Meltdowns aren’t as easy as pi

I may not always understand the way you feel and I may not always get things right and just as you like but I will never stop trying.

Yesterday was a tough old day. I’m beginning to realise that being a Mum to a son with Autism means that the moment I think I’ve got it all sussed and dare to feel like everything is ticking over nicely tends to be precise point where it all starts going tits up!

Home educating Caleb means that sometimes the lines between Mum and teacher become blurred. When things go wrong he doesn’t see that I’m there to teach him he sees his Mum and expects me to step in and make it all better and I feel torn. The side of me that’s teaching him knows that he’s more than capable; despite what he thinks, he has got this and just needs to focus. The Mum in me however recognises the face that says one wrong move and he’s going to lose the plot. Yesterday as I gently tried to reexplain and walk him through his maths (without doing it for him) he blew.

We have come a long way, meltdowns are no longer a daily experience we can go months without one but once one happens the tremors are felt by all for a while. Whilst I imagine a meltdown gives a release of all the pent up emotions and frustrations Caleb has been carrying it also leaves my gentle boy feeling distraught at having lost control and scaring himself and us. No one is ever more devastated than him in the aftermath. I understand they are part of his condition and to be expected but I still struggle to not feel like I’ve messed up and not to take it personally when one takes me by surprise.

When he was at school I wasn’t the focus of his anger, I was on the receiving end but I wasn’t the cause. It was easy to stand back and see that his agreed schedule had been changed, a change in teacher had panicked him or he would scream that it was too noisy, busy, too much movement, unkindness from his peers, impossible to focus. But when it goes wrong at home it means that I’ve not got it quite right, that I’ve not adequately prepared him, that I’ve taken my eye off the ball and not spotted the subtle signs that he’s overwhelmed. That I have let him down.

In the heat of the moment it definitely feels personal. He’s angry, he’s screaming, throwing his work across the room and I’m scared. Scared that he blames me, scared for what he may do next and scared that he may hurt himself. As his Mum I want to pull him close, wrap him in my arms and make him feel better (no parent wants to see their child hurt) but I know better than to touch him or try and reason; instead quietly tidying the trail of destruction left as he makes his way slamming everything in his way to where he feels safest.

Only when he’s out of sight and safely in his room do I allow myself to cry. I don’t know if the tears are: relief at surviving the worst of it, heartache at knowing something’s gone wrong and I’ve missed it or more palpable than that the ache I push to the back of my mind where I wish his life was more like his brother and sisters. The life I imagined for him when he was nestled in my tummy, the life where he fitted in and enjoyed a carefree childhood like other kids his age, a life where Autism doesn’t silently cloud every experience.

In truth, as someone who takes things to heart and worries constantly I’ve had to retrain my own thought process during moments like this to accept that even with the best intentions in the world I’m never going to get it perfect 365 days a year. Ironically meltdowns leave me with the same knots in my tummy as trying to get my head around maths as a child did. Somedays it just clicks; there is a simple cause and solution and I think I’ve got this. But mostly, I know the answer must be there (a meltdown has occurred) somewhere on the page is the corresponding formula and equations to breakdown to get close to the solution. But just like the nights I would lie awake trying to make myself understand maths, it doesn’t come easy to me, a lot of the time I don’t get it right. I can’t work it out and feel frustrated that Im left with a lot of working out, a lot of time wasted but a blank answer box.

What I lack in maths I make up for in English and whilst I doubt I will ever have a formula and solution to hand that works every time I do have the comprehension and empathy to know that behind each meltdown is a wee boy that is overwhelmed and unable to verbalise his struggles. The reality is it might not even have been the maths, it could have been a build up of tiny fizzes to his world that were always going to erupt and tricky maths problems were just the final jolt. He doesn’t see a teacher, he sees his Mum. He explodes at me because I am his safe space and it’s so explosive and volatile because he doesn’t have to hold it in until he gets home. He is home. I know all of this and it is this that I repeat to myself as I put everything back together again and wait for him to feel ready to come out of hiding. Whilst he may have all the challenges that autism brings, he’s also just a boy growing up, trying to make sense of the world and himself with the same hormones and struggles as other children his age have. He is allowed to have off days and days where he can’t be bothered. He’s human. As am I. I may be an Autism Mum but I’m also just a Mum doing her best and no parent ever gets it right all the time. We are all learning on the job.

After a meltdown Caleb needs time to calm down and space to do so. Coaxing will only work when he’s fully processed it all for himself. All of this meant that he was in no state to be left to work alone in the library whilst I attended Eden and Noah’s share my learning at school yesterday afternoon.

Unfortunately, that meant being a no show; letting them down and thinking of them both sat waiting expectantly broke my heart too. They both love their big brother to bits but they are also of an age where they are frustrated at the allowances we all have to make. They roll their eyes when all he wants to do is recite facts about politics, ww2 or dinosaurs. They can’t understand why he still happily laughs away at Peppa pig and can’t manage to play a board game without throwing a tantrum if he loses. They get embarrassed at their friends noticing their brothers quirks, asking questions and having to try and explain what they still don’t quite understand themselves. They also hate that they have to go to school whilst he gets me to himself. They don’t notice the work he’s doing they just see that he gets more of my time. To counter this I try really hard to make sure I’m focussed on them when they are home and on making sure they have opportunities to do things they would like with me on their own too. However, it doesn’t change that them missing out on having me with them made yesterdays meltdown feel all the worse. Some days being a Mum feels like you aren’t getting it right for anyone and yesterday was definitely one of those days.

This morning, Caleb and I started the day with a walk with the dogs. We purposely went off the paths to avoid the rest of the world. Instead we happily followed the light through the woods putting the shadows of yesterday’s disaster behind us. We’ve come home warmed up with some hot drinks and are ready to give that Maths another go.

Autism doesn’t come with a magic formula or a how to manual that works for all but for you sweetheart; it does come with a Mum who won’t give up on you and won’t let you give up on yourself.