A hypothetical note to parents

[Ed note: I started to write this using “I” instead of “We”, but it didn’t feel right. We do everything as a team, we have been a team for years, and despite not having asked everyone if they share these thoughts, I am nearly certain that they do.]

We are in Week 3 of our 7 week program. We see it every summer – Week 3 is when things shift. Kids are getting to know their peers better, the novelty has worn off, group leaders are getting into the nitty-gritty of social thinking development, kids are feeling more comfortable around us and in our setting, and, as we always say each year, “The honeymoon period is over.”

So we start seeing behaviors that we might not have seen the first two weeks. Refusal, noncompliance, anger, meltdowns. And we aren’t bothered by that. We expect it. We know that in a lot of ways, it demonstrates the kids’ comfort with us and our program. They are being themselves, allowing for vulnerability, and letting us step in and guide them through it. 

Sometimes a meltdown turns physical. We know that. Please know: you do not, ever have to apologize for your child’s meltdown or physical aggression. We know the difference between a tantrum and an autistic meltdown. We know this is a meltdown. A neurological storm, a complete inability to do anything except ride it out. Please know that we don’t think your child is being purposely defiant or difficult. We get it. We don’t think any different about you or your child post-meltdown. We aren’t upset if papers got torn up, if the walls were colored with markers, if water was purposely spilled. We are okay if we get scratched or pushed. Please know that in those moments, our focus is in no way anger or hatred toward what is going on. It is purely compassion. 

There is something powerful and beautiful about every single moment we spend with your kids. In the midst of a full-blown meltdown, complete neurological storm, a level 5 on the “volcano,” the powerful part is that we are able to be there for your child. To help them stay safe and regulate. To let them know, usually nonverbally, that they are not alone. That we are there, that they are okay, that we understand. It is powerful and beautiful to be with your child at his most vulnerable moment, when he has lost complete control of his words and body – and to know that we are entrusted to be his compass and guide him through the storm.

The moments we hold onto are not the aggressive ones. It’s the moments when we see him take that first deep breath, after an hour of shallow ones. When we can see the tension leave his face and body. When we see his core, true self, start to emerge again. When words return to him. When he calmly asks for a drink of water. When he looks right at us and asks us to please help him put his shoes back on. We don’t hold onto when he was screaming at us, telling us how much he hates us. Instead, our radar is on the moment when he is calm again, and happily asks us if we want to join him for ice cream. 

Please know that. We love what we do. We don’t judge. We adore your children. We are honored that you have entrusted them to us.