Just Me and My Son, and Two Sticks

E asked to have a campfire the other night! It was was a lovely way to spend the evening... and it ended with a panic attack.

It was the first time since beginning medication 3 months ago that E's level of dysregulation reached the point of meltdown, so it was interesting to see what can send him over the edge in this new era of recovery for our family. Although a meltdown is never an enjoyable experience for anyone, the experience was positive in that it underlined for me the effects that time, healing, and medicine have had on E's threat response, and my reactions to it. It was an opportunity to reflect on how far we have come since burnout, and how much we have both grown.

It's been a few years since we have used our backyard fire pit for its intended purpose (though there have been lots of witches' brews and imaginative play scenarios inspired by it!) because E started resisting every suggestion to have a fire when he was in burnout, though he couldn't articulate why. So, we didn't have any fires. That was fine.

The last few days have been unseasonably cool here and we smelled wood smoke in the air from a neighbour, which prompted E to suggest we plan for a campfire of our own that night. Sure! I added s'mores ingredients to my grocery order and we were all looking forward to the evening.

After dinner, it was campfire time! E told me we needed a bucket of sand and a bucket of water for safety, he gave B a good lecture all about how to be safe around the fire, and happily collected sticks from around the yard when I needed more kindling. He was chatty, his eyes were sparkling, he was safe and regulated. The novelty of doing something outside our normal routine, especially when it is his idea, is good for him. We built the fire and enjoyed toasting our marshmallows and eating s'mores until it was almost time for B to head to bed. We put the fire out with the sand and water that E had responsibly prepared.

As I tidied up, the kids decided to play "Monsters in the Dark" an ongoing tag/hide and seek hybrid they have made up and often play together outside in the evenings. Our yard is big enough that I knew they could play safely on one side, well away from the still-hot fire pit, and it wasn't actually dark yet.

I used my best declarative language to remind them about the fire, "I can hear the fire still sizzling under that sand and water and I see there's still some steam, so I think the metal will be hot for a bit longer. I would keep your game to the grassy side of the yard." They moved over to the grass. Perfect.

I moved a bench nonchalantly as a makeshift visual barrier between the two sides of the backyard, then sat down to chill on the back porch to watch them play. My husband came out to join me, as did the cat. It was such a nice family moment; children running and laughing, parents sitting and chatting. Perfection.

Everything was going well and the children were happy in their play, but I soon noticed that E was not able to stay away from the fire pit as I had hoped. He perceived my suggestion to play on the other side of the yard as a demand, and in the midst of his existing excitement over the fun evening and the active game with his sister, the demand of staying away from that area of the yard was too hard for him. He could not stop himself from continuously running in that direction; even though he knew full well how hot the metal firepit would be after a fire, his survival drive for autonomy was overriding his need for safety in that moment. My declarative warning, even worded as carefully as it could be to lessen activation to his nervous system, still registered as a demand. E is extremely responsible when regulated, indeed he had been the one to lecture us all about fire safety not an hour and a half before, but he could not access that rational thinking in the moment; his threat response had been activated, so he was in his limbic system, his survival brain, and his thinking brain was offline. His PDA brain was telling him that remaining autonomous was more important than remaining safe, so even though it was dangerous for his body, he kept running back towards the side of the yard I had warned him to stay away from, playing and jumping within a few inches of the fire pit. It is so baffling to see a bright, responsible child acting in a way that is so irrational. Casey Ehrlich of At Peace Parents shares a similar story of her son continually running towards the fire when they were camping once and the adults having to hold him back. I understood her example, but I had never witnessed E put his drive for autonomy over his safety (over the safety of others, yes, but not his own), until that night.

I watched E like a hawk. I wondered how close he would get to the fire pit, knowing he couldn't control himself in this activated state, knowing his nervous system was already heightened by the excitement of the campfire, the marshmallows, the game with his sister, and the previous limit I set about staying on the grassy side of the yard. I wondered how this could possibly end well at this point. I decided to go for one more declarative statement, "E, I see you're going close to the fire pit. Remember? It's probably still hot." My husband invited him to go play inside. To play catch on the grass. It wasn't helping. E leaped off the bench I had placed as a barrier and landed within a few inches of the firepit. My own threat response was triggered, and I yelled, "STOP! Too Close!!" Of course our primary job as parents is to keep our children safe and this was the right thing to do. I was becoming dysregulated knowing he was playing in a way that might end dangerously, but I also I dreaded telling him to stop because I knew that could become unsafe for everyone.

