Tag Archives: parenting

13 Years An Adopter

We’re now seasoned adopters, having experienced most of the rides in the Adoption Theme Park – the ghost trains where you learn about night terrors, the rollercoasters where you learn about regulation and escalation, the merry-go-rounds where you constantly ask a teacher to make adjustments, and, of course, the queues. Oh the queues. Where you wait months, if not years for an EHCP. And then discover the computer says no.

What I Wish I’d Known

I’d like to say I went into adoption with my eyes wide open. But I didn’t. I went into it with a heart overwhelmed by giddy hope and optimism. I listened to the stories of trauma and its wide-ranging impact, but I told myself that that wouldn’t happen to us, that our kids (being so young) wouldn’t be affected.

Looking back over some tough years, there are some things that I wish I had known and I want all adopters (to be, or new, or even seasoned) to know to make their life a whole lot easier.

1. The Amygdala (Amy) and Her Tendency To Hijack My Child’s Brain

The amygdala is a HUGE deal in our family’s life. Not just for the children, but for us too. If Amy is driving someone’s brain, then they have a limited set of options to choose from: flee, fight, maybe freeze. They might struggle to process, respond, listen. We might be yelling “STOP” as they run into the road, but Amy just hears more threats behind her and keeps on running as fast as she can.

Regulation is the very foundation of therapeutic parenting and focussing on regulation as our #1 priority made a HUGE difference to our family. It was when we forgot to focus on it, when we gave Amy the helm, when we let tiredness or our own triggers get in the way of this singular priority that it all went to hell in a handcart.

2. There Is So Much More Going On

Behaviour is what we see. But it’s just one tiny piece of the jigsaw puzzle. We might see defiance, but there may be anger, sensory issues, dysregulation, injustice, fear of being ignored beneath the surface. If we respond to the behaviour, we can miss the point entirely.

My son refused to go into town one morning because ‘mummy was going’. He threw his shoes. He raged. He stormed off. His words, his defiance told one story – he didn’t like mummy. But I kept my cool (regulation is king) and used “I wonder” statements to find out what was really going on.

What’s different when mummy goes?

You talk to Daddy and hold his hand.

He wasn’t defiant. He was scared. Upset. He wanted to spend quality time with his daddy without me getting in the way. The more we looked beneath the behaviour and tried to discover their unmet needs (e.g. for Daddy-time), the more we learnt about our children and how to be the parents they needed us to be.

3. Becoming Poirot or Miss Marple

To understand our chhildren and be the best parents that they needed us to be, we had to become regulation detectives. To find out what triggered our children (each was very different), to discover the situations in which they flourished or floundered. To discover the exact timing after a rage-fest to slink into their bedroom and offer support.

By trial and mostly error, we gradually discovered:

Sensory issues – our son is particularly triggered by smells and textures on his hands, our daughter by loud noises and food
Distraction favourites – things that are First Aid gold dust – for our son (when he was younger) a box of Lego was an irresistible distraction, soothing many a fevered brow. For our daughter it was the swings.
Their Greatest Needs – is it independence or reassurance, connection or space, control or freedom, familiarity or adventure, stimulation or calm? What is the quickest, most reliable way to help them regulate? My daughter needs to be left alone in her bedroom, in silence, with no-one present to regulate (me too, although I like a hug sometimes).
Our Greatest Strengths – not all parents/ carers are created equal. Andy was far far better at patiently, gently encouraging my daughter to get ready for school after a night of not-sleeping. So play to your strengths, and if your partner is dysregulated, then tap them out and take over.

4. Not All Children

But if there was one thing that I needed to learn most of all, it was that when other parents said “all children do that”, they weren’t talking about my chidlren. Parents of neurotypical, non-traumatised children rarely have the faintest clue what you are talking about and going through. They might trot out tired trad parenting nonsense about punishments that will not work for your family.

You don’t need to listen to them.

Become a detective, look beyond the behaviour, stay in conscious control, hold your head high and do what your child/ren need you to do. NO-ONE else has the faintest clue how to parent your children, because your children aren’t like other children. They have unique bodies, unique sensory systems, unique brains that only you (who have spent years observing) truly understand. They might mask for everyone else. They might appear to cope, to enjoy school, to belong. But we know the truth.

5. Love Is / Is Not Enough

Love is the reason we become detectives, reading and going on courses to understand our children. It’s the driving force behind everything we do, especially when we’re running on vapours and just want to crawl under the duvet for an hour (week) or two.

It cannot mend our children’s brains or bodies. But it can inspire and energise the parents who will.

Adoption is not an easy route to a family. But I hope that with help and support, you will find your own unique happily-enough-ever-after.

When Happily Ever After Stopped Being So Happy

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Why I wrote And Trauma Made Five

Coming Soon - showiing two books, one entitled "and trauma made five" on a tablet and the other behind is "and then there were four" — coming soon

When I wrote And Then There Were Four, I thought that was the end of the story. We’d reached our happily ever after, beyond the emotional experiences of infertility, adoption, matching and finally becoming our family. What else was there?

I naively imagined that pretty much everything that came next would be the same as other families. Parks, ice cream, school, birthdays, holidays, endless laundry, faces smeared in spaghetti, poo-xplosions, stepping on Lego. Mundane everyday shizzle.

And for a while, life proved me right.

Until our family started to wobble. Then rock. Then face plant.

