THE FULL BUCKET

Dear Persons,

 I’ve seen a bucket metaphor here and there, used in different ways, across neurodiverse  communities. I recently shared it, in its OVERLOAD/OVERWHELM form (there’s also a form that’s related to goodness, happiness, and loving/kind acts), with Full Spectrum Grandmother, who found it very useful, so I thought I would share it here, too. It’s by no means original with me, but it’s been super-helpful in a variety of contexts.

When your SENSORY (as always, I include emotions and other mental states here as well, as feelings) BUCKET is full, you feel on edge, about to spill over.

You can’t take on more (tasks, responsibilities, activities), or even take in more (information, stimulus, social cues) effectively; in fact, more, in just about any form – even positive – is simply too much.

I think of my toughest years in graduate school, when I was reading super-dense materials at all times – and reading trashy mysteries the rest of the time. I didn’t have the brain space for anything more demanding.

Now that I have a family and work, my bucket is more Full than ever. One of the top bucket fillers is my smartphone! Back in the day, emails and phone calls were limited to very particular times, and texting didn’t even exist. Now we are on – and presumably accessible -  24/7. Dealing with “special needs” bureaucracy, family and personal health issues, finances, running a household, and teaching a high needs population at the community college where students face huge challenges every day just to get an education...I know you all have your lists, but that’s mine: what fills, and sometimes – often - overfills, my bucket.

This is important: it’s not just hard, bad, or stressful stuff that fills your SENSORY BUCKET – it’s anything that’s stimulating and absorbs (rather than rebuilds) your energy. This holds especially true for people with SPD (sensory processing differences). For me, these positive, yet absorbing bucket fillers include great times with my children and Pardner, cultural outings, fascinating classroom discussions, travel...

It’s genuinely helpful to be aware that my SENSORY BUCKET gets Full, and to have a visual for this concept, because when my bucket is Full I tend to feel hopeless, desperate. I melt down internally, by feeling useless and getting profoundly overwhelmed and unsure how to do the next thing, and the next...

I know what I need to make room in my bucket: long walks, yoga practice, lengthy bouts of gardening, meditation practice, reading time, creative time, above all, time alone. Oh! And regular (weekly? {monthly?? [yearly???]} massages! Haha.

But let’s look at a more realistic scenario: my son G. G tends to shut down when his bucket is Full. This is his own expression of meltdown. He will stop listening, stop getting anything done, retreat. After a very Full day of school and activities, my sensory-sensitive son needs, from what I can see: extended time alone sorting through his Pokemon cards, And he gets it. And it really soothes and balances him, makes room in his SENSORY BUCKET for the next day’s interactions and experiences.

People with sensory challenges often need to rest their brains.  We also need to feed our hearts and souls. What do you and/or your loved ones need to create room in your SENSORY BUCKETS? Are there little things you can do, step by step?

For example, realizing that every day I would tell myself I would practice yoga at home before school pickup “after I got everything done,” and that every day I would never be left with any time to do so, I have just started (on the days when that’s possible) taking a quick walk after school drop-off when I get to wherever I will be for that day - before I “get everything done.” It’s not yoga, it’s improvised...yet that little bit of self-care makes a bit more room in my bucket so the “everything” seems more manageable. A week or so of these walks has created enough spaciousness to enable me to write and draw this post – which would not have been possible last week, trust me!

What can YOU do for yourself and/or your loved one(s)? A breath? A break? A tiny shift or change? Recognizing and acknowledging a Full SENSORY BUCKET is a great first step!

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!

An InLinkz Link-up

Curriculum?…Whatever.

Many of our friends and family members are educators, and many care intensely about what is taught in our schools. I myself am a teacher. So I feel a bit disloyal and even heretical saying this: as far as my own kids go, I don’t care, like, even at all about curriculum.

Actually, I had always planned to homeschool my children, but circumstances conspired to bring me one child who doesn’t necessarily want but desperately needs all the socializing he can get and one who would probably go postal within three consecutive days spent with Mama and without major social activity. For Z, adult acolytes will do in a pinch, but peer adulation and goose-stepped errand-running is preferred; for E, the biggest school lessons are ones he doesn’t necessarily learn at home: that while everybody is different, most people judge others for being different; that we can’t spend all our time reading; that people change their minds and plans change; how to "read" unfamiliar situations effectively…

                                    Figure I – Usefulness of Curriculum Excellence Pie Chart

As this scientific pie chart demonstrates, most learners benefit enormously from a thoughtful, organized curriculum.  I contend that my children, along with certain others such as perhaps some gifted students, or some with significant delays or learning differences, do not. It’s not that curriculum excellence always impinges on these students or is a negative thing, it just does not matter as it would for other students. My learners gain most from teachers of exceptional character and eagle eyes. So I don’t particularly care if they spend a day chasing caterpillars in the meadow or making 3-D models of the Green Mountains.

In my ideal world, time spent on curriculum development (not to mention test-prep – another post!) might well be used to consider and research how to teach contentment or generosity or ways to encourage curiosity.

