SEE EVERY SPARROW

Dear Persons,

One way to describe Sensory Processing Differences (SPD) is by using a filter metaphor: the sensory and neurological filters of people with SPD filter feelings, experiences, and/or surroundings differently than do the sensory and neurological filters of most people.

Some of our filters filter out more. Sometimes people with this sort of filter are called “seekers,” because they seek more sensory input, or they are called “under-responders,” because they feel/notice/process less sensory input than the average person does. 

Some of our filters filter out less. Sometimes people with this kind of filter are called “avoiders,” because they avoid the overwhelming input that certain contexts produce. They are also sometimes called “over-responders,” because they feel/notice/process more sensory input than is typical. 

Of course, all people have different levels of sensitivity, but these differences are magnified for people with SPD. Many people with SPD live with a mixture of filters, perhaps being extremely sensitive to taste, while craving strong movement (yes, movement is a type of sense, in fact, several sorts of sense - but that’s another post!). 

Sometimes a high level of sensitivity can lead to a sort of sensory shutdown that can look like a low level of sensitivity! 

Sensory integration - the seamless intermeshing of the senses, and the “normal” processing thereof - can be challenging for people with SPD. My son G and I both live with a mixture of extra-strong and extra-weak filters. Bright lights and artificial odors can knock me out, but I have severe face-blindness (prosopagnosia) and can trip over my own feet. Lights, smells, even loud sounds don’t phase G - and he shares my face-blindness in abundance - but there are other things of which he takes uncommon notice. 

One of the most wonderful things about G is that he notices every single bird in our environment. Not just your cardinals and goldfinches, but every pigeon - “Look! A pigeon!” “Another pigeon!” and every single sparrow we pass on the street - “Oh mom - do you see those cute sparrows?” “Hey, guys - a sparrow!” “There’s a sparrow under that car!” etc. 

Some people dismiss this constant-noticing, or rib him good-naturedly about it (“Wow, a sparrow!”), and it’s sometimes inconvenient and time-consuming, but I celebrate it with all my heart.

Imagine a world where every individual person was noticed and appreciated, no matter how similar, no matter how different. Imagine a culture in which everybody took the time, made the effort, to really see every single other person. I dare to think such things as gossip, bullying, stereotyping…all those evils that come from pre-judging others and from not seeing each individual as equal and worthy in their own way…would disappear.  

G doesn’t filter out every sparrow as just another instance of a drab bird among many. Instead he enjoys a sense of wonder for each tiny miracle of sparrow individuality. 

What if we all tried to see every sparrow? 

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!

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IS IT TOUCHING?

Dear persons,

I just finished reading Little Women to G and Z. That book is way longer than I remembered - and – seriously?! - emotionally grueling. As had happened throughout Little Women, but on an even more snot-filled, ugly-crying level, I began to lose it as I tried to read those last pages aloud. The closing bit, where Marmee says, even after all the poverty and hardship, and even though her daughter Beth died (sorry if I am giving anything away here), “Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I can never wish you a greater happiness than this!” And she says this simply because they are all together...I can’t even type it without sobbing.

As I read to her, as she often does, Z observed my emotional reaction and asked, “Mom, is it touching?”

Honey, to me, just about EVERYTHING is touching.

You can just look at my red, blotchy, slimy face – or your brother’s: Yes. It’s touching. When a bird lets another bird go ahead of it at the birdfeeder? Touching. Something on the radio about helping people? We will probably at a minimum get misty-eyed. When there’s a video of a baby seal? Touching. Human interest piece in People magazine at the dentist? All those interspecies friendship books? Elderly people holding hands? Yes. Anything to do with animals, life, death, romance, family, and so forth is fair game for being touching.

At the same time, on my own, I’ve been dipping into The Highly Sensitive Person, in which I was *stunned* to read that 42% of people describe themselves as “not sensitive at all.” And here I’d always thought everybody was just better at managing their feelings and reactions than I was – because there was something wrong with me. Something weak, or ignorant, or lame; a lack in me which rendered me less adept than the majority of people...People who didn’t seem to cry or laugh quite as readily, people for whom interacting with others, for example, seemed to be much more clear cut, less laden with strong, overwhelming feelings, and MUCH less daunting...

