Educational Advocate

| thefeatherfish

I was watching Dr. Phil the other day (not something I normally do) and one of the guests was a 14 year old girl who, well, you know.  She’s a mouthy handful and always has been.  Dr. Phil made a BIG deal about how this 14 year old had been suspended once in kindergarten. 

Once.

I lol’d.

My kid was suspended so many times in kindergarten, after a while I quit keeping track.  Frankly, I didn’t mind when she got suspended because at least it meant the school wouldn’t be calling me with bothersome bullshit for which I (nor they) had any solutions.  Did I excuse my kid’s behavior?  Absolutely not.  Was the school making it worse?  Absolutely yes.  Could I prove it?  No.  Could I reason with my tiny tyrant to behave better?  Also no. 

When Girly came to me, she was only four years old, or as they call say, an “early five”.  Protocol dictated she enter a full day of kindergarten and since CPS had legal control over her, I had no choice but to go along with it.  She was still taking naps in the middle of the day for at least an hour, sometimes two hours.  She was completely unprepared for kindergarten and I knew it.   I did seek out more appropriate programs that I felt might satisfy CPS but Girly was “too old” for any of them.

This was the gateway to the most miserable life experiences I’ve ever had – all perpetrated by a bunch of adults with fully formed brains and a collective plethora of life experiences to draw from to make good decisions.

The results were predictably terrible.  I was SpEd ignorant.  I had never heard of an IEP or 504 or BIP or EI room or CI room or developmental delays.  Nothing.  I knew zero things about that world. 

It started out awful.  Within the first week she slammed some kid’s arm in a door and it went downhill from there.  At one point, she’d literally bit off and swallowed every eraser on every pencil in the classroom.  The tips of felt markers.  Soap.  Chalk.  She attacked other students.  She was stealing, destructive, running off.  At one point, I was picking her up early almost every day.

The school eventually reduced her to half-days, it helped a little.  She repeated kindergarten.  It was somewhat better but not much.  By first grade her rage started turning inward and about a month into that 3rd year, she expressed a desire to be dead.  I didn’t blame her. I wasn’t even in her situation and I wanted to be dead.  She wasn’t learning anything.  She was hard to deal with in the classroom.  She had no friends.  She was being targeted by staff.   Armed with sheer desperation and anger, I started beating on doors (again) until I found people that could help her. 

I HAD tried to get her help early on.  She was “too young” to benefit from therapy.  She was “too young” for medication.  She was “too old” for appropriate programs.  She was “too bad” for this, “too that” for those.  I tried and tried and tried and I was blown off or told, I wasn’t “trying hard enough.”  I wasn’t trying hard enough?  At what? 

When I literally said the words, “AT WHAT?” I received nothing.  Just silence.  From a pediatrician who refused to do anything helpful or otherwise.  No screenings, no meds, no advice.  Nothing.  All he said was, I wasn’t trying hard enough – but didn’t even tell me what I was supposed to be trying to do. 

One hallway of desperation I went down was seeking an attorney to sue the school district.

I found one person, one hit for my county.  I shot her an email.  She responded surprisingly fast.  She was not an attorney, she was an Educational Advocate.   We met and she accepted Girly as a client.  I wrote a check for $325 and she asked me to rescind all the releases the school had and send a form over saying she was the person in handling all this stuff for Girly now.  She told me to fax it, send me a photo of the proof they received it, which I did.

She kind of warned me when the school got the fax, my whole world would change.

I didn’t believe her.  I mean, I had a feeling she would be able to help but I figured there’d be some hard limits.

Five minutes after the fax went through, my phone started ringing.  It was the school.  OOOOOOOOOH all the things they are going to do!  Yay!

Wow. How great is that? They are going to do all the things…. all the things they could have been doing all the fuck along??  All the things they knew about but I didn’t? All the things they didn’t bother to do that in the end, caused damage that still exists 10 years later??

It could have ALL been mitigated.  All of it. 

It was a bittersweet moment I suppose.  Finally, shit started to change but knowing they could have been doing all those things the whole time was like an absolute kick in the face.  The decision (and it absolutely WAS a decision on some level) to not provide my kid services, basically ruined her.  The chance she’d ever turn it around were virtually non-existent.  She’s still significantly behind academically (which I truly believe wouldn’t be the case if they’d just backed off that first year or provided her appropriate services).  Emotionally, she’s made a ton of progress but most of it happened during the Covid lock-down.   Our district managed to snag a wonderful SpEd director so I have a lot of hope for the rest of her school experience but she would be so much further along had all these so-called experts gotten the fuck out of my way and let me make the decisions. 

I inherently knew what she needed.   I bet on some level, even Little Girly knew what she needed.  

So, if you are having trouble with your school… if your gut is nagging at you but teachers and administrators are giving you grief, do NOT delay seeking out an educational advocate.  There are agencies that will provide them for free (something I found out later on).  This can’t wait.  A lot of schools will scapegoat kids like Girly, don’t let them do it to your kid.  Go with your gut because one thing for sure, your gut is a hell of a lot more reliable than a bunch of adults with fully formed brains and a plethora of life experiences to draw from.

CRUELTY TOWARD PETS (and how I got it to stop…)

| thefeatherfish

:::TRIGGER WARNING:::

ANIMAL ABUSE / CRUELTY

This is a very hard post to write but animal cruelty is common in this world so it really needs to be talked about. I was not significantly trauma trained when this took place so mistakes were made.  Over time, I took the position that mistakes were simply tools to learn from.  If something good can be gleaned from a big mistake, it isn’t a complete waste and recovery is possible. 

Several years ago, we had two Guinea Pigs.  One pig was docile and sweet.  The other one was a crabby, elderly rescue with a biting problem.

The docile pig was the target. 

I have never known anyone personally that hurt animals and it never occurred to me Girly would target such a small, innocent creature. Guinea Pigs are adorable.  They look like little stuffed animals.  They make cute noises.  They are quirky and many of them are very cuddly and sweet.   I knew she was a bit rough with the docile boy so I kept a close eye on her when we interacted with them.  What I didn’t know was she was creeping into the pen without my knowledge.  

One day, she left her iPad laying around so I decided to see what she’d been doing on it.  I came upon a video of her treating the sweet pig cruelly.  Not only was the content disturbing, she had taken a video of it.  Why?  When? WHAT?  She was calm in the video, talking to herself in a low voice, like she was playing by herself.  Her expression was flat.  She wasn’t upset or angry — yet, she was crushing him (among other things). Literally. The calmness of her demeanor was chilling. He made a muffled squeak in the video. From the other room you could hear me ask, “What was that?”

Girly:  Nothing.

She almost said it in a sing-song way.

To this day, I’ve never watched the whole video.  I can’t. 

My response to bit of the video I did watch was no small thing.  Rage overtook me.  I had tunnel vision, shallow breathing, I felt light headed.  Then, I was seething pissed.  I still have a physiological response when I think about that video.  My jaw tightens.  I grind my teeth. I hold my breath.  It’s happening right now as I type this and this incident took place years ago.

If ever there were a time I would have snapped and assaulted a child, this would have been the time.   As my thoughts were screaming and ricocheting all over inside my skull, I knew she genuinely liked the pigs so… why?  Why would she try to crush him?  Ignore his signs of distress?  Lie about his squeak for help?   Prop up the iPad and VIDEO all of it?

Then, my thoughts went in another direction; maybe she’s incapable of getting better, she’s a psychopath, I should just beat her to a bloody pulp and let them take me to jail.

Then, maybe it isn’t what I think.  Maybe it isn’t as big of a deal as it feels it is.  Maybe it’s my fault.  Maybe I’m creating a monster.

I was a HOT MESS but this could NOT stand.  

After I kinda sorta collected myself I called her into the family room. She sat down on the couch. She remained silent and motionless as I disclosed what I had discovered through clenched teeth.  I was shaking, fists balled up as I stalked back and forth mostly talking to myself aloud. 

Finally, I turned on her.

Me:  WHY would you do that?

Girly:…

Me:  Do you hate him?  Are you mad at him?

Girly:…

I wanted a response but there she was just sitting on the couch showing absolutely no emotion.

Nothing.

The lack of a response triggered me (as if often does for a lot of us adults) so I started pushing for a response.  I started getting in her face growling accusations, lamenting and threatening.  I said mean things about her, myself.  I wailed and apologized to the poor little pig who had done nothing wrong. The poor little pig that had squeaked for help that I didn’t give.

Nothing.

I snapped. I rushed at her and pushed down on her trying to somewhat mimic what I’d seen her do to him. Teeth clenched, spitting mad.

Me:  How do you like it???

Nothing.

Triggered further, I tried it again with some more weight behind it — still seething.

Me:  HOW DO YOU LIKE IT.

Nothing.

Then, because I was so close to her face, I caught a glimpse of her pupils. They were enormous in the well-lit room.  Her expression was absolutely flat but there was no mistaking the size of her pupils.  There was only a sliver a blue around those big black circles.  I stepped back, shut my mouth and immediately retreated to another part of the house.

She WAS responding, she was responding the whole time, just not on the outside.

I needed a plan.

I needed to calm down first so the rest of the day I just did nothing except cry and be angry. I was totally helpless. Being that jacked up emotionally is tiring.  When the adrenalin and cortisol wore off, exhaustion took over.

