Poetic Interlude

I hesitated to post the following poem because it expresses the full intensity of what it is like co-regulating with E during his meltdowns. Meltdowns are such an intimate experience. The person melting down is overwhelmed. The behaviour we see is out of their control. It's not their fault. I wondered, is it fair to share the details of such distress? Along with concerns about privacy, however, I realized I was also harbouring guilt and shame at having such a troubled child and being open about it. If I shared these intimate details, I was worried about how his aggression would reflect on me. It is still hard for me to move on from the assumption that "good parents" do not have violent children; "good children" should be polite and compliant, not explosive. I know better now. E is indeed a very good child, who sometimes has a very hard time. And I am a good mother.

An important part of this whole project is letting go of the shame of having a complex child and, in doing so, not holding myself to the standards of the traditional parenting paradigm; E's compliance, or lack thereof, does not equal my worth as his mother. He and I are on a very different path together.

When he was struggling the most, we had intensely physical moments, and they still happen occasionally. If no one talks about these moments, more people will just keep feeling guilty, like I did, when it happens to them. I don't want other families to think that no one else deals with this type of fight response. That's why I have to talk about it. And I might explode if I don't! There was a period when E was having these outbursts daily. Sometimes multiple times a day. For years. It took me years to realize that we had been in crisis. That word is not a hyperbole. I experienced years of witnessing my child in fight-or-flight, physically fighting as if his life depended on it, because to him that is what it felt like, almost every day. Can you imagine? Fighting for your life every day for years? Witnessing your child struggling so much? Trauma is not necessarily what happens to you, but how you experience it. We were both experiencing complex trauma. No wonder my own nervous system was rapidly burning out along with his.

All behaviour is communication and E was communicating his distress in the only way he could in that moment. I'll say it again - the aggression was not his fault. He has a highly sensitive nervous system and his fight-or-flight response is all fight. It's his neurobiology. So, with that in mind, here is a poem I wrote in the wake of one of his meltdowns at the height of our confusion about his behaviour.

---

A Difficult Child

Who is this child

Who hurls words of fury into my heart

Who writhes in inner pain and wants the rest of the world to feel it too

He lashes his limbs, bruises my skin, and bites holes in my clothes with gnashing frustration, his milk teeth already giving way to their newly grown counterparts, each one sharper than the last

His small, angry hands grab fistfuls of my hair in desperation and pull tight at my scalp

I breathe

It's ok to be mad, I say, but I can't let you hurt me

And yet he does

He lets out a guttural scream and yanks harder

I clench my jaw, swallow the pain, and reach up to uncurl his fingers, perfect and soft, from where they are entangled in my hair

I will help you be safe, I say

I hold him tight as he rages against me with every fiber of his being

This onslaught is not new, but the intensity confounds me every time

Who is this child

Surely he is not mine

And yet he is

I am here, I say, I will help you be safe

He briefly relents and I loosen my grip

He wrenches away, his forest green eyes, a mirror to my own, hold my gaze intently as they blaze with defiance and fear and overwhelm

He stands before me, his wiry arm raised threateningly as he stares me down

My baby

He growls and lunges, clawing at me with abandon, a feral kitten, he writhes and kicks and searches for flesh to sink his teeth into

I evade bite marks, this time

My sweet boy is a mess

In his distress he desperately needs me close

Mama! I need Mama! He screams, tears running down his flushed cheeks

Yet in the same breath he rails against me and I block blow after blow

What is happening?!?

My mind goes eerily blank as we ride the relentless waves of his rage

There is nothing else to do but be there with him, doing my best to keep us both safe

My child is suffering

I don't know why

I don't know how to help

It is too much to bear

And yet I must

I hold him tight

Eventually, he yields, his small frame overcome with exhaustion

Whimpering, he sucks his thumb and snuggles in beside me, finally giving in to sleep

I breathe

I stroke his hair as he drifts off

Mama, he murmurs

Mmm hmm, I reassure him, I'm here

Who is this child

Who am I

Our family cannot continue in this chaos

And yet we must

---

I wrote the first draft of this poem in bed on my phone at 2am in the middle of a hot July night in 2021. E was finally asleep beside me. My husband was on his laptop on the other side. We were leaving in the morning on vacation - oh good, hooray for summer family fun! - but we were both too unsettled to sleep after yet another intense meltdown with E that had lasted into the early hours of the morning.

We had just had the worst few weeks of our lives following the misguided advice of the child psychiatrist who thought what our child needed was stricter limits and rewards for age appropriate behaviour. I had cried in my husband's arms after that appointment, the feelings of guilt and failure washing over me again; following my instincts and education had led me to gentle parenting, but clearly I must be awful at it since my son was the most aggressive child I had ever encountered, or even heard about. We followed the doctor's advice because we didn't know what else to do. As she suggested, we steeled ourselves for standing strong through the power struggles as we entered a new age of screen time as a reward for age appropriate behaviour (that'll show him who's boss!). Of course we had tried all the typical advice before, but we were determined it would work this time. Of course it did not.

Rewarding him with screen time was not going "motivate" him to behave any "better;" he was already doing the best he could. He already knew what was expected of him, and I could sense he felt deep shame that he could not comply, he was simply unable to control his nervous system response.

Any small trigger could upset him, then reminding him about the expectation of being safe if he wanted to play Minecraft later escalated things again, then the doctor's orders were that we were supposed to say well, no screens today because you can't be safe with your body, we will try again tomorrow. This would only escalate his distress further, but by then there was absolutely no carrot left because we had already taken it off the stick for the day (no more Minecraft for you!), so he had nothing positive to work towards and no reason not to keep lashing out. The only thing that changed following the doctor's plan was that we had lost the option of using screens as a tool to help him regulate and access his deep interest (not to mention give us a much needed break!), so then everyone was more on edge in general and the levels of emotional dysregulation would undoubtedly bubble up again at the next trigger. It was a ridiculous cycle. Eventually, we gave up. When we came back from our vacation (no computer at the lake, so it was a good reset for all), we told him that we had been trying something new, but it didn't feel right. He could play Minecraft as much as felt he needed to. There wouldn't be any more rewards or consequences. But that left us wondering, if traditional authoritarian parenting advice didn't help, nor did the gentle, respectful, authoritative approach we'd been using his whole life... what else is there?

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