I’d assumed everybody was “like me” and that it was my “fault” for being unable to “master” my feelings and reactions. Now I see another healing, liberating spectrum! I wouldn’t quite put my Z in the “not sensitive at all” category, but on a sensitivity spectrum we clearly occupy different spaces. And this holds true for her sensory processing as well: she’s impervious to hunger, noise, lack of sleep, etc. in a way that’s inconceivable to the SPD-ers* in the family.

In Figure I, I’ve charted approximations of our family sensitivity levels relative to one another (P=Pardner, Z=my daughter, G=my son, F=me). This is obviously simplifying and generalizing, but it also clearly indicates a Full Spectrum of sensitivities just within one family.

Figure I – Touching Chart: From Squishing-Touching to Not Touching

Knowing that others have different sorts and levels of sensitivity, doesn’t mean we ourselves necessarily should attempt to change our own feelings and reactions – even if we are able (?). But that knowledge opens our eyes to possibilities of different perspectives - and perspective, as I tell my philosophy students, is the key to a lot. It’s marvelous to see how we all shine in different ways. It’s intriguing for me to imagine the experience of not sobbing at the drop of a hat; for Z, learning about things that are “touching” is inspiring her to find her own tender spots.

Guess the Full Spectrums will keep learning from each other.

We just started By the Shores of Silver Lake. You know, the Laura Ingalls Wilder where Mary goes blind and Jack, their loyal, loving dog dies? It’s going to be you-know-what.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* SPD-ers: people with sensory processing differences

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

LEAN IN, SPD STYLE

Picture my physically adept daughter sitting at the dining room table. She is leaning back in her chair with her feet up on said chair. I remind her that feet are not allowed on chairs at the dinner table. She removes her feet...but somehow manages to retain the exact same lean, with an expression of utter disdain and indifference.

Now picture me sitting at a different table, working in the faculty lounge of the local community college. You will notice – but I will not, at least until my neck pain tells me something is off, several hours in – that I am sitting at an extremely awkward angle.

 

                           Figure I – Awkward and Ultimately Injurious Angle of Seatedness, Not Noticed

Those of us with sensory processing differences may find ourselves in a myriad of awkward and uncomfortable situations/positions because of our divergent vestibular and proprioceptive systems, the systems that tell us where we are in space and how our movement and body location relates to what is around us.

Whereas my daughter Z’s balance, movement, and self-awareness in space are appropriate and allow her to do things in healthy, if sometimes snotty, ways, I fear I’d be barely able to function without my many, many years of ballet and yoga.... G’s study of Tae Kwon Do has done similar remediation for his vestibular, motor, and proprioceptive functioning.

I was uncomfortable sitting there at a random angle from the table, but I am so used to feeling awkward that I didn’t even wonder why, or take steps to address my discomfort, until my neck pain began to eclipse my concentration. When the normal smells and lights and sounds of daily life hurt your brain, what’s a bit more pesky input?

Becoming aware of these goofy and discomforting phenomena is the first step in trying to devise ways in which to avoid actually harming myself. But here’s the thing: mostly, I don’t even know I am doing things “differently” until something lets me know – another person (“Hey, [FSM], why don’t you put on a sweater, since you are shivering?” “OHHHHH! Great idea!”), or actual pain...

What other things do G and I do like sitting at wide angles to tables? I don’t even know. Probably plenty! Do you know a wide-angle sitter? A curb-tripper? A walker-into-walls?

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! Want to join in on next month's Sensory Blog Hop? Click here!

An InLinkz Link-up

Teaching My Son to Ride a Bike

We recently had pizza night with Noodle, her partner and her partner’s children.  The four children are a rare good match: two powerful gals who are willing to share their power for the sake of fun and two gawky boys with no (G) or low (friend) eye-rolling urges. (G’s friend is a lot younger, but G doesn’t give a hoot about age.)