I made a note to myself: the worst was over and it was all out in the open.

First and foremost safety is the priority.  I vacillated between rehoming them and flinging myself in front of a bus. I knew whatever I decided, that little Guinea Pig with no voice had to be protected at all times.  I banned her from the pen area.  I sorted out a contraption with a bell so I could hear if she touched the door. She was to never, ever, not even for a second go into that room unless I was present.

She understood and accepted the new rules — with that same flat expression which bewildered me.

While I was setting the safety system up, she lingered in the hallway.  I was speaking firmly but mostly to myself, not to her.

Me:  It is my job to protect everyone.  It is my job and I’m going to do it.  No matter what.  It isn’t good for him and it certainly can’t be good for her to harm him.  I know she likes the pigs.  I don’t understand what’s happening but I don’t need to.  What I need to do is keep everyone safe.  I can and I will.

I read in one of the many books I have that when a kid with a trauma history sees an adult not protecting pets, it isn’t exactly great for building trust.  If an adult can’t protect pets, it’s not a big leap for a child to assume the adult can’t protect the child either. 

The pigs stayed in their room.  She stayed away from them.  I mulled over rehoming them but I was worried about my biter.  He was definitely not a sweet, cuddly pet that could be enjoyed and I was worried he’d end up neglected (or worse).  Then again, I clearly wasn’t an authority on safe pig homes. Obviously.

Things were calm for a week or so. She was kind of stunned from my response, so was I. I kept thinking about her pupils. I wondered what her heart rate had been during all that. I imagined what I looked like to her as I was in her face like a lunatic. I felt so guilty — for all of it. Brining them into the home, not monitoring things closely, the level pain that must be inside Girly for her to behave this way.

It was very heavy — but I recovered.

I started wondering if there was a way to intervene using the docile pig as a tool.  Since something about him triggered Girly, maybe there was a solution buried in this mess.  It certainly couldn’t hurt to try.

I started slowly.  If she wanted to hold him, we would sit on the couch together with the pig in her lap.  She would pet the top of his head or give him treats.  After a short while, Girly’s jaw would sort of push out like she was grinding her molars.

Me:  What are you doing with your jaw?  What’s going on?

She threw up her hands from him.

Girly:  Take him.

I did.  I picked him up and that was it for that day.  I told her how I was happy she was able to stop herself.  I’m sure the pig was happy too.  Good job.

We did this every couple of days or so.  Each time, the minute I saw her jaw start to push out, I either mimicked her or pointed it out verbally.  She would throw up her hands, ask me to take him and I did.

After a couple of weeks, the time she could tolerate* petting him in her lap was increasing.  Eventually, when she threw up her hands and asked me to take him, I didn’t.  I left him on her lap and asked her to tell me “where” she felt all these big feelings.  (Usually it was in her stomach).  I would leave the pig on her lap (sitting very close to Girly) for a few moments and then remove him from her lap AFTER we addressed the feeling directly, the feelings crested and began to subside.

There were times she was able to recover and her jaw would relax and we could keep going for a bit longer with him on her lap the whole time.

I made it a point to always end things on a good note.*

Me:  We just want to be sure we end things on a good note.  That way, we build trust not just you with him, but you with yourself.

After all this has been going on for a few weeks I decided while she pet him I would rub her feet and legs.  I asked her to truly make a definitive connection to petting him gently while I rubbed her legs and feet.  I tried to match the rhythm of her petting with my rubbing her feet.  At this point, she was able to interact with him without being triggered much and if she was triggered, it subsided quickly. 

She had practiced the process so much she could rely on this new wiring to help her out.

Overall this process took several months from start to finish and by the time I was done, if she asked to hold him, I would ask her if she was in a good place to hold him or if she was dealing with something (maybe by using the color chart or asking her to do some sort of body scan).  That docile pig who had understandably become very leery and untrusting of Girly began to relax around her.

She never once targeted the biter, he would have never tolerated being harmed without fighting back.  The sweet pig had a much softer nature and could only endure the abuse and try to flee or cry for help.  The fact she chose the nice one really made me question what was going on inside of kids that harm pets they love.

And she did (still does) love the Guinea Pigs.  I knew she loved them, that’s what made this all so incredibly confusing and heartbreaking.

Did she feel vulnerability is absolutely disgusting and must be snuffed out?  Was it a mirror of her own perceived weakness or parts of herself she wanted to kill?  Was it just classic displacement?

A couple of years ago our crabby biter (who ended up being the best boy and recovered from all his weird behavioral issues) died. The docile boy was one again alone so we got him a companion.  The new boy is a bit of a biter himself.  Girly is really good with him. Our docile boy is now an elderly fellow that prefers the comfort of the large pen they live in together.  He’s sweet, happy and well cared for. 

I know how triggering it is for your child harm a beloved pet.  It was hands down the angriest I have ever been.  Her harming that helpless pig was a big clue about the darkness that was residing inside her.  Since I have a fully formed brain with a plethora of life experiences to draw from, it was my job to explore that darkness with her – and help her find a way out.

*If I had to do it over again, I don’t think I would have brought any pets into the home.  I definitely wouldn’t choose Guinea Pigs. Her therapist once advised against it in passing, I had always had pets so it was a staple in my life growing up.  Everyone I knew when I was a kid had pets.  It was just “normal”.

*It truly was a tolerance thing.  Feeling good was very triggering for her.  It was like something would catch fire inside her.  His vulnerability and innocence triggered anger and hatred.

*Ending things on a good note was something I spent a lot of time perfecting.  It was imperative that she learned to stop before things got ugly so there weren’t big messes to clean up later.  

* I could *sort of* understand why she felt the need to harm him.  The fact she chose the docile pig and not the biter was really telling.

State Your Case

| thefeatherfish

When Girly was about 8 or 9 she was invited to a birthday party down the street. She asked to go. I said no. She protested.

Me: State your case.

Girly: I’ve been good, I did X and Y. I really want to go!

I had no solid counter argument. My gut said it was a bad idea but her argument was solid. I let her go. We keep a box of gifts at the ready. I wrapped one up and off she went. She was happy as hell.

About 30 minutes later she and a few other kids were playing in the front yard. She was obviously bumpy. I called her over.

Me: Are you okay?

Girly [avoiding eye contact]: Yes.

Me: You don’t seem okay, do you need a minute?

Girly [still avoiding eye contact]: No.

Me: Okay, well you need to come inside in about 10 minutes so leave things on a good note.

I knew the very act of making an inquiry about how she was feeling might be enough of a redirection for her to check in with herself and calm her down at least a little. I also knew something happened because, I can always tell.

Ten minutes later she comes inside without an argument. I immediately put her in the shower (to settle down the ole limbic system). I made a couple light inquires but she shut me down so I waited until she was ready.

Later than evening we were watching TV. Out of the blue she offered a clue.

Girly: They sang the birthday song.

The traditional birthday song has long been a trigger that produces a profound emotional response.

Me: OMG what did you do?

Girly: I wanted to smash the cake and break things but I didn’t.

Me: You held it together! That’s amazing! I should have known they’d sing that song, I’m so sorry I didn’t think of it.

Then, an important last question to tie it all together.

Me: If you had it to do over again, would you go?

Girly: No.

Not every battle is worth winning, not every battle is worth fighting and knowing when not to fight takes practice. Seeing the bright side of a loss can be a very valuable thing. This event was chocked full of valuable learning experiences. Nothing got ruined, no one was injured, she got what she argued for and dealt with the disappointment. She was so excited to go, so elevated. When they started singing the song I can imagine how that felt for her… and then the grappling with holding herself together (which she successfully did). She even came to the realization she’d not do it over the same way if she could.

There are times NO is the appropriate response but there are also times I allow Girly to argue her case. Sometimes she’s successful, sometimes she isn’t. I’m allowed to argue my case too and since I respect her and listen to her side, she usually affords me the same level of respect. Sometimes there’s a compromise. Sometimes I successfully argue my case so well she sees my point. Sometimes she’s pissed off and still wants something but she can’t have it. Since she argues her case successfully at times, I remind her of that so she’s not slumping around whining she never gets her way or snapping at me. Maybe she slumps around it snaps at me anyway. Being disappointed sucks. I acknowledge that and tell her it’s okay to be pissed off. I’m an adult with a fully formed brain and have a plethora of life experiences to draw from. I’ve been disappointed and pissed off a lot. It definitely sucks.

Allowing Girly to state her case built trust. It helped her learn how to verbalize her feelings, organize thoughts, hone sequencing skills and consider aspects of a situation she’d otherwise not considered. I don’t want to just control her, I want her to make good decisions. I don’t want her headed toward something with tunnel vision, I want her to be able to consider many aspects of a situation.

When she was about 7, there was advertisement on TV for these little plastic ice cream cones that make “real ice cream”.

Girly: I want that!

Me: No.

Girly: but it is only $14.99!

Me: Plus shipping. They won’t even work.

Girly: Please?!

Me:…

Girly [hope in her eyes]

Me: State your case.

Girly: I did X all week, I didn’t do Y or Z and I really really want it.

Me: Okay, fine. But I’m telling you, these aren’t going to work like the say they do but, you win. I’ll order them right now.

