"The Infinite 'I Give Up' Bed"

Anyone who has a child with autism, knows what a real meltdown looks like. Sometimes I see other parents struggle with their children's little tiffs and tantrums at the grocery store and I always smile a little when they apologize and get a bit embarrassed. It tugs at my heart strings. Mostly because I'm thinking, "You wouldn't be worried if you knew what I've seen."

Clyde can MELTDOWN. Like full-fledged screaming, writhing around on the ground, kicking, sobbing hysterically, can't-cope-even-though-we're-at-Kinko's meltdown. And the thing about these meltdowns, is that they don't work like Henry's (typical child) meltdowns. I can't reason them away, I can't argue with them, I can't threaten them, I can't bribe them. I can't distract them. I can't even defer them until later - like maybe when Jessica-from-Kinko's isn't staring at me with judge-y horror on her face.

The meltdown is a monster, and chilling that monster out takes some time, patience, and considerable autism-mommy skills. The meltdown monster will not be commanded away. He needs to slink away slowly, and on his own time.

As Clyde ages, we are constantly trying to stay ahead of the meltdown triggers, but that isn't always possible, so this year, we've been trying hard to teach him how to self-soothe when he feels a meltdown coming, or how to calm down if he's in the middle of one.

One of our tricks is help guide him to a quiet place, like his bedroom, until he can get his bearings underneath him. Sometimes that helps, but sometimes, he's more like - "Mommy is going to watch me meltdown. She is going to acknowledge that it is all her fault that the internet has a lag, or that the velcro on my shoe scratched my foot, or that there are hornets on the earth even though one has never stung me." 

Sometimes I get the brunt of a meltdown. Well, if I'm being honest, most of the time I do. And sometimes, even though the last thing that helps a meltdown is another meltdown... I get frustrated. Really frustrated. And tired. I get sick of the meltdown monster. Especially when he's screamed and yelled at me for forty-five minutes - and kicked me in the shin - and tried to run down the street.

Then one day, after a big, difficult meltdown, I crept into to Clyde's dark room - to see if he was ready for a hug, or a popsicle...

...and I saw this...pinned above his bed.

Not just the "I Give Up" Bed. The INFINITE "I Give Up" Bed.

My heart broke.

And I remembered this:

And this:

And this:

But most of all, this:

I was humbled - and I deserved to be humbled. I was frustrated, but he was more frustrated. I was tired, but he was exhausted. I was sick of the meltdown monster, but he couldn't get away from it no matter where he turned.

So today - I took the sign down and replaced it with this one.

Clyde laughed when he saw it and said, "Much better, Mom."

Yes... much better.

I figure we all have a choice. When we're having our own meltdowns, we can sink into the "Infinite 'I Give Up' Bed" and let our stress, anxiety, depression, and despair take over - or, instead, we can maybe stop for awhile, in the quiet, in the dark, to pray, and catch our breath - on the, "Never Never Never Give-Up" Bed.

"There is no trial so large that we can't overcome it together." - Neil. L. Andersen