When my assertion that my children were unaffected, unscathed by adoption began to look somewhere between oversimplification and downright falsehood. When the phrase all children do that began to rankle and hurt. When the unusual chaos began to be more frequent and we felt more and more unprepared for the family we had created. When too many evenings had a WTF? flavour of dismay and despair. When the evidence kept coming at us and we couldn’t hold onto our denial any longer.

New Eyes

But it was meeting other adopters that really helped me see my family and my children with new eyes. First through social media, when I started using Twitter. That led to a sudden and illuminating baptism in words like dysregulation, previously unknown to me but describing our experiences so well. Then it was the Adoption UK conference, when I heard about the way that education so often fails our children. I sought out and surrounded myself with people who understood.

From feeling overwhelmed, alone and confused, I started to understand why our family wasn’t the same as others. Why the traditional parenting approach didn’t fit. To discover pieces of the puzzle: explanations and tools to help my family.

But it was a chance conversation with Betty at school, when I was struggling to understand how to convey empathy in the face of anger, that proved a turning point. She showed me the way. I wanted to dismiss it – it seemed too simple – but I was desperate. The technique clicked and later that afternoon, I used it to instantly defuse a volatile situation that transformed me overnight into a therapeutic convert. It was miraculous. Inspired, I wrote about “Fighting Fire With Fire” on my blog.

On Fire with Enthusiasm

The feedback made me realise how hungry parents like us were for information to help them navigate their family life. And I kept learning, kept adding sparkly spanners to my therapeutic toolbox. Each new insight helped me understand a little more about what was going on beneath the surface, in the brains and bodies of my children, and helped explain what drove their weird and wonderful behaviour. I wrote about those too, because each family needs their own unique toolkit that works for them, in their situation, with their children.

My greatest wish is that this book finds another family when they sit down one evening, exhausted after a WTF? day, and gives them a piece of their puzzle that they didn’t have before.

Something that makes their life a bit easier, a little happier and perhaps less combustible.

The Stranger (not Danger) Rule

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And breathe…

I hug Youngest to help him calm and regain control of his brain (aka regulate). He’s mostly a happy chappy, except when he’s positively not. Right now, he’s expressing distress in an impressively attention-getting manner and volume. It’s a cool Saturday in town and despite sitting on a bench tucked away from the main throng, my plan for quiet co-regulation is about to be hijacked. And not by Amy.

I spot the stranger approaching and avert my gaze. He continues to get curiously closer and asks:

What’s wrong with him?

I wholeheartedly wish I could come up with a withering slam down, but my brain’s otherwise occupied.

‘He’s sad’ I say, with a tone that states that This Conversation Is Over.

‘Why is he sad?’ asks the man, sensing none of my go-away facial expressions, intonation and body language.

‘Because he is five,’ I say even more dismissively, whilst tutting audibly and turning away from him, as Youngest continues his deafening wail in my ear. ‘It’s also none of your goddamn business’ are words I want to add, but don’t.

A few minutes ago, Youngest and I were in a cafe waiting for Eldest and Andy to turn up, so we could order and enjoy a nice lunch out. Youngest was out of sorts. I waved the menu; he threw it down. I offered to read him a book; he crawled under the table. He kept doing the exact opposite of everything I said and I failed to shrug off his defiant eff-you attitude. Lunch out should be a relaxing time, but today it turned into a battle I was too tired to fight. As I became exasperated, I told him that if he didn’t do [whatever it was] we would leave. Because at this point, I still subscribed to the director’s cut boxset of TradP (Traditional Parenting).

Guess what?

Youngest stubbornly and predictably chose not to. He’s going through that phase where if I count to five, he only starts moving on six. When I ask him to come here, he crawls along the floor on his belly but wails ‘I AM coming’ if I call him out on it. Yet he is so often calm and loving that these glimpses of fire and anger are so surprising and random that we’ve yet to discover what triggers them or even how to handle them without pulling the pin. Today, when I’d hoped (prayed) for a simple, easy meal with my family, he poked all my buttons and my patience ran out. I drew a line in the sand, and he jumped over it, kicking sand in my eyes.

Without even ordering, I stood up, put my coat on (his face!), picked up his coat and moved to leave. He frowned as if he hadn’t expected me to keep my promise. Andy and Eldest were just walking in as I walked Youngest out, my face like thunder as I muttered we’re leaving through gritted teeth.

I didn’t win any parenting medals today.

I didn’t make anyone happy.

I didn’t feel good about myself or my parenting.

I’d face planted into a TradP trap where nobody won.

And now I’ve a bawling child on my lap and an inquisitive stranger to handle.

Dear Stranger: if you feel you deserve the full backstory, that was why my son was crying.

And you also inspired me to create:

THE RULE

Say you are out in public and you see an adult with one or more children.

Perhaps you’re drawn to the scene because the youngsters are being loud, or upset, are kicking and screaming, are sulking in a corner, or being timed out in the middle of the pavement. Something that perhaps offends your idea of an ordered, peaceful grown-up life without interruptions from trainee grown-ups.

Perhaps you are now staring (in a way that parents find incredibly helpful and encouraging) and you start (unbelievably) thinking ‘maybe I could help.’

Here’s how to know if you should add your tuppence-worth into the fray:

If the adult in charge of that child turns around to you in despair with a furrowed brow and asks you directly ‘what should I do?’ THEN (and only then) should you sally forth with your advice and opinions.

If they DO NOT turn to you and ask you directly, then you must immediately button it and walk away (tutting optional).

Let me repeat: unless a parent directly invites you to contribute your thoughts and suggestions on the situation, then please under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you open your mouth and proffer it.