After a brief – but non-cruel – period of incredulity over G’s inability ride a bike, G’s friend – wisely, I thought -- offered him his scooter. Friend rode his bike up and down the street while G attempted to scoot alongside. After trying the bike, very briefly (and, one might say, fruitlessly), G wondered if we might get a “bike like this one” instead of the larger one we have been using to try to teach him how to ride for the last several years. I had that quick sinking feeling of worrying about the cost of a new bike, but answered immediately that we would do so.

The very next day, we were driving along a country road and saw the perfect bike with a “free” sign propped up against it.  We popped that bike in the car faster than you can say “Our motor-challenged boy with aspergers is willing to try to learn to ride a bike and, goldang it, we are going to Do This!”

Pardner pumped up the tires and we were ready to start.

I have been trying to teach G to ride a bike since he was really little for so many social and physiological reasons. Bilateral movement, increased proprioception (a fancy word for self-awareness in space), basic balance-improvement, focus, self-esteem, not getting crap from other kids, and general fitness are just some of the likely benefits. I have been dismally unsuccessful.

When G gets on a bike, he gets distracted. He looks down, losing himself in the turning gears, or the patterns on the road. He leans all his weight on me, making no apparent effort to balance. He is incapable of steering and pedaling at the same time. He forgets to leave his feet on the pedals if I tell him to try his brake. In fact, there are way too many factors to take in when on a bike and – At The Same Time! -- on a street. For many years it seemed like he would never be able to ride a bike. I understand: in an earlier post, I mentioned that I didn’t really learn to drive until my late thirties, largely for similar reasons. Sensory overload and safe, direction-oriented navigation don’t necessarily go together.

Our first try on the new bike: G displayed all of the above while Mama tried to instruct. Not long after starting the lesson, Mama began to lose it. “Keep your eyes on the road. Please keep your eyes on the road. KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD!” Also, “Feet on the pedals. Please keep your feet on the pedals. FEET ON THE PEDALS!” You get the drift.

“I think this is a good time to stop,” G kept suggesting; but noooooo: Mama pushed on until it became obvious that we were getting nowhere fast.

We veered gracelessly into the driveway. G’s little face was all crumpled up. I asked him why he looked so upset. “You were yelling at me every time I made a mistake!” he wailed, and then began to sob.

My stomach clenched. I tried to explain that I was raising my voice because he wasn’t listening and that I was sorry he felt hurt. And -  “Yes,” I had to finally admit,  “I was frustrated.” It’s just a bike. And yet it isn’t.

All the things that will be harder for him than they are for other people, all the extraordinary safety concerns one has for someone with zero common sense and oft-scattered attention, common and less-common fears...all are triggered in this bicycle-riding cycle.  Plus, there was me sticking my feet under his tires periodically, which was kind of annoying to both of us.

There we stood, both holding on to the offending object, a rusty, dirty, old black bike that still smelled for some reason like manure despite a good rinse. Both shaken.

Z, nimble and chock full of sense, watched us warily. She had been riding behind us on her bike, balancing alternately on each side of her broken training wheels just for the heck of it.  If there is a bike riding spectrum, once again we see a Wide Range in this family. She seemed confused by these clumsy, sappy people.

The good thing was, though, that after a recovery period he got back on that bike. And we are still trying.  It doesn’t seem like a “never” now, it seems like a “someday,” even if that someday is far away. Not only that, I dare say we have begun to have fun in the process!

Plenty of people don’t ride bikes. No biggie. But I very simply and not-so-simply want G to be able to ride a bike if he so chooses.

I would, quite frankly, prefer that he not ride a bike unless absolutely necessary (and only with me around) – much as Pardner feels about me and driving – but I want him to have the option.

Figure I – Rocket Boy

The text on this painting reads, “There was a person who could not walk to school so he invented a rocket and flyed to school.”

G knows that he is different – neurologically, physically – from the kids in his class and beyond. This painting gives me hope that he knows that for all the things he does differently or cannot do, there are things that he can do that are more magical and more wonderful than the ordinary. Even if G never does learn to ride, I know he will find ways to make his journey.

Righteous Love,

Full Spectrum Mama