I filled out an online form. Shipping was like $8.00. I told her so, she was still excited about getting those plastic ice cream cones.

A day or so later, I get a notification that when I purchased them, there was some sort of service I’d been automatically enrolled in with a monthly fee on my credit card. I showed her. I unenrolled and it didn’t cost me anything but I pointed out if I hadn’t seen that text, they could have charged my card $13.99 (or whatever) for months before I noticed.

About a week later, the cones arrived. I had all the ingredients to make ice cream. We put cream, sugar, salt, ice into the little cones — and each started shaking one.

Me [shake shake shake]

Girly [shake shake shake]

Girly: My arm is getting tired.

Me: Mine too.

We kept shaking and shaking and shaking. Finally, we couldn’t shake any longer so we decided to eat the ice cream.

It was a soupy mess and only produced MAYBE half a cup. We took a couple bites (probably because that’s all there was).

Girly was disappointed but I explained how advertising works. How many items and services are a scam. How things are presented in a much better light then they deserve. She felt fooled but I didn’t want her to feel stupid for falling for a sophisticated system specifically designed to make money. I’m sure many adults bought the product too thinking it would be cute and fun — and ended up with the same results we did.

From then on, when she’d see an advertisement for a product she thought looked great, we discussed it. I would read reviews online. I would search for a similar product that was better quality (and often cheaper) and sometimes I agreed the product advertised WAS cool and even a good deal.

Recently she’d been pestering me about getting some of those water balloons on a stick, the ones you can fill like 20 at a time from a spigot. I let her state her case and she won. She used her own money at the grocery store, I tried to talk her out of it citing the price — she wouldn’t budge. She was committed and had been wanting them for a long time.

The bulk of the time spent with the balloons was picking up the popped / deflated ones and putting them in a garbage bag. (Something that took me three days to get her to finish).

That first package, she filled them all because two friends said they were coming over. She was so excited — but they never arrived. We popped them together. She was super disappointed. I felt bad for her so I bought her a big pack online (for a fraction of the price she paid). A couple days later, her friends finally showed up and they had fun with them. (And then it took another 3 days to get her to pick up all the dead balloons).

Does she want more of them? She certainly hasn’t asked for more and I think we have two more batches somewhere. They are cute and fun to throw around on a hot day but most of the time is spent picking up trash. They really aren’t worth the trouble… especially if they end up in the stomach of a bird. The plastic waste is ridiculous.

I don’t regret any of the times Girly has won when she stated her case regardless of the outcome. I like having lively debates with her. If things turn out predictably bad, I don’t gloat or do the whole “I told you so” thing. I ask her if she had it to do over, would she do it again? If she says yes or no, those are both great answers.

Journaling, Holidays, Trigger Times of Year (and what better looks like…)

| thefeatherfish

I’ve been writing as a coping mechanism since I was a kid.  When I started this journey with Girly keeping a journal seemed natural.  I could just dump out feelings, form them into sentences, organize my thoughts and the journal ended up paying off in ways I didn’t expect.

  1. Keeping a journal helped me identify another trigger time of year I wasn’t aware of. 
  2. It helped me identify several general triggers I wasn’t aware of.
  3. It helped me get a successful medication tweak.
  4. It was proof when proof was needed.
  5. It helped remind me that triggers and trigger times of year pass.
  6. It proved that things in some areas actually got better. 
  7. It helped me identify what did and didn’t work.
  8. Quantify what “better” looks like. 

At first the Girly journal started as a rambling mess but over time, it became more of a hub for documentation.  I would mention specific behaviors or occurrences (like suspensions, chopping off chunks of hair, peeing in weird places, sleep patterns, side-effects from medicine).  There were times I didn’t write much at all which told me things were going pretty well during that time.  I did try to be consistent with journaling but eh.  I found a compromise which I talk about at the end of the post.

I had about four or five years of journaling when I went through it making a chart to narrow down when certain behaviors were happening the most.  I knew early on her birthday was a major trigger time of year but I didn’t know things were just about as bad in Spring.  There didn’t seem to be any sort of specific “thing” that I could identify.  At first I assumed it was Easter but that wasn’t the case.  I looked closer at the weather patterns for each year.  I compared them to my chart.  I felt there was a direct correlation between behaviors and the weather.  An early Spring meant February or March was hell.  A late Spring meant May was hell.  A typical Spring and April was hell.  I have heard changes in seasons can be dyregulating for kids that hate change but I decided to keep digging.  I discovered she went through her first removal in Spring.  That particular month in that particular year she was first removed Spring was full on soggy.  It had been for weeks so whatever happened leading up to the removal was probably not all that pleasant for her thus, I concluded, the weather changing to Spring was a trigger.  Years when Spring sped by quickly and wasn’t particularly soggy were much better than the long, wet dreary Springs that happened during other years.  A long Winter has always been optimal. 

As I mentioned, her birthday was always a particularly bad trigger.  (She associates her birthday with sexual assault but even beyond that, birthdays are usually pretty triggering for these kids even if there’s no specific trauma around them).  I always see aggression, regression, predatory sexual behavior, etc. leading up to the birthday. 

Therapist: Keep the birthday low-key.

I did formulate a plan to make her birthdays less triggering but other adults struggled to follow my lead.  I understand the desire to make things special for a little child that’s lost so much but at some juncture, adults with fully formed brains and a plethora of life experiences to draw from need to recognize when their own desires are causing trouble.  I didn’t want Girly to always hate her birthday, to regress and self-harm, to attack other children, to pee in the heater vents.  I sincerely don’t think she wanted any of that either.  After a couple of years, Girly started to recognize when her birthday was approaching. 

Girly [lamenting]:  You know what’s coming up. 

Me:  Yes, I do.  This year, your birthday is on Wednesday.  We are going to have a cake, open presents,  X, Y and Z will be there and once Wednesday is over, your birthday is over.  We are keeping it low key and then we can forget all about it until next year.   We are going to zip through it and it is going to be okay.  I promise.

The more low-key the birthday was, the easier it was to deal with.  But, again, other adults resisted my suggestions and would insist on extra people.  Or, make too big a deal of things.  Too many gifts.  Trying to push the “celebration” to the weekend after her birthday to accommodate others.   I specifically said no decorations, they didn’t listen.  The traditional birthday song was the first clue I had that something was up with the birthday.  We’d start to sign and Girly would literally melt-down.  Bawling.  Those first few notes were enough to trigger something major. 

Us:  Haaaappy birthdaaaaay toooooo…

Girly [tears, genuine deep sadness, wailing, covering her ears]

We eventually started singing other songs; Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, one year we all did the Starwars theme song “da daaaa da da da DAAAA daaaa…”, eventually a new birthday song popped up on that Sprout channel, “Happy happy birthday to you, happy happy BIRTHday to you!”.  One year, we didn’t sign anything.  I asked her if she wanted to skip singing, she did.   One year she wanted to try the traditional birthday song, she cried.  She tried so hard to make it through it too. 

Some adults resisted abandoning the song.  They would push for the traditional birthday song so I had to show out and look like an asshole.  Oh well.  It isn’t Girly’s fault some adults with fully formed brains are incapable of learning or following basic instructions.  I’m not going to going to let adults harass her with a song ON her own damn birthday.  I had to get ahead of this everywhere too, not just in the family.  When I told teachers not to make a big deal about her birthday and definitely do NOT sign the birthday song, they thought I was being punitive.  They felt bad for the little girl who’d lost so much. 

Yeah, well, if you don’t heed my warning you’re going to be removing a pencil from someone’s eye so pay attention.   I’m not saying just flat out ignore her on her birthday, I’m saying keep things chill.  And, whatever you do, do NOT sign that birthday song.

It was bad enough I couldn’t control people singing the birthday song in other situations but if I asked it to not be sang for HER birthday, I just don’t understand why so many people had a problem with that request.  It really illustrates how difficult it can be for some people to see an experience from another perspective.  I still have to deal with the adults every year that simply can’t process a big party is a mess for Girly.  THEY want a celebration and they just don’t seem to be able to see it isn’t going to be the great time they think it will be.   

The end of the year holiday season is also always very dysregulating.  I’m in a group full of parents and caregivers raising traumatized kids.  There are specific times the group dies down and there are other times it comes roaring to life with vengeance.  September (when school starts) is one of those times.  End of the school year is another.  As the holidays approach, it’s full on chaos.  The adults are stressed to the max trying to make everything “special” and “festive”.  The kids are melting down and often exhibiting the worst behaviors, often doing things that they weren’t doing a few months earlier.  It really screws up what “better” looks like in your own head. It’s a hard turn to make when you think a behavior is resolved and it comes roaring back to life – during a time that’s supposed to be full of FESTIVE CHEER and FUN. 

Let’s be real; holidays can be very stressful.  They can be expensive.  They are not the typical schedule.  Adults are being pulled in a variety of directions.  School will be out for a couple of weeks, there’s a tree that needs to be put up, big meals need to be prepared or there’s a visit to another place for a big meal.  Family gets together.  Festive food and cookies and treats are made.  Decorations.  School parties.  There’s presents that need to be bought and wrapped.  The stores are crammed full of people so even if you just need milk you’re going to be stuck in the store for 30 minutes with holiday music blaring overhead.  If you’re religious, there’s a whole other layer of the holiday season that comes into play.  If your kids are young, you might do the magical Santa thing where some random guy, that’s been watching you all year, is going to break into your house and leave stuff behind.   This new Elf on the Shelf nonsense.  The classroom had an Elf on the Shelf.  Girly touched the magical elf and upset everyone.  I got a phone call. 