I don’t care how long you’ve been looking forward to reading the paper with your monthly cappafrappacino-almondmilk-nosyrup, or if their child’s wailing is forcing you to turn your hearing aid down, or if children weren’t like that in your day, or if you watched one episode of SuperNanny and consider yourself God’s gift to parenting, or how convinced you are that’d you’d be doing a much better job in the circumstances.

If you don’t like the noise, feel free to get up and leave. If you don’t like being around children, go watch an 18-rated film. You won’t find them there.

If it helps you deal with your emotional reaction, turn to your friend and complain about how the world has gone to the dogs since parents stopped hitting their children, or whisper loudly enough for us to hear your views on our inadequacies. And get over yourself.

Because one thing has proven time and again only to make an already volatile situation worse: the half-arsed ramblings of a complete stranger.

Parenting is hard. Rock hard. In public, parenting is rock hard with knobs on. When everyone’s eyes are on you, every single whine, every windmill arm, every NO, every WON’T, every time your child runs in the opposite direction feels magnified a million times.

To that woman I saw gently dragging her bawling child out of Poundland, lying on the floor, screaming over some piece of inexpensive tat that you weren’t going to buy, I salute you. You held your head high and did what you needed to do, regardless of the judgemental glances, tutting and jaw-dropped audience. To everyone who has ever done what their child needed despite stares and tutting, good on you. Because parenting is hard and not one single person watching from the sidelines knows your child better than you.

To the rest of you: jog on.

Tut if you have to. Eye roll if you must. But leave them to it. They’ve got this, even when it doesn’t look like it from where you’re sitting.

If you are in the cheap seats, watching, look away and bite your tongue. Or move along.

There is nothing to see here.

Coke Bottle Kids

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School is a pretty overwhelming experience for many children.

For traumatised or neuro-diverse children, it’s tens or hundreds of times worse. The senses are assaulted for hours and as they try and cope with it all, their emotions are constantly being shaken: shake, shake.

Sensory Overload

Noises – the chaos, the chatting, bells and alarms, slammed doors and teachers yelling. Even just being in the hall for assembly or in a class of pupils all shouting to be heard above the hubbub. For children who are sensitive to sound, this is like standing next to a huge speaker stack during a rock gig. Who could bear that for six straight hours? Some might be able to wear ear defenders, but others aren’t able to cope with the looks, the comments, the sensory feeling of them.

Touch – being jostled in corridors, having people in the lunch queue bump into you, the physical contact in PE, random strangers touching your hair or body. Never mind being pushed into a wall, or tripped or hurt. Their skin might be super sensitive and even a light touch can tip them into overload. For my daughter, she loathes having her hair touched and it happened All. The. Time. My son cannot bear certain textures – he physically shrinks from having them near his hands.

Smells – the lunch hall, the science lab, the toilets where boys and girls are spraying themselves liberally with deodorant. It’s enough to make children gag. Or be unable to eat. Or be physically sick. My daughter would have deodorant sprayed at her as part of bullying, making her recoil at the smell and onslaught.

The Need to Move

Sitting still is expected. You sit, listen and work without drawing attention to yourself. Because you are desperate to be invisible, to exist under the radar, so the teacher doesn’t notice you, ask you questions, expect you to speak out loud. But that means trying not to jig your leg, tap your fingers, rock your body, move.

My children need to move. Often. Not just little knee-jigs, but wholesale walking, running, jumping. My daughter would tremble, chew (nails, hair, clothing) and stim just to give her need to move a tiny outlet. Too little though. My son has a whole day in one classroom today and he’s worried because he won’t get to move between classes (necessary to help him cope).

Shake, Shake, Shake

All these things are shaking our kids. They are trying to cope, but it’s too much, too exhausting. Hours spent reading faces, trying to work out what to say, what not to say, how to fit in and appear normal. How to avoid doing anything that might single them out as different.

Imagine sitting in class of Russian students (or any language you don’t know) and being asked to remember everything they say, so you can report it all back later. How long do you think you’d be able to cope? To concentrate that hard, trying to work out everyone’s names, who says what and when, and what they are saying?

For our kids, its a room with ten Russians, all taking at top speed, whilst someone is poking you painfully in the ribs, wafting the smell of rotten eggs or sick under your nose, with fire alarms going off just by your ear. How long would you last?

Would you like or choose to do that six hours a day, five days a week, for much of the year? For years? No? Yet we ask our kids to do it, without blinking.

Exploding Coke

By the end of the school day (or earlier), the effort, the shaking becomes too much to bear. The child might lash out (cue detentions and exclusions), or they might keep it together until they come home.

My daughter is an exploder. She would come home and then scream, shout, cry. For hours.

My son is an imploder. He comes home, grunts, grabs food & drink, then hides in his bedroom on the X-box. Unable to talk about whatever is going on, whatever shook him up today.

Teachers say that children are fine, are coping, seem happy. Parents say they’re not fine, they’re not coping, they’re really unhappy. And sometimes we get stuck at that impasse, when it’s all masking.

What Can Schools Do?

Whilst schools can provide fidget items to help a pupil to stim, or ear defenders/ noise reduction, there is little they can do about the numbers of pupils, the teachers shouting, the alarms, the smells.

What we need is a radically different design of school. A low-sensory school, with:

low level lighting (not glaring fluorescents) and blinds to reduce sunlight (remove shiny, mirrored surfaces)
low noise levels with noise absorbing soft surfaces (carpet? soft shoes? lights for alarms?) and teachers who understand that shouting creates fight or flight responses
enough space that pupils can move around without being jostled
menus and lessons designed to avoid olfactory (smell) overload – or separate eating places for those who find the refectory to be unbearable
encouragement for pupils who need to move to get up, walk about, to do what they need to keep their body calm

Inclusion isn’t giving a child ear defenders to cope. Inclusion is designing a low-noise environment that suits everyone.

