Arms outstretched over her shaking body I held her and cried out, “God why does she have to suffer like this? Why do I have to watch my child endure this torment?” Unable to make eye contact, unable to make out a coherent sentence, there on the floor crying, with fingers clenched tight around her American Flag and comforted by her blankie.
This is everyday life in my home.
Behind the walls and the smily photos you see, this is our everyday life.
Some days we endure 3-5 meltdowns a day. On a good day we have one. Yet that one could last up to an hour and end with vomiting.
This is dark side of life with a sensory processing child.
I’ve found myself depleted and tired these days… the endurance to sit with your babe as she goes through a meltdown is emotionally draining. Some days I wake up filled with discouragement, before the day has begun I am tired thinking what lies ahead.
We spent the morning at the park, laughing, running, climbing. All giggles and joy.
As we wrap the morning up I decide to make a quick trip to the grocery store for dinner this evening.
On the drive I did not heed the warning signs,
“Mom Brookie needs to rest on her bed.”
“Mom, Brookie needs a nap.”
I brush aside my warnings as I just want to complete one errand. I brush it off, thinking it’s only 10 am, she’s fine.
We enter the store and the anxiety amps up within her. Clinging to me, whiney, unable to sit in a cart or walk, I slide her on my hip. Pushing a cart with Ellie, she sits on my hip as I quickly rush to shop and to escape the store without a complete meltdown.
I open the front door set my groceries down and she explodes. She doesn’t want the groceries in the house she screams.
I sit beside her, just silent. My presence as a comfort to her as she won’t let me touch her. I wait, attempting to make sense of the nonsensical words spewing.
I sit in defeat as I realize she warned me… I did not head those words that she was done for the day.
There in the entry way we sit, experiencing the effects of overstimulation.
30 minutes pass and I swoop down and pick her up like a newborn, she snuggles close, still crying yet no more fighting.
I climb up the flight of stairs holding my girl close and get her into her new swing.
There in the doorway of our home she retreats in her cocoon.
The house falls silence. The tears stop and we swing.
Ellie sits quietly in her room knowing a sound could set her sissy off.
Standing in the hallway pushing her swaying body back and forth through the door frames of my bedroom The floodgates open within me. God, am I enough for her? Am I doing this all right? How can I help her better.
I cry out to my Father, “She is your daughter God. She is fearfully and wonderfully made. She is beautiful and a delight. Heal her.”
Oh yes, you shaped Brooklyn first inside, then out;
you formed Brooklyn in her mother’s womb.
I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!
Body and soul, Brooklyn is marvelously made!
I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know Brooklyn inside and out,
you know every bone in Brooklyn’s body;
You know exactly how Brooklyn was made, bit by bit,
howBrooklyn was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched Brooklyn grow from conception to birth;
all the stages of Brooklyn’s life were spread out before you,
The days of Brooklyn life all prepared
before she would even live one day.
– Psalms 139 (names added)
Many people are unaware of SPD and I get asked many questions so here a few Common Questions:What is SPD?
Sensory processing disorder is a condition in which the brain has trouble receiving and responding to information that comes in through the senses.