Henry is uncomfortable. He has always been uncomfortable. Clothing itches. Slightly too long hair distracts him. His sock seam is not straight. It must be corrected. I know it sounds like no big deal. It is thThe quality of the winter light gives him a persistent headache that is the background his whole childhoodough.
He hears too much. Phones are too loud. Firetrucks, fire alarms, ambulances and occasionally even the chime of our downtown crosswalk – all of them are too loud. Lightbulbs are sometimes too loud. The buzz in his ear. Bugs are too loud. He can hear them too. He can hear the breeze, the traffic and the dogs 3 block away. The planet is too loud for someone who cannot screen out background noise.
While trying not to hear all of this, he is seeing too much. The quality of the winter light gives him a persistent headache that is the background his whole childhood. People in motion, classrooms crowded with signs, posters, artwork. In an effort to make sense of it all, he will hyper focus on one thing – if it is a computer screen, or TV screen that will trump all other visual stimulations. If not he will focus on reading that sign in the hallway, an effort to block out the moving kids, the traffic outside, the patterns on the floor and the buzzing fluorescent lights.
I don’t know how he gets through lunch in a cafeteria swarmed by first graders. He smells and tastes too much too, though this seems to cause less discomfort than seeing and hearing too much.
At nearly 7 he knows he is uncomfortable. He knows he is not as comfortable as some people. He does not understand that neurological dysfunction in vestibular sense prevents him from feeling grounded and connected to the earth. Sometimes I feel mildly disoriented if I miss the last step on the stairs, or if my chair isn’t exactly where I thought it was . I land a bit sooner or later than I planned. Gravity misbehaved. Henry lives like this. He is perpetually seeking that grounded connected feeling. I remember running down a steep driveway with my friends when I was his age. Our mouths open making the same ahhhh sound we would for the doctor listening to our own impact with the pavement changed our voices. The impact of my feet on the pavement shooting up my legs into my core. Henry seeks that daily. His body crying out to say it: Pound, pound, pound, I am here, I am connected. I am earthbound. Most kids with SPD have anxiety. Henry spent 3 years afraid the wind could make him blow away.
Henry is uncomfortable. He doesn’t know he muscle tone is lower than average. He is working on his pronunciation of proprioception. So am I. He knows but cannot explain that his body needs extra input to know how much strength to use for its tasks. Sometimes he uses too much, sometimes he uses too little. He struggles to locate his body parts in relation to others. We go to Karate and yoga to help with this. He works harder than anyone to get his body in the right position. Voice modulation is also controlled by proprioception. Henry is perpetually too loud. He speaks loudly both to hear himself over the background noise and because he has no idea how much effort to put into speaking in a normal tone.
When he was younger he hated drawing. He could not grasp a crayon an He had no idea how much force to use. It would slip over and over again. Once he figure this out, he still hated it. He had to figure out how to get the crayon to make contact with the paper in the right spot. He also had to figure out how to hold the paper still with his opposite hand. Then he could draw. It took him 18 months to enjoy this simple childhood activity of coloring. He never gave up. Henry writes three sentences every morning in first grade.
My name is Henry.
Today is a cloudy day.
I am __________________.
He has filled that blank in with many typical words. I am happy. I am excited. I am tired. I am hungry. Last week he wrote,
I am a hard worker.
No joke.
He sees his strength. That’s good. Sweet Henry. He is an amazing boy.
I don’t know what to write. I think he’s awesome.
Thank you. He is quite astounding. Thank for visiting, reading and commenting.
Kudos to you for realizing that there was an identifiable issue and that you could help him work on centering himself in various ways rather than just thinking, “I have a loud kid who can’t hold a crayon.” I think people look at children who have something like SPD, or even Aspergers or something and if they are not around them a lot, seem to put the kids in the category of “children whose parents don’t know how to control/discipline/teach them” or something. It helps me to read about children who are different from mine. I hope it makes me more sensitive.
You are quite right. I am aware when people think I just don’t have it together to parent this kid. In many ways I am so blessed that he was my second. I knew I could parent well because Isaac was 5 years older. We had found ways to teach and discipline him that worked really well. It was such a stark contrast. Henry is so social, I knew he wanted to please us, but just plain couldn’t.
Thanks for visiting us here!
this is an extraordinary post about an extraordinary boy.
this should be a primer for parents just learning about SPD.
you are such a fantastic, intuitive mom, karen.
xo
When I was growing up SPD wasn’t something that was diagnosed. Even my mother who has a degree in early childhood education was unaware of it until she read a book about it when I was in college. She called me up and asked me a series of “diagnostic” questions and realized that my frustrations with grown up and sensation probably were real issues. I am glad that it is recognized and that there is support for both parents and children.