It might be a crazy dream, but if only schools were more like this, then perhaps all our children would be given the chance to thrive.

What Is an Amygdala Hijack and How Can You Help?

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‘You’re HURTING ME!’ they cry. ‘Stop SHOUTING!!!!’ they yell.

What’s happening at these moments, when your child is beside themselves and they seem hypersensitive to every small thing you try to keep them safe and calm? When a whisper appears ear-splittingly loud and a featherlike touch is like being branded with a hot poker?

The Thinking Brain

When a child perceives a threat, their thinking brain, the curly grey matter or cortex (we’ll call him Cory) processes the information and decides how best to respond. Cory might override the emotional amygdala (Amy) and tell her to calm down, because it was ‘just’ a car door banging. And miraculously, Cory stays in charge and Amy has a little huff, but sashays out of the way.

But there are times when Amy decides that this is serious, so she punches Cory and seizes control. What happens next can seem wildly disproportionate, extreme, intense. Your child is in fight, flight, freeze or fawn mode, an automatic response to danger that’s run by the amygdala (Amy). For some children, Amy is more sensitive than others, constantly alert for danger and likely to respond with greater intensity than other (neuro-typical or non-traumatised) children.

When Cory is in charge, a person is regulated. When it’s Amy, then they’re dysregulated (also known as hyperarousal).

Regulation

Regulation is our default mode. It is when we can think, process, listen, learn, respond, react. We can draw upon knowledge and experience to size up situations and respond. As parents, we need to remain regulated to handle our child’s amygdala hijack. Things are likely to go downhill quickly if we panic or get overly stressed by it, because two dysregulated people adds up to utter carnage.

When we (or our child) are regulated, we’ll be relaxed, our movements will be fluid, our pupils will respond appropriately to light levels, our breathing will be calm, our limbs will flow, our skin will have good blood supply. We will adjust our volume, tone, pace to suit the conversation. We might be sad, excited, anxious, frustrated; and yet we remain regulated.

Dysregulation In An Instant

But something happens (we might trip and fall), or emotions build slowly until they hit overload and we push out of our window of tolerance and into dysregulation. Amy is the fear and panic centre of the brain and has a limited range of responses (fight/ flight etc). Our children act like rabbits in the headlights, goading, or running at full pelt. My daughter flees; my son freezes with a side of fighting.

When Amy is in charge, then our bodies will be tense, angular, our pupils might dilate so we can see better. Our breathing will likely be fast, short, panting; our heart will be racing in our chests. Our faces may pale as blood diverts to our muscles. We might get sweaty palms or goosebumps on our arms. We might shout, yell, push people away, run away.

Many children struggle to identify the early warning signals that are clues to an imminent amygdala hijack – my own children have sensory processing issues such that feeling hot or clammy or noticing a racing heart is beyond them. Which makes life tricky as we can’t take evasive action to disarm the hijacker (Amy).

An amygdala hijack is when Amy is in control of their brains and we have to deal with her, because Cory is offline.

How To Make Things Worse…

We can’t reason with Amy. She’s not listening. As parents, by trial and bruises, we discovered all the things NOT to do:.

Touching the person – a hug, squeeze, even a light touch, makes our daughter explode. She’s not all that keen when not aroused. Remember in fight or flight mode, all our senses are heightened. For children who are sensitive to touch, then any physical contact at this point is like punching them. I cannot tell you how many times our children yelled ‘you hurt me‘ when we tried to hold them during a hijack thinking we were doing the right thing to keep them safe.
Raised voices. I get it. The whole situation is super stressful. You might be freaking out (and even dysregulated). But, as above, children who are already sensitive to noise hear even a raised firm voice as unbearable. My children would yell ‘stop shouting at me‘ even when we didn’t think we were and sometimes burst into tears at the unbearable pain that a loud voice inflicted on their super sensitive hearing.
Being too close. My children’s bodies ripple with tension that I dearly want to soothe away. But they want to be left well alone. Stay safe and out of kicking or hitting distance if that is what your child needs.
Soothing, calming noises. Sounds like the right idea, but if I’ve learnt one thing, asking a dysregulated child to ‘calm down’ is like pouring petrol on a fire in the hope of putting it out. It’s only going to make things worse.

How To Make Things Better…

It’s detective time. What works for one child may not work for another, and what went brilliantly one day, might exacerbate things today. For my children, the generally successful (but not guaranteed) approach is:

Breathe. This is about keeping yourself calm. You might put your hand on your stomach and deliberately breathe deeply so that your child might notice your hand rising and falling. But often Amy doesn’t give two hoots about breathing, because she’s not all that keen on relinquishing control.
Stay close but do not touch. Depending on the situation, we might be sat outside their bedroom, across the room, or at the other end of a bench. We stay close (to keep them safe) but well out of arms (and kicks) reach, leaving clear air between our bodies. As they calm down, we might gently stroke a hand (but only by moving our hand slowly towards and backing off if they flinch away). You’ll get to know when they might be able to be hugged.
Stay silent. Nothing we say is going to make this situation better. Because talking is processed by Cory, and he’s not here. Amy speaks fear and panic only, so the less you say (preferably nothing at all) the better.
Hugging Toys. Whilst touching other humans can be triggering, some children can find hugging something cuddly tight to their body (a pillow, coat or toy) soothing. I’ve been known to stroke my daughter’s face with the ear of her favourite cuddly bunny and that’s met with more success than touching her directly.
Wait. Time is the most powerful tool you have. I’ve read that it takes six seconds for the adrenaline rush to calm down. That’s your golden window for quiet space. Whilst an amygdala hijack is often instantaneous, the reverse process can take minutes, hours, sometimes days (depending on the trigger, the child, their brain, neurodiversity and more).