However, in this reality, teachers don’t have that kind of freedom, regardless of whether they would willingly toe the Full Spectrum line. So I care that -- insofar as possible -- my kids have shining morning faces and don’t get dragged down by awful beastly kids or dreadful, serving-time-until-retirement teachers. 

G spends most of his time at home reading and learning thereby. At school, this direct absorption of knowledge is somewhat compromised by wide-ranging sensory and emotional overload.* In other words, much of his actual intellectual progress probably occurs at home.

Z isn’t too interested in books…yet. But she could efficiently extract all the necessary knowledge for an astronomical level of success from two potatoes, a rotten log and a maraca.

So, if not book-larnin’ and curricula, what can teachers offer such children?

What I hope for from teachers is:

1.     that they be kind, and

2.     that they model empathy,

3.     good judgment, and

4.     integrity; and

5.     hold an atmosphere where bullying is simply and absolutely not a possibility either for potential perpetrators OR victims.

Why?

1.     Kindness: I hope it is not too much to hope that the logic behind requesting kindness of elementary school teachers is a no-brainer.

2.     Empathy: Some non-autistic people SAY that people with autism lack empathy. This has not been my experience at all. G is the most softhearted person I know. I will say it is sometimes a stretch for him to understand what other people are feeling when his senses and neurons are feeling assaulted, but once G knows what's up he cares and understands and acts on those feelings. That is, he empathizes, often too much (so that his feelings become painful and he finds it hard to function...).  Z sometimes lacks empathy because she is in survival mode.  Teachers with healthy instincts for and expressions of this emotion offer lessons in positive, pro-social empathy that students can carry throughout their entire lives.

3.     Good judgment: discernment, moderation, discipline and common sense are elusive for G, optional for Z; as much as possible, they need to see them in action.

4.     Integrity: I want my children to see their most esteemed role models as people who follow their consciences and follow through on their word. In a classroom setting, this could be as plain as setting clear rules and consequences. When G kicked his cat because his cat knocked over his beloved fish’s tank and killed the fish, he felt guilty. I told him, “That was a natural thing to do – your cat will forgive you and you’ll do better next time.” When he told his teacher – a former Buddhist monk – about this incident, his teacher (in the context of an appropriate lesson for the whole classroom, in which many students apparently thought kicking a cat was funny) vehemently scolded him. I like that his teacher did this: he wasn’t trying to make himself popular, nor was he taking the easy, lame approach; he was speaking the truth as he knew it.

5.     No Bullying: some kids, like G, are more vulnerable to being bullied or, like Z, to being bullies. Both kinds lose in a chaotic classroom. When teachers hold the classroom space as a safe one, everyone wins. This fall, I finally had an opportunity to enlist Z’s strengths in a positive fashion. A little boy from her preschool had enrolled in kindergarten and right off the bat was getting bullied on the playground by some fifth grade boys. Z hasn’t got a bit of “victim” on and I knew that by her patronage alone, this sweet little boy would be safe. As well, her kindest instincts would be called into play in caring for this wee friend. Now I just hope those fifth graders are ok.

I spend my advocacy, that tacit, somewhat-limited leeway every parent has, on the above qualities. As long as teachers are decent people and in charge of the classroom we’re good. We have done very well so far – after all, why do people choose to become teachers? (Hint: it’s not the lucrative salary.)  I figure the clan can always learn “the new math,” but if their hearts are hurting that’s a MUCH bigger issue. 

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* Here is an example. At the end of fourth grade, G’s class had an end-of-school open house to share the students’ Native American projects.  There were So! Many! people in that classroom, and so many sights, bright lights and sounds to take in, that I began to get a migraine. Consequently, at this event, I could barely see people and when I could they made me nervous as I couldn’t even fathom or read what they were thinking and feeling in that context.  I had a compelling urge to flee.

Adding to that urge was the fact that G was wandering around aimlessly, talking loudly and constantly to anyone nearby without even looking at his putative listener to see if he was being heard.

Having cornered them in a relatively quiet spot, I asked his teachers, “Is he always like this in the classroom?”

“Pretty much,” they told me, with love in their voices, “Yes.”

With all due respect to G’s WONDERFUL teachers, HOW, then, can he LEARN?  I mean, I know he learns some stuff but there must be so much that is lost in the process!

 On our walk home that day I shared that being in that classroom was very challenging for me.

“Is it challenging for you?” I wondered, casually.

“Yes.”

“Is that why you talk a lot sometimes, and in a loud voice?”

 “Yes.”

 Having been so profoundly overloaded, I was daunted to realize that this is what G and all students and their teachers deal with every day. I am sure many – most -- kids are able to navigate such environments quite well, but G is not one of them.

Barring private school or a “separate-but-‘equal’” classroom for those with sensory and other neurological and/or emotional differences, what can one do to mitigate such overwhelming environments, with so many people, visual and aural and other stimuli, social and academic expectations to be met…??? How can students with sensory integration issues be effectively integrated in the classroom? If help is needed in the classroom, how can we de-stigmatize that help?

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