After over ten plus years of a successful and prestigious
career working with children on the autism spectrum, primarily as a behavior
therapist, I moved across the country with my husband and found myself unable
to continue the work I once loved.
I ask myself, “Why?” and “What happened?” and most importantly, “How do
I move forward from here?” on a daily basis… these are some of my thoughts on
the answers I’ve yet to discover.
When I think of SIB (self-injurious behavior) and physical
aggression, words I have typed into reports over and over again, over the
years, I think of the following:
Head banging on the floor or onto the sharp corners of
furniture, eating dry wall, smashing one’s own head in a door, biting one’s own
arms until they are covered in bruises and bleeding, attacking other people,
grabbing me (and others) around the ankles, preventing us from moving and
biting, scratching, scratching and more scratching, learning to ignore it,
spitting in my face, screaming, lunging and head butting, scratching, biting,
all at once, pulling a child off a horse while she clawed at my face and kicked
everything and everyone in reach, all of the injuries I used to come home with,
time and time again, so many, my husband made jokes about it publicly, and
privately worried about my safety.
Bites that bruised my entire thigh or upper arm, having my hair grabbed
so I couldn’t move my head and then bit hard.
I no longer wonder why I needed a break, and why I’ve often
felt like someone with PTSD. That
list sounds insane! It’s like
warfare with children, and it’s intense.
But I always told myself, “Someone has to do it and that someone is you
because you can, and you know you can.” Not everyone can respond with restraint
and compassion, despite the injuries and I would say pain, but honestly, I
never felt the pain until later, thank you adrenaline. And I had my systems to heal myself;
regimens of Neosporin, Arnica, and band-aids, and to protect myself; I wore
jeans, a denim jacket, long sweaters despite the weather, and it all almost became
routine. Just another day at the office, geared up for combat, with a child. Again, no wonder I wanted a break!!
When I’m interviewing for babysitting jobs these days,
mostly with typically developing kiddos, I describe this time in my life as a
“break.” Honestly, I had to come
up with something besides, “I just couldn’t do it any longer, and I need to be
working, but you see that’s rather difficult when I will no longer use my extensive
background, skills and specialized training.” Mostly they go for it because
such an over qualified person wants to watch their children, at a beyond reasonable
price.
And yet, negative emotions still arise for me. These days I feel guilty because there
is no such thing as a “break” for the parents, siblings and other family
members of kiddos on the spectrum.
There are so many incredible, amazing, resilient, strong, warrior moms
and dads (and grandmas and grandpas and brothers and sisters) out there who
fight the fight EVERY SINGLE DAY, for their loved ones. They don’t get a break. They never get a break.
Yet, I do.
I held a typical 15 month old last week during a melt down,
she cried and I tried to hold her, distract her, sooth her. Nothing worked and she kept going to the
door her mom and sister had walked out of earlier, sitting down and
wailing. So, I took a deep breath,
picked her up again, put her over my shoulder, on my heart and rocked and
patted and made a “shh shhh” sound with my mouth. I stood in the kitchen while
doing this, and within ten minutes she passed out on me. I spent some more time
snuggling her upstairs in the rocking chair, and then I got her into her crib,
without waking her up, patted her some more and left the room. That, according her mom, was a rough
day- she actually apologized to me.
Honestly, that was one of the nicest mornings I’ve had in ages. Is that the lesson from all my past
experiences or are there more?
