Finding His Calm

What is the function of the behavior?

I can’t tell you how many times special education teachers, therapists and behavior therapy experts have asked me that regarding why Lil D does the things he does and the way he does them. Friends and family will ask a different version of this question – What’s going on with him? Why does he do [fill in the blank]?

I’m sitting with him in the basement watching him go through his current stages of retreat, which may or may not be accompanied by a full-on meltdown (this time it is): First the loud noises punctuated by hyperventilating. Then his hood goes up over his head and pulled low over his eyes. Next his arms are drawn into his sweatshirt. Sometimes it stops and pauses there, and I know that with some coaxing and cuddling from me (or his grandmother or Baba, depending on who he wants), he will find his calm.

Other times after the arms are drawn in, a pillow (or stuffed animal or blanket, whatever is closest) will be stuffed up his sweatshirt. And if I try and rub his back or his legs, I am often pushed away. Then I know he’s in retreat, retreat, retreat mode.

Back away and leave me alone. This world is too much for me and I must do everything I can to withdraw and create a closed, dark, confined place for myself against all that is jarring, loud, over-bright and whatever else is too, too much for me to handle.

If we are lucky, it stops here – with retreat and distress of crying and writhing. If we are not lucky, it disintegrates into a full-on meltdown. And all I can do then is make sure he is in a safe place where he can cause the least harm to himself or anyone around him. I want to hug him, soothe him, wipe his tears, give him whatever he needs to pull him through. But often all I can do is be that quiet, watchful presence in the corner, waiting for him to come back to me.

What is the function of the behavior?

To me it’s pretty obvious. And though it may look utterly bizarre to anyone else, and it pains me to my core to see him have to do this for himself, I am at least grateful that I know what he means when he physically retreats as far as he can into himself. And always grateful when a little while later, the pillow first comes out. Then the arms are thrust back into his sleeve. Then he pulls the hood off his head and comes back to me.

He has found his calm, but it is a precarious calm. We are entering the second week of winter break, and like clockwork, he is exactly where I knew he would be.

Waiting for school to start, for his routine to be back in place, for this staycation to end.

Ahhh, Lil D. I know. I know, baby. Would that I could fix it all. 

It is the evening, and the rest of the family has gone to my sister-in-law’s home for dinner. Lil D and I are on the sofa, enjoying the stillness of the house. Earlier there was the usual formalities of figuring out who would be hanging back with Lil D, because there are a lot of people at the dinner tonight, and it’s coming awfully close to his bedtime. I insist on staying back, and though my mother-in-law and sister-in-law feel sorry that Lil D and I are not partaking in the family festivities, I am secretly fine with it all.

Because now it’s just you, me and Lil D. And as I write this, he is headbutting my arm, trying to push the computer off my lap so we can play/cuddle together. His throaty laugh gushes forth, and it is evident that he is reveling in this precious quiet time. No hood up on his head, no arms thrust into his sweatshirt, no pillow stuffed up inside.

The calm has found him, in the absence of people, in the time spent one-on-one with a loved one.

What is the function of the behavior?

Love.