Then What?

As the child starts to calm, then having specific extra-calming activities to hand can help to reset their bodies and help them recover from the stress hormones that have flooded their system.

chewing (gum or sweets)
sucking (particularly thick liquids like smoothies or milkshakes through thin straws)
eating (to reset their blood sugar levels which can be disturbed by the fight/ flight response)
listening to music, movement, and
distraction can all help.

My son (who freezes) would respond really well to Lego as a distraction. I’d rattle the box, chatting merrily to myself about whatever it was I was building. He couldn’t get himself out of a funk, but his natural curiosity and love of Lego would gradually overcome his mood and he would slowly come out from under his duvet, peek at what I was doing and eventually join in, building with me.

Safety Is Your Priority

As Sarah Fisher says in her book “Connective Parenting” the two most essential steps are keeping people safe, and staying regulated. Everything else can wait.

Sometimes you sit outside a room whilst your child throws stuff around (and you pray they don’t up-end the box containing a thousand pieces of Lego). Amy is unpredictable and wild. So you keep your distance and keep yourself safe. And you wait for them to calm. Because they will, eventually. Amy is no marathon runner. She’s a sprinter. Thank goodness.

Yes, I know how hard it is to handle these situations when Amy hijacks them in a busy public place (when a stranger touches her hair, darn them). But knowing what to do, and how best to react, gives everyone the best possible chance of calming down and recovering the situation. We try to make sure we (or the children) always carry fidgets, worry stones and chewing gum for emergencies.

What are your best strategies for helping a child who is dysregulated/ hyper-aroused or experiencing an amygdala hijack? Let me know in the comments

Six Reasons School Is Hard for SEND pupils

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School is hard. Our two children coped okay in Infants (bit fidgety), started to struggle in Juniors (bit distracted and can’t sit still) but by high school, things became far, far harder. To a point that school became a step too far for our daughter as she hit autistic burnout.

But why? Here are six reasons that SEND pupils find schools to be exhausting, overwhelming and an huge strain on their mental and physical well-being.

1. Communication

Teachers are busy and have a lot of information to convey. They might give a series of instructions in a single breath. But what if you can’t hold that much in your brain at once? Our daughter has a very low working memory, so can cope with one or two things at once (on a good day). Anything more and she simply won’t remember the rest. Too many and she won’t even remember the first thing you said as her brain is overloaded and freaking out. How many teachers have time to give out one instruction at a time and wait for the pupil to process and then complete it? Yet that’s what she would need.

And it’s not just complexity of teacher’s instructions that derails them; communication in the teenage years gets a whole lot more involved. They have to navigate nuance (subtlety), metaphors, ambiguity, idioms, sarcasm and jokes. Obviously this applies to chats with friends too, as teenage relationships become more complex and blunt honesty is less welcomed. Which brings us onto…

2. Relationships

The teenage years are about identity, belonging, fitting in. My daughter tried to be invisible, to avoid negative attention. But it doesn’t matter how much an SEND pupil masks or tries to be like everyone else, students know. They pick up on the differences. Neurodiverse young people say the wrong things, hold themselves differently, copy others as they try to understand the world, laugh at the wrong bits, say too much or too little, have too much or too little eye contact.

My daughter is attending a course for neuro-diverse teens and whilst they are all different (a few cope in school, some self-teach at home, some struggle to say anything at all), the one thing that is universal is that none of them have any close friends. And that sucks.

3. Stress

Many neurodiverse people find comfort in routine, whereas school is unpredictable. A teacher might be absent (and the temporary replacement rarely understands pupils’ needs), the seating plan might change, a test is set unexpectedly, children are asked to pick teams in PE (which is divisive and should NEVER happen), pupils are asked a question, put on the spot or asked to stand and read aloud. All of these things create huge anxiety and stress.

My daughter becomes mute when stressed (selective mutism), yet a senior teacher put her on the spot and then waited patiently for a response. Whilst she became less and less able to respond as her anxiety rose and rose and rose. (This was before her formal diagnosis but when her support plan noted potential neurodiversity.)

4. Concentration

Focusing for almost an hour at a time, in a stressful unpredictable environment is a huge task for neurodiverse children. They have an ability to focus that is almost unparalleled (hyperfocus), but only on the things that hook into their brain and capture their attention. So with topics that don’t grab them, they struggle to focus their energy and enthusiasm. They might lose their place (then have to ask another pupil what was said, incurring the negative attention of a teacher for talking), miss steps out, or just lose interest because they’ve no energy left.

Their desire to escape, to look outside, to cope with overwhelm by stimming or day-dreaming, often takes their brain in directions that aren’t conducive with study. But these are valid coping mechanisms and no amount of shouting or cheerleading is going to change things.

5. Safety

Safety is paramount for all of us. Our children need a solid foundation beneath them, to feel that the world is okay, that it is free from threats, that they are safe and can relax. Despite policies that promise safety, schools are rarely the safe haven that SEND pupils need. It doesn’t matter what your paperwork says, if a student is harassed, barged and picked on before they’ve even sat down for the first lesson.