Expectations are at an all-time high.     

Holidays.  Are.  Dysregulating. 

They are dyrgulating for adults and they are DEFINITELY dysregulating for kids with a trauma history.  The expectation of happiness can be damn near unbearable. 

So, what happens?  The threats start. 

Adults:  If you don’t stop doing X, you’re getting coal for Christmas! 

Early in my journey with Girly, things were rough, especially at school.  I remember a particularly difficult holiday season when she was in trouble — a lot.  She was particularly pokey one day so I began the regular (and exhausting) mining expedition into her head to figure out what was going on. 

An exasperated teacher’s aide told her if she wasn’t good, Santa wouldn’t bring her anything except a lump of coal.

Being “good” wasn’t on the menu back then.  Girly knew she couldn’t pull that off so she quickly resigned herself to getting coal for Christmas.  I don’t think she even knew what coal was but she definitely knew it wasn’t good.

A couple of my co-workers and I penned a simple letter to Girly from Santa.  (She came to me believing in Santa and I was never really sure how to deal with it, I personally don’t like the whole Santa thing which I’m aware is a big problem for some people).  I put it in an envelope and snuck it into the mailbox.  I still have the letter somewhere.   I pulled up to the mailbox, pulled out the mail.  “This is addressed to you!” I handed it to her.  She looked at it without opening it.  I can still picture her sitting in the passenger seat looking at the envelope with a blank expression.  She’d never gotten a letter before so I assumed she was trying to figure out who it was from, what it was — but now I know she very likely assumed it was something awful.  It was unknown and anything unknown was always bad. 

I encouraged her to open it.  Or, maybe she asked me to open it.  She couldn’t read at the time.  The letter had a few cheery graphics on it and the gist was that she was definitely not getting coal for Christmas.  I think there was something about Santa wishing adults would stop saying the “lump of coal” thing.

I don’t remember what her response was.  I do remember she was VERY suspicious.  Back then, anything seemingly good wasn’t to be trusted.  Everyone wants good things but if you’re conditioned to lose everything good because you can’t do anything right, you associate good with loss and failure.  Better to want nothing.  It’s safer.  Getting something good immediately triggers feelings of loss.  It’s a tricky mess to navigate. 

Once Christmas starts getting closer, the kids start reaching their breaking point.  The adults end up triggered and don’t have enough emotional resilience built up.  It spirals out of control. 

I totally understand the frustration and I can’t say I haven’t wallowed in holiday hell myself so I do understand the natural gravitation to “taking things away to correct behavior” and protecting myself. It is hard to remember she isn’t choosing the behavior (neither are we, the adults, it’s old wiring). She is trying to protect herself (as are we, the adults).  She hates surprises (no one likes to be sucker punched).  It’s exhausting for her trying to be ready for the bottom to fall out all the time (as it is for us, the adults). 

But. Girly didn’t create the holidays. She didn’t ask for them to exist. She wants to like them but she can’t trust them. If I’m flying off the handle because I’m overwhelmed, I don’t deserve to be trusted. If I’m threatening to return her toys or give them to another kid, I’m the asshole. She can’t help how she feels about all of it, but I have a fully formed brain with a plethora of life experiences to draw from. It is my job to make things “better” but it isn’t always easy to know what “better” even looks like. Sure, it’s ideal to get compliance from a kid like Girly but if it isn’t going to happen, it’s my job to wake the hell up and get a relationship with reality going.

I dumped the Santa thing (but really pressured her to NOT tell little kids he wasn’t real – there were troubles with this) and told her what she was getting for Christmas. Once I erased all the “surprises”,  Christmas was miles better.  I let her have choices about where decorations would go. Or, if they went up at all. I stuck up for her and explained to her where her behavior was coming from. I was honest about my stress levels and tried to manage my expectations. I gave her some space to lose it without threats of throwing presents away or resenting her for not being appreciative (for a bunch of a shit she didn’t even ask for). I explained how brain chemicals work. You know the let down after all the presents are opened? I told her ahead of time it would happen. She wasn’t being ungrateful, her brain chemicals were subsiding after she opened everything – that’s all.

That can be a painful, dysregulating experience. Brain chemicals are powerful. When the good ones start to subside, it’s hard to let it go. It’s hard to feel them slipping away.

One year we had a huge ice storm and the power was knocked out in my area a day or two before Christmas.  It was cold but we have a fireplace and all that.  My sister got me some Christmas lights that were battery powered.  I moved a mattress into the family room near the fireplace.  We hunkered down on Christmas eve.  Once she was asleep, I moved all the presents into the room.  As I was getting into bed, the mattress wiggled and she woke up.  I tried to pretend to be asleep.  Out of my slitted eyes I could see her looking at the tree and back to me.  I tried to figure out what to do.

I tried to get her to go back to sleep – that wasn’t happening. 

Girly:  Emmy, Santa came.

Me [groggy]:  No, it’s too early. 

We got up.  I told her she could open ONE present.   I ended up letting her open all of them.  I just couldn’t justify fighting about it.  And it was absolutely fine.  In the morning, she played with her new toys.  No surprises.  We ended up at a hotel with a pool for a couple of days until the power came back on. 

Overall, it was the best Christmas ever.  Being camped out in the family room together, roughing it.  The hotel.  The not having to go to any celebrations at anyone’s house.  It was totally off-book, flying by the seat of our pants, taking things as they came and just rolling with it.  If I’d been strict about following Christmas protocol, it would have been a nightmare but I let it go and just rolled with it.  (And this was before I was trauma trained so training isn’t necessary to accomplish a lot of good things!). 

Since I primarily wrote in the journal heavily when things were at their worst, it gave me a pretty good roadmap I was able to use later on.  Once I was able to identify different triggers, I could brace for them and get ahead of them.  I could warn Girly what was coming up, not to rattle her, to give her come control.  Get some hacks in place.  Get some explanation for her increasing anxiety.  I could carve out some resilience to deal with the bottom falling out instead of being sucker punched. 

When a new medication would start, I could compare side-effects.  I preferred to start a new medication in early Summer or late Spring when behavioral issues were less of an issue (something I knew because of the journal).  When I knew a medication wasn’t working, I was able to draw up a chart to prove it.  I applied this same approach when I removed dyes and refined sugar from her diet, when I introduced different types of sensory tools.  It’s hard to know what “better” looks like if you don’t have a baseline. 

It’s kind of funny how much trouble I had identifying what “better” looked like without the journal.  It was a crucial piece of information though and without the journal, I’d of missed a lot of successes. 

It doesn’t need to be proper journal either.  I made a monthly chart (I still do) and gave days a rating from 1-10.  If a bunch of days in a row were 3, the journal could help me identify what the issue was but even without the journal, after a while, those dots alone told a story.  If you keep a little chart like that for a year, patterns were emerge.  This was how I managed to diagnose myself with PMSD when I was in my late 20’s.  That little chart proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, three days before my period every month was a nightmare.  Knowing that meant I had power over it.  The same concept applied to my life with Girly later on.  I carry around a little notepad with me and I slap a dot on it every couple of days or so.  If I feel like I need to fill in some blanks, I go back through my social media posts to see what sort of mood I was in and try to recall those days.  I’ve found memory to be somewhat misleading so I try not to rely on it too much for the journal.  One particularly bad week, I’d not updated the chart. It felt like I’d been in a hole for months.   Instead of just slapping a low number on all the prior days I’d missed, I went back through my social media posts.  There was irrefutable proof my memory was wrong.  I double checked the date on a post I’d made.  I had posted it four days earlier but it felt like I’d posted it over a month ago.  When I saw it, I totally remembered posting it and I was in a great mood that day.   

It was an important reminder to not rely on memory alone.  Sometimes things ARE better but we don’t realize it until we see proof.  Sometimes it helps to have proof behaviors are not as severe or are occurring less often.  Sometimes it helps to have proof that a particular behavior doesn’t even exist anymore and that a new one has taken its place.  Sometimes it helps to have proof an intervention is actually working – or to abandon one that isn’t. 

I personally get a kick out of being smacked in the face with this sort of thing because sometimes it is GREAT to be wrong.  And sometimes, you need to prove it.

Behavior is Communication (and punitive measures won’t work)

| thefeatherfish

Girly used to be a serial spitter.  I am not really sure where she learned it.  As young child, she spat on the ground frequently.  A pint-sized Nordic beauty – hurling forceful wads of juicy spit onto the pavement from her puckered mouth.  I never tried to stop her, it seemed like one of those battles that wouldn’t be worth it.  Plus, her aim was pretty good so it never caused any trouble.  Some family members detested that she spit outside on the ground like a tobacco chewing baseball player but I refused to take up arms against the behavior. 