He heard me say stop, he listened, and he did move away, but he was wielding some sticks that had been a part of the monster hunt game and as he changed course from the fire pit, he came hurtling towards me instead, brandishing his sticks, eyes blazing. Being told to stop had pushed his nervous system over the edge. My husband quickly ushered B inside. It was just me and my child, and a pair of sticks. He was very much too close to me, threateningly raising the sticks and swiping them down near my head, purposefully not hitting me, but coming really close. Testing my trust. This has happened a few times lately; he doesn't enact full out aggressive blows, but threateningly close ones. I didn't flinch. I kept my gaze gentle. I sat down on a patio chair to make myself physically lower than him and appear less threatening. I said nothing as he continued to thrash his sticks around me, recognizing this was him going into fight-or-flight, reminding myself this was a panic attack that he could not control and that it wasn't his fault, saying my mantras to stay in the moment, wiggling my toes so as not to dissociate. We looked at each other. E paused for a moment, his gorgeous eyes giant and wild, trying to mask his fear with power to feel more in control of the overwhelming sensations taking over his body. I took this brief pause as an opportunity to talk.

"I know this isn't you fault. I'm wondering if you are feeling upset because I told you to stay away from the fire pit and that was too much of a demand. It's not your fault."

The words activated him a little bit, and he thrashed again with the sticks, but his eyes weren't quite as anger-fuelled, I could tell.

He let the sticks get even closer to my head and I instinctively blocked with my arms, then I stood up.

"I trust you not to hurt me, but I'm going to move away because I feel unsafe."

He followed me to the back door, no longer thrashing his sticks in the air, just making circles by his sides. I moved to go inside and he let me take the sticks from his grip and I gently tossed them away from the porch. I put my arm around him and he leaned in and followed me into the house.

"I want spinning floops!" He announced.

"Ok," I smiled.

This is a silly thing we do when he's feeling upset. I hold him under his arms and kick his floppy legs up high with my leg (that's a standard variation floop), then for extra sensory input I spin him around a few times. The movement and deep pressure of my arms around him is regulating for him. So we did a good round of spinning floops and then moved on with the evening. And that was that.

Although it was intense, the panic attack was short, maybe 10 minutes for the entire interaction, rather than the multi hour marathons of days gone by. He didn't actually hit me, though he did come close. My husband and I know that I am the better one to deescalate a meltdown, so he immediately took B immediately to safety and left me with E. I know now how to use non-violent de-escalation techniques (I'm linking to Casey's Erhlich's work again because it's just all so amazing - I learned about non-violent de-escalation from her masterclass on Boundaries and the PDA Child or Teen), and it works for us. I know how to stay present and not dissociate. I know that the connection between me and E is big enough to withstand a meltdown and that the hard moments won't last forever. E knew what his body needed to help calm down, and he could ask me for it. This is all HUGE progress.

After the fact I could have said, "Well, no more campfires! The excitement was too much and it ended in a meltdown and someone could have been hurt." Or I could have decided to round up every stick in our backyard and throw them away. But I didn't. Yes, I might try next time to herd the children straight inside to their own spaces with screens so they can regulate from the exciting event and not continue to get more keyed up with a physical outside game. But, next time that might not be necessary, and it also might not work. Because of how nervous system activation accumulates, something that causes a meltdown one day, may not the next.

Panic attacks will always happen in our family. If it's not a campfire that brings one on, it will be something else. There will always be cumulative nervous system activation and there will always be meltdowns. But with the combination of increased knowledge, the right accommodations, and the internal support of medicine, the panic attacks are already less frequent, shorter, and safer than when E was in burnout. We know why meltdowns happen and how to get through them. And we have the understanding as a family that no one is to be shamed or blamed in the wake of something that is out of their control. Everyone is doing the best they can. I see the progress, and it feels so good.

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