My daughter doesn’t trust adults (due to trauma as a baby). She takes months to get to know a grown-up well enough to trust them. In a high school with five lessons a day, five days a week, on a two-week timetable, her interactions are too infrequent and too many for her to build that solid relationship.

Then there’s bullying. The name calling. The pupils who touch her or her hair deliberately to provoke an extreme reaction. Who say horrible things about her being adopted or her birth parents. How can a pupil feel safe if they experience things like that on a daily basis?

6. Sensory

Finally, there is the sensory experience of school. Imagine having the volume turned to overdrive on every one of your senses…

Smells – from science labs to the food hall, from the smell of deodorants in the toilets or after PE, or being maliciously sprayed with it. The smells can make our children feel physically sick.
Sounds – school is a busy place with thousands of pupils. There is a constant onslaught of noise from chatting, chairs scraping, desks moving, books banging, alarms going and more. Then there are teachers raising their voices to be heard above the melee.
Touch – for a child who hates to be touched, the jostling as pupils stream from one classroom to the next in a busy corridor, the queues for food at break and lunchtimes, the poking and prodding, the chair kicking, those who deliberately touch her hair for a reaction. Never mind the scratchy uniform and shoes…

Everything Is Wrong

When my daughter or son were struggling with school, when it all became too much, when they sobbed or shook in their beds unable to move or attend, I’d ask them gently what’s wrong? I wanted an easy answer. Something I could solve.

Invariably their answer was EVERYTHING, which I thought less than helpful.

It took me time to fully understand them, their bodies and brains, and get to grips with their individual needs. To unpick their experiences in school. To wake up to the truth in their answer.

For them, nearly everything is wrong about school.

And however much school make minor adjustments – like ear defenders or letting them leave class early to avoid some of the crush – most schools are inherently overwhelming, overstimulating, overtaxing. They’re an experience that is just far far too much for some of our children.

Our children were born a certain way and they can’t rearrange their bodies and brains to fit a system that causes damage (to their self-esteem) and threatens their well-being (through constant crippling anxiety). It’s time for things to change. For government and local authority to truly understand the special educational needs and disabilities and design (and crucially fund) a system that fully supports their needs.

End of Term Problems

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‘Time to turn off the television/ tablet‘ you say in your best sing-song voice.

‘Yes Mummy/ Daddy‘ your child replies gleefully as they turn it off and skip to you for a hug.

For many of us the above is a fictional account of what happens, because…

Change is a shock.

There are little changes like shutting down a tablet and big ones like the end of a school year – which is a layer upon layer of tricky stuff to cope with.

Problem 1: They Are Bone Tired

By the end of the school year, my kids are tired. Exhausted. Ready for a break.
Because they are running on empty, they are more prone to coughs, colds, tonsillitis and more.
Whilst they need a break, the holidays are a freestyle period of spontaneity. However much we discuss our plans, they struggle to grasp that amount of information in advance, so feel insecure about what is coming next.
Long light days make sleeping harder (even with blackout blinds and curtains).

That in itself is quite a lot to cope with. But there’s more.

Problem 2: Transitionitis

Of course, the end of one school year is much more than just the end of term. Because next year, after the summer holiday:

Their teacher and teaching assistant will change
Their classroom and peg and drawer will change
Who they sit next to and the classroom dynamics will change
What and how they learn will change

EVERYTHING will change

Problem 3: Routine Is Thrown Out Of The Window

Dear Teachers

Please note – for every “exciting” thing you put into your end of term timetable, some pupils find them very, very, very stressful. Your exciting event is my children’s panic, stress, nightmares, inability to sleep, relax, enjoy or learn.

An Exhausted Mum

The end of term brings a veritable cornucopia of anxiety-inducing events. From sports’ day, to discos, non-uniform days, outdoor events, residentials or trips, plus award ceremonies, end-of-term assemblies and prize-givings. And don’t get me started on last year’s surprise talent competition…

If you’ve rocked a sobbing child who’s too stressed to sleep for days before each of these “fun” events, you too might roll your eyes when school announces yet another end-of-term surprise. Colour me unconvinced that these special events are great for all children.

Solutions: What Our Children Need

When the future seems wobbly, children need routine

What schools can do:

Stick to the routine as much as possible, for as long as you can
Provide lots of warning and a clear timetable for these non-routine events to parents in advance (no surprises, please!)
Pick one day of the week as your Event Day and then keep the rest of the timetable intact
Consider how your exciting events impact on those children who crave certainty and predictability in order to feel safe and stay calm (and essentially able to learn)
Schedule events throughout the year, rather than cramming them all at the end of term
Focus on laughter and fun during transition events to help kids relax
Create a comprehensive and gradual transition plan – starting the week after spring half-term and building gradually

When faced with change, with uncertainty ahead, with transition, many children need routine and predictability to help them feel calm, not spontaneity and excitement.

Ask yourself as a school what you can do to reduce not increase anxiety.

Regulation and Dysregulation

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A few years ago I neither knew the word dysregulation nor did I use it frequently when answering my husband’s ‘how was today?’ question.

Yet as I began to learn about adoption, trauma and what drives behaviour, these words crept into my vocabularly, helping me to express my experiences as a mum.

But it turns out that I was not entirely correct in the words I was using to express the behaviours of my children. I believed that regulation and dysregulation were an either/or situation:

My child is/ I am regulated – calm, happy in control
My child is/ I am dysregulated – out of control, angry, fearful, responding with fight or flight, shouting

Yet as I read in Helen Oakwater’s book “Want to Adopt?”, I learnt that there is more to learn about trauma and emotions than a simple on/off, regulated/dysregulated emotional state.

