when in doubt, shrink it

Mr. B has been struggling. Hard. We had two months of traveling and birthdays, which are major anxiety triggers for my intense child. Mr. B is diagnosed with level 1 Austism Spectrum Disorder, which is the new categorization of what used to be called Aspberger’s syndrome or “high-functioning” autism. His flavor of autism comes with lots of “scripts” that he runs in his head that help him make sense of his every day life. Some of these scripts he lets us in on, while others we are completely oblivious to unless he lets us in on the “secret entrance,” which usually only happens when Mom or Dad notice his anxiety signs, which include irritability, aggression, and physical tics such as skin picking, facial tics, and yawning. This is where things fall apart, because Mr. B also has a mood disorder and attachment difficulties rooted in his rough start as an infant and toddler.

You see, what the typical parenting experts will tell you is to connect with your child and let them know that they are safe to express their emotions, then the child will learn that they are safe and express their emotions and know that their parent is on their side and you can come up with solutions together, or your child simply feels comforted. Things are supposed to get better.

But that is not what happens with Mr. B. When he feels like his “script” is not being met, whether we know it or not, he will go into a control mode that looks like him trying to get the rest of us to conform to the idea that he has created in his head. Think of it like a video game where the characters are suddenly going against their programming, except that they don’t know that they are supposed to be following a program, and in fact they are not actually programmed, but rather autonomous people living together. He sees us as a program, and he really struggles to see us as autonomous people. When we go against what he sees as our “script” he gets angry and thinks that if he can only dig his heels in long enough, or maybe say the right things, like a code, or maybe express enough rage, then we will go back to his script. I am not assuming here, I know this is how he thinks because he has told me.

Mr. B and I recently started a new therapist. We have only met her twice now; once together, and once where he played with her one on one. She expressed that she is struggling to understand that he is doing the things he does with forethought and intentionality. “I really think he would do better if he could,” she said. I asked Mr. B about that, and he told me very clearly, “Oh, I know I could do better. I choose not to because I don’t want to. I want my way to work.” And that’s what it all comes down to.

We have nicknamed this The My Way Box, because when he chooses to engage in this kind of controlling and aggressive behavior, his world shrinks. He would rather keep his anger, contempt, and self-pity than choose to connect by accepting responsibility or expressing genuine concerns. Again, not guessing here. Because of that, privileges go away. But he is okay with that for a lot longer than someone might expect.

Hubby works from home full-time now, which has been a game-changer for this mama. When Mr. B, or any of the TuiTots, are needing a break due to poor behavior, or even if they just need a little extra Daddy encouragement, he is there right off of the living room to give TuiMama some majorly appreciated support.

So this week, after a very looooong series of intense tantrums, Mr. B’s world shrunk to the size of a card table in Daddy’s office. He eats there, he does his work there, he writes prompted reflections there, he reads comics there when he has earned that privilege. He does not interact with his siblings or his mama without permission. Not only does this give him very specific boundaries which help him feel calmer, but it’s also very boring, which we hope will encourage him to change the “poor me” attitude and seek restoration so that he can enjoy being a child in the Stubborn House to its fullest. Because really, he has it gooood here.

Another benefit of keeping Mr. B’s world small is that it allows his dad to reconnect with him. When you have a child who is consistently intense it is very easy to experience compassion fatigue. You just want the behavior to stop. You just want it to be better. It’s really easy to loose perspective on the child. Having Mr. B so close at hand has really helped Hubby reconnect and find his compassion again.

One of the most important benefits for our family is that the other three children currently residing in the household get a calmer, more connected mama. This is probably the part that is hardest for me. The mama guilt is so real. When Mr. B is consistently struggling with behaviors, they require so much energy if I try to engage and help him reset. And of coarse, I want to be that safe place, but what we are realizing is that Mr. B uses me not as a sounding board, but as an emotional punching bag, and that me disengaging from him, even when I REALLY want to press in, is the healthiest for both of us; for all of us.

It looks super harsh. My face goes cold. My voice goes low and calm. The boundary is very strict. He reacts to me badly, I disengage, he goes to his My Way Box. The other kids get their mom back.

All of my kids, every single one, are intense kiddos. I don’t have an easy one in the bunch. So when all of mom’s energy is used up trying to deal with an emotionally abusive (yes, I mean that) tantrumming child, my other intense children are not getting the present mama that they need and absolutely deserve.

So this week, only they got to go to group, only they got to go to swimming, only they got to go to the Christmas party. Why? Because Mr. B insisted that his My Way Box was enough for him, and that he would win this stand off. He chose anger, because he decided that would be more powerful than pleasantness and peace. He chose grunting and refusing, because he decided that they were more powerful than honest, hard words. He chose blaming, because he decided that accepting responsibility was a sign of weakness. And again, I am not guessing or assuming, he has told me these things.

He’s very insightful, when he wants to be. He is the most pleasant, compliant, cheerful kid, until he’s not.

Tonight after two weeks of crazy ups and downs and missed or destroyed opportunities, he took a positive step forward. I don’t know why exactly, but something clicked. So then the temptation is to let him out of his box all at once, but really it’s one little step at a time. He joined us for dinner. We took the win. I told him that he was only to clear his milk and his plate and then go back to his spot in daddy’s office. “We’re taking the win.” I told him. “One step forward.” He did it without whining, or complaining, or hitting his brother. It was his turn to brush teeth, so out he came. He did it calmly, pleasantly. One more step forward. I asked him to help fold blankets on the couch. His brother didn’t do it “right” so he pushed him. “Ope. Sorry, kiddo. That was too big of a step. Go take a break.” HE DIDN’T YELL!!! He didn’t stomp or call me names. He just sighed and sat back at his table. Advent candle time, the big test. “Do you want to come and join us? ” Yes. “Okay, you are going to sit on the chair.” Away from his brothers. We sang. He loves to sing. We got through the whole story. The baby brother got to blow out all the candles. We did it! We got another win!

So now it was bedtime, and I knew what he was thinking, so I told him what he needed to know. “No kiddo, you don’t have privileges back yet. But you made a big step forward. Tomorrow morning is going to be HARD. You are going to be tempted to sabotage it all in the morning. If we can make it to the breakfast table, that will be AMAZING!” He nodded. He understood. It was a step, not the finish line. The safety of the box is still there, but the edges are lower.

And if the morning goes to crap, yes there will be disappointment, but he will have seen that he can have success and he can have a win. Our job will be to keep his world small and safe.