Eventually, she started spitting at or on people.  Now her spitting was a problem that had to be addressed and it was a behavior I didn’t understand.  I had no idea if it was something she opted for instead of violence or if it served some other purpose.  I wasn’t sure what triggered it.  I was never around when she spat at someone and I had no clue how to make it stop.

One day, I was giving her one of my stupid lectures.  I was sitting on the couch, she was against the fireplace kind of sitting on the hearth / mantel thing (which is off the ground, like a bench).  There were about five feet of space between us.  She was just blankly sitting there, presumably listening to me (lol). 

Then I saw it.  She was producing spitty foam on her lips.  Clusters of shiny bubbles — and she had that stone-cold steely look in her eyes. 

I stopped talking and froze trying to quantify what I was seeing.  Then, I impulsively hopped down on all fours so I was about eye level with her.  Matching her resolved facial expression about six inches from her face, the battle line was drawn.

Me:  Do it.  I dare you.  Do it and see what happens.

We stayed eye-locked in determined silence, the saliva still bubbled up poofy on her lips.  As the moments passed, my brain started cycling around wildly.  If she DID spit on me, what do I do?  Do I spit back at her?  Would she even care?  Do I spank her?  I’m the one that dared her to do it so isn’t this technically my doing? What the hell do I do if she spits right in my face?  Being spat on by this tiny tyrant wouldn’t trigger me in a major way, it’s just saliva, but being spit on or at is something that’s profoundly triggering to other people (especially some adults) but I have no idea what to do.

Our eyes stayed locked for several moments, neither of us moved one muscle. 

Suddenly.

Girly: [sucks the saliva back into her mouth without changing her expression]

I backed off immediately.  I almost started to gloat.  I’m an adult with a fully formed brain for crying out loud. I just won a battle with a small yet powerful human using a total front and I didn’t even have a clue what the hell I was going to do if she actually followed through with spitting on me. There was nothing to gloat about.  I’m so glad I kept my mouth shut.

The whole battle had taken place primarily in silence.  The only words spoken were the ones where I dared her.  The rest of the battle was non-verbal.  I have no idea what was going on in her head during those frozen moments but I definitely know what was going inside of mine. 

Therapist:  A child that suffers trauma before they have the ability to speak can’t talk about their trauma. 

Behavior is… language.  It’s a regressive form but it is a form of communication nevertheless.  Infants and tiny tots (animals, too) can’t speak yet they can communicate. This is completely acceptable behavior for animals, babies and very young children.  Girly was able to speak (she was about six I think) but she would frequently drift back to an emotional age where speech wasn’t available. Words were simply not available for her to use in tense high running moments (which were frequent).  The burden was mine to understand what she was trying to communicate to me (or anyone else) with her behavior.  Instead of just seeing unwanted behaviors as something I needed to stop, I tried to understand the message she was sending or more importantly, the underlying feeling.  This not only helped me understand the message she was trying to send, it gave me a task so I wouldn’t get sucked into the storm. 

Frustration.

Anger.

Fear.

Tired.

Hungry.

Discomfort.

Injustice.

Therapist:  A child can usually tell you “where” they feel something.  Try asking her.

I started asking her where she felt something.  She could answer that question.  It was usually her stomach.  I tried to get creative with language.  I used words she could visualize like wobbly, bumpy, pokey or pop / popping.  We used the color chart a lot.  She could point to a color and connect it a feeling.  She could not say, “I feel a bit frustrated and need a moment to collect myself”.  I had to pay close attention to her body language.  I had to look around for triggers.  There were tell-tale signs things were getting wobbly.  Her jaw would jut out.  She would rub Blankie hard on her nose with a far-away look in her eyes. She would get red, like she was overheating and have a wild look in her eyes.  She would get loud with an broad, uncomfortable smile plastered on her face. 

When these more subtle clues weren’t addressed, they would quickly spiral to other behaviors.  Attack someone.  Run away.  Cover her ears and scream.  Grab at things. Throw things.  Get into stuff.  Destroy things. Chew on things.  Harm animals.  Set a fire.  Self-harm.

Spit.

In the middle of an episode (well, preferably in the early stages), I’d wait or or make an opening and ask her where she feels it or ask her what color she was.  It took practice but at least she had an alternative way to communicate what she was feeling as opposed to being led around by the nose by her feelings which always led to her being in trouble.  It was not just a redirection, though I am a big fan of redirection, it helped her build a vocabulary that turned feelings from behaviors into words. 

This was a difficult process because I really couldn’t understand it.  She COULD speak. She had speech available all the time for other stuff so why was it just getting wiped out? I don’t have a trauma history.  I’m neruo-typical.  As a child I no major problem getting my feelings into words. 

Then, I remembered what it was like before I was trauma trained and didn’t know any trauma lingo.  Going into meetings at the school were extremely frustrating for me.  I kept saying, “She had a rough start, she’s wound tight, she just needs to be able unwind”.  I wasn’t wrong but no one would listen to me. I tried using different variations, it didn’t help.  A few years later, when I DID have the lingo in my vocabulary, my arguments and rebuttals changed.  They became effective (to a point, battling the school during those early years were a nightmare). 

The point is, I didn’t have the language I needed to explain what needed to be explained therefore, I was dismissed. I have a fully formed brain with a plethora of life experiences to draw from.  Being unjustly dismissed, despite creating a high level of frustration, didn’t dysregulate me to the point I attacked someone.  (Though I admit, it definitely crossed my mind but, I didn’t act on it).  

Once I knew the language, I was more effective. 

Along with using visual words, asking where she felt something and using the color chart, I started talking aloud about my own feelings, not to her, to myself.  I really listened to the things I was saying about uncomfortable feelings.  I was mindful about the script I was creating that was going out of my mouth — and into her head.  If I was frustrated about something, I would describe what I was feeling — and [try to!] end with a resolution.  Along the way, I came across a grounding technique where you identify something you hear, smell and touch.  If she was getting wonky, I’d go through the list with her.    

Me:  I hate doing all these dishes.  But, when I’m done the dishes will be clean and I will tell myself I did a good job.  So, I’m just gonna do them and get it over with so I can move on. 

When I was done, I would congratulate myself. 

Me: Why am I getting stuck at all these lights?  I’m so irritated!  Stupid lights.  Then again, maybe if I made all the lights I’d end up in an accident up the road so I’ll just do my breathing exercise.  (Inhale for 4, hold for 4, exhale for 4 — something like that). 

Me:  I feel all nervous and weird and sad today.  I think I’m really worried about tomorrow or thinking about something bad that happened a while ago.  I’m definitely close to black.  [Slap my magnet between blue and black].  I wonder what I could do to get up a couple of colors.  What color are you?  

Girly:  [Puts her magnet on a higher color]

Me:  I’m going to try to get up where you are.  I will think of something I’m grateful for.  Um, I’m grateful I already got groceries and filled up my gas tank because I’m definitely too tired to do it today.  Do you have any ideas of something good?

Girly:  Your face isn’t on fire?

Me:  Good one!  You’re totality right, my face is NOT on fire.  I’m super happy about that.  Thank you for the idea.  [I move my magnet up a color or two].

Me:  OH MY GOD, WHY is my co-worker so stupid?  I swear I can’t take it anymore!

Girly:  What do you hear? 

Me:  What?

Girly:  What do you hear?? 

Holy shit.  She’s not only listening to me when I’m asking her what she hears, sees and smells – she’s doing it back at me.  

I used to have a thriving little mediation practice going on before Girly moved in. I meditated daily for a long time. For me, the very act of confronting a feeling directly (by simply acknowledging it and feeling it) often reduced the severity of the feeling almost instantly. When I run from feelings or fight feelings, they seem to get stronger.  To me, it feels like feelings are determined to be heard one way or another and they can be relentless. Unruly toddlers that WILL be seen. Once they are acknowledged, they simmer down. Feelings are powerful and I logically know they can’t actually hurt me.  I’m not sure a child actually knows a feeling can’t hurt them considering the fact they don’t have a fully formed brain and a plethora of life experiences to draw from.  I don’t know what sort logic they have at their disposal. 

I gave it a try.

Me:  Your feelings can’t hurt you. If you just go on and feel them, they calm down. It’s the running from them and fighting them that causes all the trouble. 

She was only about five when I told her this.  She looked at me like she understood what I was saying.  It was one of our first turning points.  I could tell by the look on her face she understood me, she didn’t actually say anything.

After I was trauma trained, I tried other approaches with her and shared with her what I learned. 

Therapist (or maybe it was a book, both, who knows):  The higher brain and lower brain do not communicate with each other. 

For the first few years, Girly’s behavior went outward against a hostile world.  After a while, it started going inward.  While I was glad the aggression toward others was subsiding, she started to take it out on herself.  It felt like I could either let her grow up hurting others, or hurting herself.  I hated both of those choices.  She knew something was different about her.  She knew she couldn’t do anything right.  She was in school with peers that weren’t like her.  She was always in trouble.  She was doing what her brain was programmed and designed to do; survive.  She was scanning for threats non-stop and finding them everywhere.  She was trying to learn from all the information being hurled at her but her impulses (to survive?) overrode everything. 

The times I was able to put myself in her shoes and see the world from her survival wiring perspective, it felt like I was suffocating.  