What Is Regulation?

Regulation (when people are operating within their own unique ‘Window of Tolerance’) is a state where a person is sufficiently in control of their emotions that they can make conscious decisions.

Whilst frequently associated with calmness, we can be excited and regulated, shouting and regulated, running and regulated, sad and regulated.

Dysregulation is a state of emotional agitation, which may be uncomfortable, but the person is still in control, as in they act and respond from their thinking brain.

Hyperarousal

Hyperarousal is a state beyond dysregulation, when the thinking brain is shut down and people respond with from their autonomic nervous system (or ANS) with typically a fight or flight reaction.

There is a similar hypoarousal state, where a child is physical numb and shut down, which some parents might experience (but not me).

This helpful diagram lays out the relationships between regulation, dysregulation and hyper/hypo arousal that you might like to print out for reference.

Hyperarousal (that I have erroneously called dysregulation in this blog) is where our automatic reactions of flight, fight, freeze and flop come into play. In this state, we are unable to think and able only to react in a very basic survival-based way.

When children are in hyperarousal, we use Bruce Perry’s approach, focussing first on regulation. Because until the children (or adult) is calm and regulated, their thinking brain is turned off. So there is zero point to reasoning with them, as they are simply unable to listen or process what you are saying. It’s like trying to light a fire by putting a match to a log, the sequence is all wrong. (See Regulate/ Relate and Reason.)

Whilst I have been using dysregulated in my blog and tweets, what my children were experiencing was actually hyperarousal. Thank you Helen for adding much needed depth and nuance to my understanding.

I hope this blog and description will help you understand some of what goes on in the emotional state of yourself (when you leave your window of tolerance) and the stages to look out for.

You might also find this article on windows of tolerance helpful: https://www.attachment-and-trauma-treatment-centre-for-healing.com/blogs/understanding-and-working-with-the-window-of-tolerance

The Trauma Mask

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“She seems happy” says Hazel* (from school), as she sits on a table with our social worker Mo*. We three are discussing how best school can support Bubbles to feel safe and secure.

I sigh deeply and remain silent, shaking my head a little.

Bubbles, like many traumatised children, lives her life behind a mask. A mask of control, of pretence, of keeping her feelings and emotions hidden. The mask only slips when she feels safe – when she feels secure enough to express the inner conflict of her world.

“Is Bubbles happy at school?” Hazel asks, her tone a mix of bewilderment and concern.

What should I say? There isn’t an easy answer.

A High Functioning Traumatised Child

Bubbles achieves in school. She is meeting expectations in all areas, exceeding them in reading. She tries really hard to do what she is told and what is expected of her. She tries (so hard) to please and be recognised and rewarded in school.

To all intents and purposes she might seem like a model pupil. She is what I call a highly functioning traumatised child. Yet a deep dark secret lies beneath the surface.

But in holding in together, the truth leaks out as clues

The way she can tip into anger or frustration with a single misplaced word
Her reaction to friendship issues, to rejection taking it beyond personal into a slight on her very soul
How any stress or frustration shown by an adult will stress her out ten fold (by taking perceived safety from her)
Her chewing (raw, powerful grinding)

At a recent assembly I watched her chewing (as my heart went out to my amazing girl). It wasn’t just a curl of hair that strayed near her mouth; Bubbles was stuffing great handfuls of hair into her mouth and gnawing it with gusto. When it wasn’t her hair, it was the shawl I had crocheted for her. Yet minutes later, when I gently asked her if she was anxious, she denied it and seemed surprised that the shawl was wet.

The touching sight of her anxiety led me to action: whilst school had been hesitant when I had previous suggested one, that day I bought her a chewigem pendant to bite in school and at home (Bubbles was delighted). Her chewing isn’t the issue; anxiety is the issue. Bubbles isn’t present during her anxiety. She is stuck in flight or fight mode (when her amygdala – what we call Amy – is in charge). Sometimes she simply doesn’t even remember being anxious or angry, as if her brain has blanked it out.

And because she doesn’t know she is anxious, she won’t tell you she is either.

Her Mask is Safety

Bubbles problem is simple: she doesn’t feel safe. Her early years were sufficiently chaotic and disorganised that she learnt that the only way to be safe was to be in control.

To take charge of every situation
To do what she is told to avoid anger or violence or harsh words
To deny her own emotions for they were too painful

She Yearns For Love

To her teachers and the staff, she seems a happy, cheerful model pupil. Like a swan. All elegant gliding on the surface, but beneath the water, her insides are churning like crazy.

Her need for love, for praise, for acknowledgement, for recognition competes with her anxiety. Bubbles sits and practices her times tables, her handwriting, her reading because she wants someone to notice her and smile.

A little eye contact and a smile mean the world to her.

Yet shame is just beneath the surface. A harsh word and her world crumbles. She tries so hard, exhausting herself every day holding everything tight, holding her world together, taking control of every tiny aspect of her life, losing the carefree years of her childhood.

The Mask Falls Away

At home Bubbles feels safe.

She can express her raw, intense emotions without being shouted at, without incurring the attention of the class, without being shamed. The mask falls away and I see just how much keeping it all together during the day costs my little girl.

I am humbled that she trusts me enough to express her rage, her anger, her intensity – and writing this the guilt rises up at the times when I didn’t react with empathy. On a day when multiple things have gone wrong, her rage can last two hours.

Homework is hard. Not because she is lazy or doesn’t care. Sometimes she cares too much.

