In no particular order:
- My intuition and sensitivity
- Being a speech-language pathologist
- Working with kids with autism
- Anxiety
- Quantum physics and energy healing
- Books I’m reading
- Relationships
- Tragedies in the world
Where on earth do I start?
Tag
autism
Rules
I have worked extensively with kids and teenagers on the autism spectrum. All across the spectrum. (And I do, fully, passionately, with my whole heart, believe that there is quite a spectrum — not just of autism but of “neurotypical” too — more on that in the future.) And something that has hit home to me lately is the damage that teaching “rules” can do.
Without disclosing confidential information, I will just say this: I am working with a teenager, who has Nonverbal Learning Disorder. She also has a myriad of other mental health diagnoses. Having NVLD means that some of her struggles include understanding and interpreting someone’s intent, the “why” behind their actions, etc. She is at the point where she is great in hypothetical situations, but when she’s “in the moment” it’s much harder. She has an extremely traumatic background. She brought it up the other day when we were talking about different social situations and the ways to say your own opinion (a big fear of hers is that she will offend a friend, or other person, if she shares her point of view). And she started talking about the person who had abused her, and said, “He was my [family member]. He was in charge. You have to listen to what [family members] tell you to do, so I had to go along with it.”
And it really struck me. With so many neurotypical kids, rule-following is a “must.” So throw in a few other diagnoses of trouble understanding social situations and reading intent, and knowing what to do, and it’s a mess. When she was little, just like so many other kids, she heard, “Parents make the rules,” or “You have to listen to teachers,” etc. It’s so easy to give rules like that, because they are true almost all of the time. But we HAVE to teach our kids that there are times to break rules. That, “if you feel unsafe, uncomfortable, or not good, it is okay to break the rules and talk to someone else about it.”
I know this is an extreme situation, which is why it’s really upsetting me. But it applies in other ways too. With any rule. One rule is “don’t cross the street when the light is red.” Well, we also have to teach them, “But if you’re in the middle of the road when the light turns red, you can keep crossing.” We have to teach the exceptions to the rules. Which is also why I like to call them “guidelines” more than rules.
Lack of understanding or something else?
I love Social Thinking. I’m all for it. I’ve been trained in it for years, both of my jobs involve it on a daily basis, I’ve seen what it can do for kids with autism or various other diagnoses. That being said, I need to make one point clear, one that some people either overlook or don’t understand. And let me preface this by saying that I am not talking about kids with autism who are nonverbal, who have little functional communication, who are on the far end of the spectrum. I’m talking about the more middle-to-higher communicative kids. Okay.
We teach “Thinking with our eyes,” and “Keep your brain in the group” and all of the other wonderful catch phrases. And once they catch on, they work wonders. But sometimes they are not going to work. Sometimes, no matter how long you’ve worked on that skill, your autistic student is not going to “think with their eyes” and look at you while you’re in a conversation with him. Sometimes, no matter how many times you explain that it’s unexpected to blurt out a random thought, she is still going to blurt. It’s not (necessarily) because s/he doesn’t understand that skill.
Some of it has to do with processing. For that first student, it’s possible that his brain is overloaded. Maybe he has a language disorder as well and lags behind in receptive or expressive communication. Maybe, his brain is trying so desperately to listen to what you’re saying, understand it, remember it, and formulate the “expected” response that there is just no more availability for his brain to ALSO look at you, visually process what you look like, what your mouth movements look like, AND do all of those other skills. For the second student, maybe her working memory skills aren’t so solid. Maybe she doesn’t know (as one of my students was able to explain to me — changed the way I thought about this entirely) how to “keep thoughts from coming down to her mouth” and “keep them in her brain until later.” Maybe, as this student also explained to me, she hasn’t learned how to “save a thought in her mind” so that she can “remember it later.” Maybe her blurting isn’t her not caring about expected behaviors, but maybe it has to do with the fact that her brain sent that thought down to her mouth, and her mouth needs to say the five-word script from a commercial in order for her to move on. And maybe, as is in the case with my student, if you let it happen but get her right back on track, it’s actually more productive and beneficial. Or maybe that student’s brain is so disorganized, and there are so many scripts and facts and thoughts floating around, that if she doesn’t say that thought right away, she will forget it forever, and she desperately wants you to hear how important it is to her. So maybe the solution isn’t to berate the individual for being “unexpected” during class, but rather, say, “We can talk about that at the end of class, I’ll write it down so I remember for you,” and get right back to the lesson.
PLEASE don’t get me wrong. Social Thinking is incredible. But it’s not a full-proof solution for every moment of every day. Sometimes, we need to go with our intuition. To put ourselves in these kids’ shoes (which I realize is easier for some than others — I happen to believe that while I fall on the “typical” side of the continuum, I am close enough to the point where “autism” begins that I understand a lot about these kids intuitively) and think, “Is there a reason this isn’t working, other than because they can’t do it?” And maybe you’ll be surprised.
The end.
It was a wonderful summer. The kids had a great time, the staff enjoyed themselves, and I loved (almost) every moment. There is something so unique to camp. Working outside, breathing in fresh air for 8 hours a day. Seeing the kids swim and boat and do arts and crafts but also teaching them interpersonal, social thinking skills to make changes and last a lifetime. For a seven week program, we do some pretty great work with them. Today was our last day. I had been dreading this for about two weeks now. The anticipation is what is so hard for me — knowing each moment is the “last” of something. Despite the heartwrenching tears I cried after the last car pulled away, I’m glad it’s finally done so I don’t have to anticipate goodbye anymore.
If it’s this hard for me, and I am (relatively) neurotypical, I cannot even begin to imagine what this is like for our campers. Their sensitivities, fears, rigidity that come with their autism and their souls are magnified during the last two weeks. Meltdowns are frequent, behaviors regress. I can’t imagine what it’s like. For seven weeks, they spent their days safe, loved, nurtured, helped, guided, and most importantly, around adults who cared and around kids who were like them. It’s a safety-zone for them. A safe haven. And then they realize: not only is camp over, but SCHOOL is starting. For many of them, school is a place where they’re bullied. Left out. Anxious and depressed. Fall behind. Left alone.
I pick up on all of their energies, their fears and worries and dreads. I’ve felt it all the past two weeks — I am porous and permeable like they are, and I have felt it. And oh, it hurts.
Quick thoughts
Today was so beautiful that every time I looked at the bright green leaves sparkling against the beaming blue sky, I wanted to burst into tears from the intensity swirling around inside of me.
Which made me think — is that how my students with autism feel, all day long? Sensory experiences magnified times 100 — and in times like this, more pleasurable than most people know. But conversely, in other times, worse than anyone could imagine.