I tried so many things to bring her to heel during this time.  Lots of failures.  Lots of losing my temper.  Lots of frustration.  I had a lot if information swirling around in my head.  I felt like there needed to be a mediation or something.  Bring to the table the lower brain of a traumatized child, the developing cortex that’s trying to make sense of everything and the child herself who was caught in the middle.  She had things that needed to be said but didn’t know how to say them.  She was using a primitive language to express herself.  The fault was mine for not understanding it. 

Cesar Milan (The Dog Whisperer) made a very interesting point.  He said he couldn’t fix a dog’s unwanted behavior unless the dog presented the behavior.  That’s where the correction needed to happen.  Timing is crucial.  The fact he would intervene right when the behaviors were occurring is what made him so successful at retraining the brain of dogs.   If I really wanted to stop these challenging behaviors, I needed to see them an opportunity.  This gave me another task to focus on as opposed to just getting sucked into the drama. 

I also decided to call a truce.      

Me: Your lower brain is trying to help.  It thinks it is doing the right thing.  It is trying to save you.  I know it pushes you to do things that get you into trouble but it doesn’t mean to get you in trouble.  Just because it isn’t doing the best job doesn’t mean it isn’t trying to do its best.  I think we should thank it for trying to protect you. 

She responded to this in a positive way.  Keep in mind, I never had ANY idea what she would or wouldn’t respond to.  There was so much trial and error it makes my head spin but I remember this so clearly.  She was interested.  I could see her “thinking” about it.  I wasn’t bashing her brain for doing its job, and I wasn’t bashing her for letting it lead her around by the nose.  I wasn’t blaming her for things that were beyond her control, I was seeking a way to get her some control.  When things got away from her, if her behavior was fear based, we both thanked her brain for doing what it thought was the right thing to do – but also applied a correction.  Sometimes it came in the form of looking at the whole scenario and identifying the “scary” parts but then acknowledging that they really weren’t the mortal threat her brain was perceiving. 

This was such a long process.  This process was probably the hardest because it also included watching her ALL the time.  When I was tired, the last thing I wanted to do was monitor my dysregulated kid with wolf ears and try to intervene properly over and over.  

It is really, REALLY important to note that – punitive measures don’t work with a child like mine.  If punishing her worked, she’d of been a perfect child.  Punishments actually made her worse.  Sticker charts, reward systems, time outs, taking things away, attaching a negative response to her unwanted behavior — none of that shit did any good because she wasn’t CHOOSING her behaviors.  Behaviors were being blurted out impulsively out of fear from a part of her brain she had no control over.  When she regressed to a younger age, the brain of that younger age was the only brain available for her to work with.

Later on, we built a system where she could cash in positive reports from school for goodies but during those first three years, nope.  She was just along for a miserable ride and her lower brain was calling all the shots – in an effort to protect her.  Telling her to “stop hitting and spitting!” was tantamount to telling an infant to “shut up and stop crying!”.  She was just trying to get needs met that went unmet at a crucial developmental stage when behavior was the only communication she had at her disposal.

The message she was trying to send wasn’t that she was bad, incapable of learning or didn’t give a shit – it was a message that said, “I’m hurting a lot and I need help”. So, I started listening… and helping.

*This was a really hard post to write because the experiences themselves were so choppy.  In the beginning, I didn’t know anything about trauma.  It was a learning process.  The chronological order of events is messed up.  I found one topic quickly led to another.  I wasn’t expecting the “Punitive Measures Don’t Work” thing to pop up in this post but, it belongs here.  The truce was a big deal.  It gave her some power.  She developed a legitimate relationship with her lower brain.  She stopped hating herself.  Thanking her lower brain or trying to hear the message she was sending, it helped me to have a “job” when shit started going off the rails.  It stopped me from panicking and drifting right to a punitive measure.  I know how frustrating it is to live in a house with a child that struggles with cause and effect.   Most of us were traditionally parented – but that’s a dead end for a kid like Girly.  A child like Girly doesn’t give one shit if you take away all their toys.  They do not care because in their minds, they’ve already lost it anyway.  Literally, getting something they want immediately gets associated with losing it.  They are black holes of need – needs that were never met.  So, best to get ahead of the whole thing and not care about anything.  Finding something she wanted bad enough to use as leverage (because she healed enough to believe she wouldn’t lose it) took a few years.  I mean, imagine a child that wants absolutely nothing to the point you have nothing you can use to barter with.  Or, wants it and gets it and destroys it before something else takes it away.  It’s powerful, when you think about it.  A small child is able to attach to absolutely nothing to protect themselves and they are doing it without even thinking about it. 

“What would you do differently?”

| thefeatherfish

While it seems like a silly, flippant question, it became a staple in our life. The question caused an answer and that answer was a clue. A peek inside the head of a child that did the weirdest, most impulsive things.

Her first attempt at Kindergarten produced so many suspensions I quit counting half way through the year. It was hands down the worst year we’ve had together. When I think about how hard it was for me (an adult with a fully formed brain and a plethora of life experiences to draw from), I can only imagine how hard it was for her (an early five that spent the bulk of her life being bounced around and neglected with mostly negative life experiences to draw from and definitely didn’t have a fully formed brain).

After she’d attack another child, try to run off, destroy something I started asking her what, if anything, would she do differently if she could.

For a long time she responded with a shrug.

“I don’t know!” is sometimes a valid, truthful answer. Choices only exist if you know you have some. For a kid in chaos and crisis, choices aren’t readily available — until they are.

She needed choices. A Behavior Plan came later (after I hired an educational advocate). I was trauma / SpEd ignorant at the beginning of our journey and the school district was definitely not very helpful at first but she still needed help so I did the best I could.

She was ALWAYS hitting and touching other kids. She was ALWAYS in trouble for hitting or poking or slapping someone. I spent weary hours running my hole about her behavior.

Everyone: You can’t hit!

Then, I get a call from the school. She choked a little girl. Everyone was all freaked out. She was suspended, again, for a while. She went over the line.

I was droning on giving her yet another one of my useless lectures and she made her defense.

Girly: I didn’t hit her!!

Me: You wanted to hit her?

Girly: Yes! But I didn’t!

I couldn’t argue with that. The whole adult world had been bitching at her about not hitting and — she didn’t do it. She consciously opted for something else (unfortunately for her, it was worse). But, it told me she was listening. Hell, she was actually successful.

She needed choices to replace aggression toward others. These were the choices I gave her.

1. Ask for help.

2. Walk away.

3. Both.

That’s a long list for a young, traumatized child that doesn’t trust anyone so it was crucial if she DID opt for one of these things, it paid off for her. I strongly urged her to NEVER choke anyone ever again and if she had to hit someone, aim for a shoulder or thigh. Something meaty. With restrained force. I really pushed hitting as an absolute last option (unless it was in defense — but for her, she was always on defense so that was a mucky place for her all the way around).

When something popped off, I asked her what she could have done differently.

Girly: Ask for help.

She didn’t start applying it right away but at least she had an answer now. There was something else in her head besides “hit”.

A 8 y/o girl stabs her toddler sister in the neck with a sharp toy. The toddler screams alerting mom. What could you have done differently? “Covered her face so mom didn’t hear her scream”.

A 12 y/o male has killed a few chickens. What could you have done differently? “Made it look like a coyote killed them”.

A 7 y/o female has attempted to drown her younger sibling in the pool. What could you have done differently? “Tied a rock to her”.

If a kid like Girly was left to figure out on her own what else she could have done differently, those are the sort of answers she’d of come up with eventually.

She did start asking for help and walking away. We identified a few adults she could trust and those were her go to adults at school. We also helped her identify when she was getting wobbly and to ask for help before trouble was afoot. A child on the verge of crisis often looks any normal child — but once the fuse has burned away, those two kinds of children look completely different.

Once Girly had available choices and once those choices led to success, she got better at asking for help. The trick is to make sure the adults with the fully formed brains actually provide the help that’s requested.

The great side-effect when this works is it builds trust. And trust leads to leverage. Leverage is really helpful. I never had a jot of leverage over Girly until I earned her trust and it all started with me giving her choices — and ensuring she received help when she asked for it.

PLAY THERAPY AT HOME (and how I stopped screwing it up…)

| thefeatherfish

“Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood.” -Fred Rogers

“Children need the freedom and time to play. Play is not a luxury. Play is a necessity.” -Kay Redfield Jamison

“Play gives children a chance to practice what they are learning.” -Mr. Rogers

“It is paradoxical that many educators and parents still differentiate between a time for learning and a time for play without seeing the vital connection between them.” -Leo F. Buscaglia

“Play is so integral to childhood that a child who does not have the opportunities to play is cut off from a major portion of childhood.” -Musselwhite

I have watched Girly play with her therapist more times than I can count.

Her therapist explained to me what was happening. I kind of understood what she was saying on the surface but I didn’t truly get it in a deep meaningful way.

Hopefully, you already have a therapist that understands trauma and attachment on board (if you need one).  If you do, you probably go into therapy with your child and watch your child and the therapist play with stuff.  Maybe a sand tray.  Puppets.  Games.  Toys. Art supplies. 

Sometimes you’re part of everything, sometimes you’re just observing.  It seems I spent a lot of time observing the therapist and Girly play with particular toys frequently; a dollhouse and Playmobil people and accessories. Girly was often a risk taking daughter / sister, the therapist played all the other characters and interjected intermittently asking questions or pointing something out.

