 |
| Ben feeling safe with his Nana and Papa. |
**For those of you joining my blog for our monthly Sensory Blog Hop, I am writing a post a day on the topic of "Acceptance Is..." for the month of April in honor of Autism Acceptance month. Thanks for reading!**
“Acceptance is a room (dimly lit)…” -Aspergers Square
It's gotten me thinking about my son’s own
need for safe havens.
He is a child full of
contrasts.
He is the boy with the loud
voice who craves the quiet spaces.
He is the boy filled with energy who needs calm, serene surroundings.
He is the boy filled with energy who needs calm, serene surroundings.
Loud, busy spaces with
brightly colored walls will amplify his personality and he will become more and
more worked up.
This can quickly spiral him out of control.
He is learning how to breathe
himself back to calm, but it’s hard to be quiet on the inside when the outside
world is so noisy and chaotic and unpredictable.
Occupational therapy (OT) is
his safe haven in a busy and often chaotic school day.
The sensory strategies work
for him but he needs them often, especially in the fast-paced environment of the classroom.
Ben needs heavy work
activities and vestibular input (swinging, spinning, etc) to help him to enter
into his optimal learning state.
Without them, Ben’s brain
enters into the fight or flight mode.
It’s hard to learn math when your hair is metaphorically on fire.
Ben’s school OT once told me
once that when Ben is doing therapy in the OT room, an outside observer
watching would have a hard time pointing him out as the kid on the spectrum.
She said this not to minimize
his autism but to show how powerful a factor the environment and the sensory strategies are for him.
I explained to Ben’s OT that he
also wouldn’t stand out as “different” in most public places.
I know that many kids who
deal with sensory processing disorder struggle to go to the grocery store or a
restaurant without becoming overloaded.
Not Ben.
He loves going out to eat and
is perfectly calm and at ease in these places (assuming they don’t take too
long to bring us our meals!)
As I explained this to Ben’s
OT, she smiled and said to me, “Jessica, the common denominator in those
experiences is you. You are his anchor in the world. This gives him the safety and security to go
out confidently into life.”
There was a period time when
Ben clung to me like a literal life preserver.
It had to be me and no one
else.
If we were going anywhere, he
would always ask, “Mommy too?”
Now we are at a place where
it doesn’t have to be just me.
So many people, from his Dad to his grandparents, to his extended family, love this little guy so much, and I believe that a big part of feeling secure for him is knowing first that he is loved.
Home has always been his source of ultimate security.
For Ben, home is extending to more than
just the place.
Home is the feeling he associates with it.
It is the anchor of holding hands
through a crowded mall.
It is the reassurance of a
hand on his shoulder while waiting in a line.
It’s the whispered reminder
of how many more minutes while glancing at a watch.
On Saturday my husband and I
sat in the theater lobby, waiting for Ben to finish his morning acting class.
I watched him bounce happily
down the sidewalk with his teacher, his hand clasped in hers, some tissue
flowers clasped in his other hand.
When he saw me, he came
running, holding up the flowers to me.
His circle is expanding.
His safe haven is growing.
