulation and fatigue and lack of patience.
My children are currently at a rare playdate at my parents. My daughter learned to text people on my phone (my friends receive the most bizarre emojis), and she messaged my mother yesterday asking if she could come over and play. My mom said yes, and today C decided he wanted to go too. I'm holding my breath, but I'll take it. It's been 45 minutes. I needed this time to process. It's been a pretty good day but I'm still drained. In addition to the revered screentime, we've played with clay, read stories, started collages, and baked cookies. C even dressed up in my husband's raincoat, donned protective eyewear, and went out into the pouring rain to smash his beach rock and examine it for potential volcanic matter.
I imagine there are few more effective ways to calm the mental noise, the stimuli, than to listen to music. And so I listen and hope that my children find joy at my parents' house, even if I can't find it there. I listen and try to clear my mind of all of the clamoring directives. Quietly listening seems more important than cleaning the flour explosion in the kitchen or making a budget or ordering new underwear and socks for the children or contacting the transportation department about the fall bus schedule. I close my eyes and wish for peace for the neighbor whose mother passed away from cancer. I mentally thank Patti and Larry at the garage for their small-town kindness in repairing my car so quickly. I send love to my brother overseas (I love you, M). I used to pray all the time, as a child and young adult. Now, writing and running and listening to music and sending silent thoughts of love to the people in my circle are my prayers.
Op 39 No 15 in A-Flat Major by Brahms, played by Fabian Müller
Bach autrement I, inspired by Prelude, BWV 846, played by Thibault Cauvin
The Mission: Gabriel's Oboe, by Ennio Morricone, played by Yo-Yo Ma & Roma Sinfonietta
Human Orchestra, by Mark Bradshaw
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