I went to the doctor’s yesterday, to get a TB test for one of my jobs.
My plan was to get there at 3:30 for a 3:45 immunization, and be gone by 3:50. I had a plan in my head, the rest of my day felt contingent upon that plan, and I felt confident knowing my timeframe.

But, they couldn’t check me in, something was wrong in the computer, they ran late because of that, there was only one nurse available, she was running late, I had to have the test done in a chair instead of laying down, I wasn’t allowed a band aid after, I ended up having to go back and wait in line to get my parking ticket validated because I was there far longer than the free half an hour. Now, all of those are seemingly little factors. And maybe if one of them happened independent of the others it wouldn’t have been a big deal. Or maybe if it was a different day, if I was more or less tired, more or less stressed, more or less hungry, it would have been more or less of a big deal. But on this day, under those circumstances, it was a Big Deal. And I ended up crying in that chair. And then a few good minutes of bawling in the bathroom after. Why? I don’t know. It felt Big. It was a swirly, shabby, pounding storm within me and it needed to get out. And it came out in tears.

And I couldn’t help but think of our kids. Look, I’m neurotypical. I have a good amount of inhibition. I have coping mechanisms. I have words that I can access. I can be flexible. And still…..still, I was frustrated, annoyed, irritated, stormy. Because I’m human and because sometimes with a certain set of circumstances, you just get stormy. But if I had even a little less inhibition, less access to coping methods and words? I might have screamed. Or kicked. Or bitten. Not because I had some sort of malice, mean intentions. No, simply because those would be as reflexive as crying was to me yesterday. I didn’t decide to cry. There was no intent. Just as there wouldn’t be any intent if I had acted out physically. Like one of our kids might. It’s not a temper tantrum and it’s not purposeful. It’s a reflexive way for their bodies to release the Big Stormy feelings inside. Like tears did for me.

And it thought about how we work on the Problem Scale with our kids. And how sometimes when a kiddo is frustrated or mad about something, we remind them that it is just a “glitch.” But right before I had started crying, if someone had said, “Jen, this is just a glitch,” I might have screamed! It would have felt so invalidating – like, how dare I feel this way. So it reinforced why we need to validate our kids’ feelings. How we need to acknowledge that it might feel like a 4 or a 5 [on the Problem Scale] but we need to react like a glitch. And sometimes just that validation is enough. But to dismiss how it feels isn’t fair. Because the feeling is physical, it’s reflexive. Hearing that they shouldn’t feel a certain way is completely unsuccessful, detrimental.

Our kids do the best they can with what they’ve got. Sometimes in different moments they have more or less. And that’s how we are too. Ultimately, we are all human. Ultimately, we are all doing the best we can in that moment.