Watching her play with her therapist as long as I had, you’d think I would have figured out what was going on. The therapist tried to explain things to me. I understood on a basic level but not a deep one.

Not only didn’t I really understand what was going on, I didn’t truly understand the value of it.  It’s like I knew it was valuable but I was missing something.

I tried to recreate at home what was happening in therapy.  I spent a small fortune buying the same types of toys she gravitated to in therapy.  She’s barely played with them at home.  They are the first toys she heads for in therapy but at home, they are just being stored in a big box.  But, even when we did play with them together at home, it generally ended in frustration. 

I had no clue what my characters were supposed to say or do.  My brain would scramble around trying to figure out the right direction to go.  It was mentally and emotionally taxing. I felt ridiculous, confused, stupid and our sessions were mostly failures.

Despite having a fully formed brain and a plethora of life experiences to draw from, it took me a VERY long time to ask the therapist one simple question that changed everything.

They were playing a typical scenario out on the floor having a nice time. Her therapist just doing what she does — effortlessly.

Hiding my exasperation, desperation and what felt were obvious mental shortcomings, I blurted out the question that changed everything.

Me:  How do you know what your character is supposed to say?

Therapist: Ask.

Me:…

Therapist: The child always knows what to say. 

I was stunned. I was skeptical.  It seemed too easy.  Nothing was that easy. 

Ask.  Seriously?

The next day, I let Girly dictate what we played with instead of busting out that big box of Playmobil stuff. We started with the Donkey puppet (he has a fully developed personality). We ended up doing a lot of role playing mostly. The same scenario over and over and over.

When I didn’t know what I was supposed to say or do, I asked.

There hasn’t been one instance Girly didn’t immediately know what she wanted me to say or do.

Not one.

I would report back to the therapist what things we were playing out and get some input or direction.

Girly had a comfort object; Blankie.  Blankie was a fixture in our lives.  Just a raggedy, pastel receiving blanket.  I think it was made of a polyester blend.  It wasn’t soft.  It was usually dirty and smelled. It went everywhere with us.  She couldn’t sleep without it.  It calmed her down when she was worked up.  She would sniff it and rub it on her face to soothe herself.

Blankie became a big part of our role playing together. 

This is the basic idea; the child writes, directs and stars in the production.  You follow instructions.  If you are required to play multiple characters, you do it.  If you’re required to say certain lines, you say them.  If you don’t know what to say or do, ask.

It is simple but it can get tricky. 

Girly was always herself.  I was assigned mulitpe roles. I was usually “mom” or “myself” or “another adult” or “a mom’s boyfriend”.

At one point, we played the same scenario over and over for weeks. I was usualy mom taking her Blankie away to give to her boyfriend or to sell for money.  Sometimes, I was the boyfriend.  Sometimes, I specifically stole Blankie, wrapped it up as a gift and gave to “Mom”.  Girly was forced to watch as her beloved Blankie was given to another, bringing happiness to everyone but her.  Eventually, “Myself” started showing up to defend Girly and demanding the Blankie be returned to Girly. 

Mom or Boyfriend usually snatched Blankie away easily from Girly.  As time went on, Girly started holding onto it tighter.  This was so subtle, I didn’t even notice it at first.  Then one day, she really held onto it.  I fought back and managed to get it away from her.

This was a mistake on my part. 

Thankfully, my fully formed brain pushed me to ask the therapist about the struggle.

Therapist:  Let her keep it.  Let her win. 

SO SIMPLE OMG.  Why am I so stupid?

So, that’s what I did.  The next time we played that scenario, I let her win.  I let her bask in the glory of her accomplishment.  For so long, she’d failed against the forces against her but now, she prevailed.  “Myself” praised her.  We ganged up against those intent on taking from her — and Girly was finally free.

Therapist (not verbatim, I wish I could remember exactly what she said):  There are always tiny differences in each play session, try to notice them. Try to figure out what the changes represent from a healing perspective.  There are times you can interject.  Tell her how you think a character might feel during a situation. 

Once Girly had successfully won Blankie back from the forces against her, the play scenario changed quite a lot.  It was like that particular issue was resolved so it was time to move onto another.

Things got darker (which was unexpected).

Girly:  You’re “Mommy”.  Punch me in the face and knock my teeth out.

Me:  Uhh, no, I don’t think I want to do that.

Girly:  You have to do it.

She didn’t waver. She said it with determination, a slight grin and a little sparkle in her eye.

I was uncomfortable about the whole thing (and said so) but she calls the shots so I did it.  I pretended to punch her in the face, knock her teeth out.  I told her how awful that must be for a child to go through that, how unfair it is, how sad it made me feel. 

We only did that one particular scenario once but it really stuck with me.  It was so specific and dark (and never actually happened to her). She was thrilled with my performace.  She even told me I’d done a great job. 

Another scene we played sometimes was a foster home where kids were being adopted. I was the mean lady that ran the orphanange. I was also the adoptee hopeful adults. I may have been another child at times. Girly was never actually adopted but there were many times where the adopting hopefuls were going to return the next day (that was the end of the scene so it was always open ended like that). Sometimes Girly was hidden away from the adoptee hopefuls. She wasn’t allowed to present herself like the other girls were. She was sort of a Cinderella.

So many times during all of this, I truly had no idea what my character was supposed to say.

As instructed by the therapist, I asked.

Me [breaking charater] what do I say?

With absolutely no hesitation, without skipping a beat – Girly always knew EXACTLY what she wanted my character to say.  There was not ONE instance she didn’t know immediately what direction she wanted things to go in.  There was not ONE instance she had to think about what my character was supposed to say. 

Asking what my character was supposed to say made playing INFINITELY easier. The stress of trying to figure out the right or wrong thing to say was completely gone. Play became productive. Fun. Interesting. I could exercise curiosity instead of wasting time trying to figure out what I was supposed to say or do. I learned the right places to stop and ask questions or interject information. I disccuses alternate scenarios with her. I would ask if we could try something and she allowed it. Overall, the bulk of our play was just role playing. Sometimes with puppets and stuffed animals. Sometimes I was Dolly (the nice English lady) being arrested by immigration. That scene would create a lot of real crying and Dolly would remain calm and offer advice. There were so many scenes we played out over a couple of years it is hard to remember them all.

Sometimes it was situation specific like something happened at school and we played it out (in her own way). I always just went along with it, a curious, willing participant to spend some truly productive time with someone I love.

We would play in the evenings after we were done with dinner, showers, duties for the evening so we wouldn’t be distracted.  There were times we did it almost every night… for months.  A session would last between 30 minutes and an hour.  We usually sat on the couch. Sometimes on the floor or on my bed.

There were days the moment we got home from work and school, she’d ask if we could play. This told me she was grappling with something that happened at school or something was bothering her. We did it so frequently, she learned to rely on it. She wasn’t desperate to keep going and going and going because she knew playing was available regularly. There were times when I was pretty tired and I asked to cut it short. She allowed it.

I could not go into playing with an attitude or being crabby. Whatever was gnawing at me had to be set aside so it woudn’t interfere with this very important job of playing. I treated the time with value, it was important. After a while, I would ask each time if I’d done a good job. I had. She was always pleased with my performance. I would genuinely feel proud of myself.

When quarantine began, our play sessions stopped abruptly. If I offered, she declined.

She didn’t NEED it anymore. That phase of healing came to an abrupt end (and moved on to another phase).

Playing is how she grappled with the darkness inside her — and healed it. I was just along for the ride. I got really good at it after a while once I learned to be in a supportive role. Play is how she actually touched her trauma and rearranged it.

For so long, I didn’t know what my characters were supposed to say or do. All I needed to do was get out of her way — and ask.

The Recipe (to get through emotional storms…)

| thefeatherfish

When someone goes to find a recipe online, it’s usually nestled in a blog and there’s a TON of commentary with ads.  Sometimes there’s a little link near the top that says “take me to the recipe” so someone can skip over all the “grandma did this…” or “my mom lived here…” or “when I was visiting…”   

While I appreciate a good story, when it comes to unwanted or dangerous behaviors I really needed a basic recipe that’s easy to understand and apply.   Life with a chair-thrower is a difficult world to manage so the easier the application, the easier it is to live in this world (and hopefully, thrive).  I’m a huge fan of practical application.  It’s great to understand the neurology behind what’s happening but that’s not the same as applying an actual intervention.   

This is the basic recipe I started with and still use to this day.   

  1. Observe behavior with curiosity.
  2. Identify the emotion behind the behavior. 
  3. Reframe the behavior as a form of communication.
  4. Calm down the limbic system.
  5. Begin the inquiry. 
  6. Make a statement about the process and that the storm has ended.

Please note, none of these steps include a punishment or a consequence and each step requires something from me.  The reason for the first three steps are specifically to detach from the behavior and stay regulated.  Having a task helped me do this.  Mindful observation is a job that required me to move out of my lower brain and into my higher brain – and the more I did it, the more automatic it became.    

I’m going to try to break down each step (according to my perception). 

