Loud Yoga

“I didn’t come this far,

only to come this far.”

 

“…and he named it Ebenezer (stone of help),

saying, “Thus far the Lord has helped us.”

– 1 Samuel 7:12

 

A few days ago my family had an amazingly normal day.

It was my son Jack’s 5^th birthday. While he was pretty pumped about the day – all of us going out to dinner that night and getting a dinosaur cake from his grandma – my wife Sheri and I loved his birthday for a different reason.

All day long we were overwhelmed with gratitude because it was not supposed to be like it was.

Many years ago, we were told there was a possibility Jack would not be able to talk, interact, adapt and socialize the way he does. We were told he might not ever be okay with touch; it might be painful for him. That there would be many moments of one step forward, three steps back.

Jack was supposed to be different in challenging ways.

Our Jack Attack has autism. I have written about my family’s journey with autism a few times; if you’re interested, you can read about it here: The Healing Tears.

If you have a relative who has autism, or you are on the spectrum yourself, you might know that the reason they call it the autism spectrum is because the symptoms and how they work themselves out is different for each person. There is no one-step cure. Each case is unique to them.

This means that most of Sheri’s and my parenting involves a lot of trial and error – a bit like all parenting, really. We navigate the journey with a team of amazing therapists and caseworkers. It is an incredible privilege, but even with our dream team, things can go off the rails at a moment’s notice.

Sometimes you just don’t know what you don’t know.

There have been so many times we have taken Jack to a store, and something inadvertently triggers him that we did not foresee. Each of those times, there is screaming and yelling, and to almost everyone, it looks like Jack is a huge brat and we are lousy parents. Sheri and I have both come home at various times and bawled on the floor after what we thought was going to be “just a quick trip to Target.”

The worst are the stares you get in that moment. People in aisles with judgmental eyes.

I just wish they could see what we see in those moments.

They don’t understand that too many moving things at once is overwhelming to our Jack-Jack. It could be a sudden change in where he thought we were headed in the store, people talking loudly over the PA system, and don’t even get me started on Christmas store displays at Lowe’s…

It begins to shut off parts of his brain as he tries to stay calm, in the same way that your hands get cold in the winter when your body involuntarily tries to keep your heart warm.

It used to be so hard for me in stores when a trigger stole him away. I was indecisive on how to handle the meltdowns and often just froze up. I would stand there stuck, looking around and embarrassed.

It wasn’t until one particularly awful meltdown that everything changed.

I can’t even remember the trigger, but one moment we were holding hands in Costco and the next he was screaming and crying while flailing on the floor in tears.

I could feel the heat as several pairs of watching eyes looked at him and then at me.

What a brat…

                        Some people should not have kids…

                                    Nobody disciplines their kids anymore…

We have all thought similar things in stores. We look at a kid acting out and we place our judgment at the parent’s feet. I am so guilty of this.

I wonder how many “bad parents” are in reality not bad parents, but discouraged, exhausted or disheartened parents. All too often I have judged, when in reality, I should have encouraged. It is amazing what can change when you feel believed in. I hold back too many smiles and affirming nods of “I get it man!”

So many people encouraged Sheri and I as we started on and navigated our journey with Jack. Each encouragement was like a water cup on mile 19.

It just didn’t help me get Jack off the Costco floor.

I felt waves of uncertainty, confusion and shame. That tide was coming in quick from the eyes all around us. What do I do? Everyone is watching…

In those kinds of moments, I always think about movies. If I saw this scene in a movie, what would I be cheering for Love to do in this moment?

So I did the only thing that made sense to me. I got on my knees on the floor with him, took his head in my large hands to block out all the stares (he could see them too…) and we began a somewhat familiar speech I give him to try and coax out the boy I know is still inside.

Jack, come back to me bud.

     Look at dad’s face.

           No, don’t look at them, look at MY face.

Come back to me bud.

     Where are my eyes?

           Watch my eyes.

Daddy loves you.

But we couldn’t stop there, I had to take the next step.

One of our favorite learned techniques from therapy is to pretend we are inflating a giant balloon over our heads. It looks like a strange version of yoga. Sheri and I intentionally do it wrong at first (Jack is a bit of a rule follower, so it tricks him into showing us the right way).

We had done it many times, but I had never actually done it in public before that moment…and it also only works if I start it first.

What would Love do now?

I began to talk to him loudly (it had to be louder than his screams) about how I needed to inflate my balloon. I then acted the whole routine out of order, triggering Jack to step in.

Together we stood, in the middle of the aisle, and began our balloon yoga.

…And it brought my son back to me.

It seems that often the best way to confront judgment, particularly in the highly intricate area of developmental disorders with their myriad of techniques and nuances, is not to punch the haters in their stupid faces (something I have planned out many, many times in the car afterward), but by showing what you care about more.

It makes me emotional to think about all the moments. So many, many moments I have sacrificed because I cared more about the faces of the crowd than the one face that needed me to do the right thing.

I don’t know where this strikes you, but I do know that every day – every single day from God – is a chance to make a difference. The biggest fights are always fought by heroes who feel totally inadequate and entirely overwhelmed.

There are people all around your life that need you to get loud. Not because you know all the answers, but because that’s what Love, real, God-sized love, does.

That’s what Love did for me. And for you.

Come back to me bud.

Look at my face.

Don’t look at them, look at my face.

Come back to me…

 

If you would like to know more about this Love that has carried us this far, I can be reached at joelschaap@yahoo.com

To learn more on how to help an amazing Autie you love, start here: Autism Speaks.