Sometimes (after a good day) she has energy and enthusiasm to spare and aces her homework, which builds her fragile self-esteem
After a hard day, when her anxiety left her running on vapours, then it triggers rage because it feels too hard (and rocks her self esteem)
If her anxiety is still sky high, then it triggers shame because she can’t remember her spellings or times tables.

Her battle is real, every school day. Yet somehow through all of this, she still manages to absorb information, to learn, to have moments of fun and friendship.

But when you ask me if Bubbles enjoys school, I don’t really know what to tell you.

* not their real names.

This blog is an excerpt from Emma’s forthcoming sequel to her book “And Then There Were Four” that charts the struggle to learn to parent her adoptive children therapeutically, to get support from school and the adoption agency and to educate herself and others in the needs of her adopted children. It will be published in 2025 and entitled “And Trauma Made Five.”

The Crochet Conundrum: Sanity versus Presence

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If you follow me on social media, you will have seen a lot of photos of crochet lately. Have I lost the plot? Am I creating crochet orphans of my children, as my attention is drawn to the magical combination of hook and wool?

What’s with all the crochet?

Crochet Keeps Me Sane

I revived my crochet in the hope of skipping over the snacking-hour that has me dipping into highly calorific nonsense the minute Andy takes the kids to bed. And it is hard to crochet and each cheezy dibbles at the same time (unless you are using orange wool).

But in it, I found much more than just a distraction from biscuits.

It is utterly absorbing – my mind gets a rest from all the thoughts and problems such as my mum’s health problems
It is relaxing – it is a flow experience that takes over for minutes or hours at a time
I create something unique – an original combination of wool, hook and pattern that is practical (in winter at least)
It is fast – as someone who is undeniably impatient, I love making something in just a few hours (unlike books which takes years to mature)
I am learning new skills. Today I learnt how to start a double-crochet chain and it felt amazing to nail it (even if it’s not going to make my CV)
It gives me something productive to do in those few moments where I would be twiddling my thumbs or checking my phone for the umpteenth time

The Hours We Wait

As a parent, the hours of waiting (when I’m purely there in my capacity as a Bouncer) seriously add up

At the school gate – as they race off and play with their friends until the door opens
At the swimming pool – we are there way too early (soo excited to go swimming, even ten minutes of shivering as we wait cannot dull her giddiness), and it takes ages to pull skin-tight leggings over damp post-swim legs
At mealtimes – waiting for them to finally finish the plate or declare that they can’t eat another bite (unless there is pudding)
At the playgym or park – when I am there to ward off Stranger Danger, to rescue them (less often nowadays) or ferry them to the toilet

Parenting can often feel like a hundred waits a day – all strung together. Nibbles and Bubbles are at an age now when they don’t want me to play tag with them in the school playground (Mum! No! How embarrassing!), but I have to be there.

Now I get to add a few more rows to a hat or scarf, whilst looking up like a less-nervous meerkat occasionally to revel in their play, in their games, in their swinging or balancing as the sun catches my face.

Sanity Versus Presence

Recently I commented to Sarah Fisher (author of Connective Parenting) that I was concerned that my Parental Presence was suffering as a result of my current crochet fad. Parental Presence is the true gift of your unwavering, undivided, unhurried attention that lets them know that you care, that they matter etc.

Her reply (which inspired this blog) was “Ah the balance of sanity vs presence”

How can I be sure that my crochet (or tweeting, or next hobby) is positive for the whole family, rather than just positive for me?

Do I still pay attention to my children? Am I emotionally available to them when they need to be heard, listened to, to talk, to share, to ask for help (or do I tell them to go away as I. Am. Busy?)
Do I ensure that I give my children my undivided (hooks down, wool out of sight) attention at both the start and the finish of each day?
Do I wait for my children to decide that they do not want my attention/ energy before I pick up my hooks/ phone etc?
Do I spend more time (when the kids are around) with them or with my hooks?

I haven’t always got it right (I told Andy that I was busy just last night, counting stitches as it happened). And that last one had me responding with an Oh (followed by ouch) which tells me that recently the balance has been in favour of crochet rather than them.

Yet the truth is, that whether I am ready for them to grow up or not, Nibbles and Bubbles need (and want) me less and less these days.

They are more independent, more self assured, keener to do things on their own. Bubbles loves to spend time at her (new) desk in her bedroom, reading, writing and more. Nibbles loves to play, but often on his own rather than with me. And in that gap, in that new space in our family, I have rediscovered a love of crochet. I just have to make sure that it doesn’t nudge the other fledglings out of the nest, like an oversized cuckoo.

So I am setting out my stall in front of you, my audience, as you are my witness:

What I Wish I’d Known

1. The Amygdala (Amy) and Her Tendency To Hijack My Child’s Brain

2. There Is So Much More Going On

3. Becoming Poirot or Miss Marple

4. Not All Children

You don’t need to listen to them.

5. Love Is / Is Not Enough

Why I wrote And Trauma Made Five

New Eyes

On Fire with Enthusiasm

Guess what?

THE RULE

Sensory Overload

The Need to Move

Shake, Shake, Shake

Exploding Coke

What Can Schools Do?

The Thinking Brain

Regulation

Dysregulation In An Instant

How To Make Things Worse…

How To Make Things Better…

Then What?

Safety Is Your Priority

1. Communication

2. Relationships

3. Stress

4. Concentration

5. Safety

6. Sensory

Everything Is Wrong

I choose both – my kids and crochet, parental presence and sanity.