Observe.  Girly is screaming or carrying on.  I become quiet and observe (which I treated as a job duty).  If objects are being punted, I provide the her with an object she can beat on, twist or bite.  We settled on objects prior to the meltdown.  Kids are fully aware they lose it but once losing it is full throttle, there’s no turning back to discuss things.  Settling on an alternate object was done during a time of calm, not in the middle of a mess.  Input from her when picking objects was crucial and there was a lot of trial and error.    

Identify the emotion: I always assumed the base emotion was fear (because it usually was).

Reframe the behavior: I accepted the fact she was lashing out due to a lack of other available options. Either the options did not exist or she didn’t have enough practice using them. Behavior is a form of communication. It’s a regressive form but it is communication nevertheless. She was trying to tell me something – and it is my job to decipher the message.

Calm down the limbic system:  Showers were our “to go” calming activity (they still are).  She had her own gritty face creams she could play with in the tub.  I made bathtub play-dough.  She was given cheap shampoos to play with.  Epsom salt was a favorite.  I would measure her out the item into a small cup (something I learned to do after entire bottles of shampoo and face scrub went down the drain).  Other options were playing in the mud / dirt.  Digging holes looking for worms or bugs (something she still does).  Hammering nails into an old log. Ripping up old shirts.  Stuffing her hands into a big container of something slippery or foamy or sand.  (I tried using a big tray of squishy clay once but that made a HUGE mess).  Wrapping her up in a blanket like a burrito.  A weighted blanket.  Spinning.  Jumping.  Swinging.  Punching something.  I never, ever, started making inquiries until she was calmer.  Trying to do so only ended in frustration. 

Begin the Inquiry.  This will probably get its own dedicated post because this became such a big part of resolving issues.  There were times I had to apply high road / low road (for lying).  I had to be a true detective to find out what truly happened.  I had to patch choppy stories together and ask a million questions.  It was time consuming.  I called it an “expedition” because that’s what it felt like.  Depending on the issue, an expedition could take an hour (maybe even days) trying to patch a story together. 

Point out that it is over and everything is okay.  This was an important part of our process.  I wanted her to truly grasp that the meltdown ended.  In the middle of a meltdown, I’m not sure she could understand any concept of time.  I didn’t want to her think that anything she had done would be forever.  I would point out the process we went through and praise any accomplishments she made along the way. 

It is hard for anyone to actually learn anything until they move out of their lower brain.  This applies this to me as well as her.  If her behavior was triggering me, it was imperative that I keep myself calm and having a job really helped me do that.  It’s particularly difficult in public but, it control must be maintained. 

Grocery shopping was often a terrible experience but I taught myself to put blinders on and just handle things in the moment.  I could NOT worry about looks from strangers, feelings of embarrassment, or my own anger being triggered.  I learned to shut it all down, apply tunnel vision and armed with my recipe, I handled it.  I did figure out a lot of ways to make grocery shopping with her go smoother; showing her my list, telling her what aisles we were going down, about how long it would take and I gave her jobs to help me shop.  I let her weigh produce.  I asked her to fetch me things.  She was allowed to bag the groceries (which she eventually became really good at). 

Consequences aren’t part of this recipe.  This is a recipe for the middle of a storm, a life raft to get through the storm and pop out on the other side.  Sometimes consequences came later but that’s an entirely different issue.  In the middle of a storm, my only focus is to get her regulated and acknowledge that she succeeded (and make sure she knew she succeeded). 

*Each time I edited this, I move some things around or added some details.  It’s hard to really boil things down to just a basic recipe because each situation could be wildly different.  It is especially difficult when the child is in another location.  When I had her in a Summer program, all the kids were walking around Downtown and Girly decided to hop up on the bridge railing over the river and refused to come down.  This absolutely terrified the staff.  She’d already been kicked out of literally every other Summer program and they made it very clear if she did anything like that again, she’d have to go.  I wasn’t present during this incident so I had to find another way in.  She liked the lady that ran her group.  I knew explaining how dangerous her behavior was wouldn’t do any good so I took a different approach.  I told her how destroyed the camp lady would be if Girly had fallen into the river.  That nice lady probably spent years wanting to work with children and if one child she was in charge of fell into a river and drown, it’s possible she’d never get over it.  She might even get in trouble and that’s not very fair.  If she didn’t want to do the program, she should just say so and I’d find something else.  But, if she did want to continue with the program, she needed to follow the rules.  The idea of the nice lady getting in trouble was enough for her to agree to pull herself together for the remainder of the program.  But… had I only focused on safety and how dangerous risky behavior is for Girly… it wouldn’t have even made a dent.  Finding leverage is an art and I will eventually make a post about how I gained leverage after years of wasting my time. 

How I Got Her To Calm Down (the day she choked the sh*t out of a kid at school…)

| thefeatherfish

It was fourth grade.  Overall, things had been going pretty well but I could feel the tension in the air that morning.  Things were just off.  It was a trigger time of year.  I knew some shit was going to pop off soon. 

That afternoon, the school popped up on my caller ID.  I answered it.  It was the principal.  I could hear other adults in the room and Girly in background refusing to get on the phone.  “NO!”  I think she may have been knocking stuff off the principal’s desk (but I didn’t ask).  When someone managed to get the receiver into Girly’s hand, she promptly hung up on me.  A few seconds later, my cell rang again.

I quickly told whatever adult on the phone to pass along the same message to Girly I always passed along.

“Tell her I’m not mad at her, I just want to talk to her”.

I heard the adult repeat words.  A few moments of silence. 

“Hi Emmy”.

Her voice was flat and low and calm kind of angry which was rather unusual. 

I started with my regular script.

Me:  What’s going on?

Girly:….

Me:  It sounds like everyone is pretty worked up.

Girly:…

Me:  Uhh, are you okay?

Girly: [unintelligible whispering]

Me:  What?

Girly:  [continuing to whisper weirdly into the phone]

I stopped talking and listened.

. 

Then, I heard it.    

Girly:  I haaaate you.  I haaaate you.  I haaaaate you.

I laughed a little, I genuinely couldn’t help myself. 

Me:  You hate me?  What I’d do?  I’m trying to help!  I’m on your side. 

She stopped whispering. 

Suddenly, I froze.  I got her to stop whispering she hated me.  She wasn’t knocking stuff around.  It was quiet. 

Now what?

I asked her where she was, what room, who was in there with her.  She answered me but her tone was still… cold and steady.  I needed to get the tone of her voice to change to something lighter.  I kept talking to her —  not about the incident.  I talked about her prior successes, I explained her emotions were going wonky, I told her I still loved her and made sure she knew this wasn’t going to be the end of life as we know it. 

Me:  I’m on your side.  Do you know that?

Girly:  Yeah.

Me:  Are you going to be okay?

Girly:  Yeah. 

Her tone was a bit lighter, finally. 

She was in one of those resource rooms.  I asked her if they had a trampoline she could use. 

Girly:  Yeah.

Me:  Is anyone using it?

Girly:  No.

Me:  Are you allowed to use it?

Girly:  Yeah. 

Me:  Okay, go jump on that and burn off some of that energy!

Girly:  Okay Emmy!  Bye!

Me:  Love you!

Girly:  Love you too!

Her tone was normal again.  Happy, light, sing-song.

She handed the teacher or an aide the phone and before she got on the phone with me I heard her tell Girly to wait, they needed to talk about what happened.  I hollered into the phone to get the attention of the adult – “No!  Not yet”!  I knew it was imperative that Girly do the jumping activity immediately.  I had her on the right trajectory and I didn’t want her to get derailed.  At this juncture, I still didn’t really know what happened yet but a corner had been turned and I didn’t want to see it get blown up.  I knew after she jumped a while and based on the tone of her voice she’d be okay. 

Later that evening, she admitted the student she choked hadn’t done anything to deserved it.  They were rivals and made each other bristly.  She said he was standing too close to her and she snapped.  While she was choking him, the color of his face changed to purple and red and she let go.  Adults were trying to pull her off him but she said she was the one that made the decision to stop.  It was very upsetting for the other child and the adults involved.  They were genuinely scared.  Girly seemed genuinely remorseful.    

Me:  What could you have done differently?*

Girly:  Asked for help.

There were natural consequences Girly had to deal with.  The parent of the other child was understandably upset.  The child she choked brought it up continuously for a few years.  Other kids talked about.  Adults she was fond of were a bit wary of her for a while.  I could not do anything about those things, only she could and it would take time.  I made a legal inquiry because I was worried the other parent was going to insist on pressing charges. 

It was important to me that she focused on the natural consequences rather than being in trouble with me.  No matter what, I wanted her to known I was on her side.  I didn’t condone her behavior but I still loved her and I wanted her to know that.  I also didn’t want to be on the top of the focus food chain; I wanted the victim and her own behavior to have that spot.  The thing that seemed to bother her the most was that she knew he hadn’t done anything to deserve it.  Despite being rivals, in this instance, he was blameless.   Yes, he’d been poking at her but her response was unjustified and she understood that. 

Me:  We can’t control other people, but we can control how we respond to them.  We have choices.

For many years having choices or being able to choose a response was an abstract concept for Girly.  It required a lot of practice.  These days, she’s quite friendly with that other student and  there has never been another physical altercation between them.   

*This question is so important, it is going to get its own post.