Articles and blog
posts on the early signs of SPD (sensory processing disorder, which I call
sensory processing differences) and autism
fill me with a mixture of recognition (yes, much is familiar), trepidation (at
this point I’ve reached a certain level of saturation and also seen many
stereotypes and errors), annoyance (ditto, plus the occasional offensive or
condescending bits can set me back for days), and, sometimes, gratitude (after
all, some of this stuff could be very helpful to parents – and most writers
mean well!).
I usually find that
I am holding my breath as I read, waiting for the triggers...yet I am compelled
to read, always hoping to learn more about our neurodiverse world.
My son G was
diagnosed with SPD at three, autism at eight. Being a bit spectrumesque myself,
I would never have thought there was anything about him that needed to be
evaluated (his evaluations were always at the behest of his teachers) but in
retrospect a few things stand out.
My earliest memory
of being aware of G’s possible difference from his “normal” peers occurred in
an infant massage class. We mothers – this was in the East Village, in New York
City, but yup, all mothers – were told to sit in a circle. I don’t remember
precisely how old the babies were – early parenthood is kind of a blur – but
they were all quite young, a few months old at most. We had pads and brought
blankets and placed our babies on their backs on those blankets. We were given
diagrams of massage strokes and instructed in proper technique for stroking and
soothing our babies.
Infant massage was
meant to be a bonding exercise. To stimulate our babies’ brains and help with
their digestion! To make them happy! Healthy!
Except - my baby
didn’t seem to be with the program. While all the other babies enjoyed a free
and loving massage – yeah, try getting that
a few decades down the line, babies! - my darling G was having none of it.
Figure I – Infant
Massage Class. Not Shown: Ashamed Mother.
As soon as I tried
to massage him, heck, as soon as I lay him down on his back, the screaming
would start. Sure, there was the occasional peep from another baby, but nothing
like G’s agonized cries. I actually tried three sessions before giving up in
despair.
Clearly, I was missing
some important mothering skills. I blamed myself, of course.
When G was a baby,
I thought of myself as someone who accepted all people, someone who would never
discriminate on the basis of ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation...Someone
who accepted and loved people of all sorts. Yet I knew little to nothing about
neurodiversity!
It would have been
helpful to me as a new mother to have a positive concept of other kinds of difference,
an idea of the incredibly wide ranges of neurology, physiology, psychology,
sensitivity, sensory processing etc. that make up human beings. Obviously, this
would not have led to shifting blame to my baby! It just would have made things
make sense.
It would have
helped to know that my baby needed deep pressure, not fluttery strokes that probably
felt like torture to him. It might have been best to keep him partly or fully
wrapped so that he could locate his body safely in space, instead of flailing
around. He never liked being moved; there might have been better ways to
transition him.
Instead, all I knew
- in that context, with the limited knowledge I had – was that something seemed
wrong. Since I myself had also always
been “different,” this initially added to my disorientation and self-blame.
These moments keep
coming, but now they come cushioned with fundamental commitments to diversity,
acceptance, and hope.
When you and/or
your child live(s) with an invisible, complex difference, explanations and
strategies can be elusive and imprecise. I still sometimes don’t know whether
my child needs help; and when he does need help I don’t always know how to help
him. Sometimes I try to help him in unhelpful, unwanted or unnecessary ways, as
do others. Other times we miss the boat and G is on his own with his challenges
when some wisdom or support is sorely needed.
When G was
screaming in the otherwise serene and harmonious infant massage space, I knew
he was deeply uncomfortable, but I didn’t know that he had SPD, or that he was
autistic, and that his sensitivities would benefit from a very different
approach. Parents who recognize their children in “early signs” lists will I
hope have important tools at their disposal, not least the knowledge that all
parties concerned are doing their best – and that that is just fine. For the
Full Spectrums, the labels that apply to us are mostly useful in that regard.
There’s still so
much I don’t know, but I do know our differences are not our “fault.” I know
that what is “wrong” is not us but a
world that is primarily designed for the “average,” “normal” person – whoever
that is.
I know that I accept and
celebrate G exactly as he is.
This blog is a safe
space for people to recognize a full spectrum of human being, and to explore
how we might make the world a more welcoming place for all. Parents and
caregivers who are searching for ways to understand, connect with, and support
their children, individuals who are exploring their own differences, early-signers
and adult-figure-outers, you are all welcome here.
Please visit the
other sites below for more informative and inclusive posts.
Love,
Full Spectrum Mama
Welcome to the Sensory Blog Hop — a monthly gathering of posts from sensory bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about what it’s like to have Sensory Processing Disorder and to raise a sensory kiddo!
