Serenity Now

A Raising Autism Blog

Do you remember the Seinfeld episodes when Frank Constanza tried soothing himself by using the mantra “Serenity Now”? I’ve been using a mantra too. As with Frank, it’s not working.

My mantra is more specific: “Don’t Lose It.” I’ve been repeating this through weeks of conflict with my autistic daughters.

Truth be told: I haven’t “lost” it. I interpret this to mean that I haven’t run away in my car or locked myself in my room— both of which I’ve done before— nor have I engaged in negative coping such as a bottle of wine. No, I have taken deep breaths, rubbed my forehead and at times, when no one is around, wept. Do I feel sane? Not really. I am achieving the amazing feat of walking on coals. My feet haven’t burned because I keep moving, fast. If I were to stop to ponder, however, my feet would sink into the embers and singe.

I suspect that many parents of autistic children and young adults practice this fast- paced keep-it-moving coping mechanism. Sometimes, it’s the only tool in our toolbox. We’ve used up all others.

I am a parent of autistic young adults, and I still wonder how other parents do it. How do they navigate the daily conflict? The emotional avalanche? The stubborn persistence of negativity? The wall? The wall, for those who may not have experienced it, is the invisible, unspoken standards for behavior and response that have never been shared. For example, my daughter wants help but my suggested supports and solutions do not meet the script. I say the wrong things, I fail to listen purely as a receptacle and listen as a parent instead. Whatever I say will be off script, but no one has told me my lines.

This wall is my biggest challenge. Like most parents, I want my children to live their best lives. I try to create a field to enable growth— till, fertilize, sow. Inevitably, however, my idea of opportunity and growth doesn’t fit with the uncommunicated need. I planted corn when I should have planted pigeon peas. Who knew pigeon peas would solve the problem?

My husband and other relatives say to me, “ I don’t know how you do it.” My secret: I keep running over the hot coals as fast as I can, a trick of speed rather than capability, of mindset rather than thought. I hover in my brain, rather than form words to create suggestions. If I balance just so, I may be able to exit an interaction okay.

I may seem to imply that I’m good at handling my autistic young adults. Ha! Not so fast. I fail more than I succeed. An, “Oh honey,” slips out or an, “I love you.” I really bomb when I say, “Don’t be so hard on yourself” or, worse, “Think positively.” I’ve ad libbed rather than read my lines. I should have stopped myself and called, “Line!” From off stage, a voice could tell me what to say. I imagine.

I want to say so many things to my daughters. “You have time.” “We all struggle at times.” “Life is hard, but you can always find a solution.” “Listen to your inner voice.” “Believe in yourself.” “Make a plan.” “Plan you work; work your plan” “Baby steps.” “Two steps forward, one step back is still progress.” Oh Lordy, Lordy, these don’t work.

It’s easy to forget that autistic anger isn’t the same as non-autistic anger. Autistic anger occurs because of overload. This can be from sensory overload, anxiety, confusion, masking burnout, communication difficulties or emotional or physical pain. This anger isn’t intentional or targeted. It’s not directed at. Rather it’s a response to a diffuse set of inner causes. The outcome is a “meltdown,” which looks like aggression, but isn’t. I struggle with this distinction, no matter how many times I remind myself.”

Perhaps this is why my mantra actually does work. I’m training myself not to react personally, as if the anger isn’t actually directed at me. My daughter’s brain is flooded at these times, and this flood has hijacked her self control. It’s not really her I’m seeing. It’s a manifestation of her struggles in a neurotypical world. She is always exhausted, embarrassed and confused after these times. Even worse, shame consumes her. Shame, as Brene Brown reminds us, is a disabling emotion.

I try to help my daughters identify these meltdowns before they happen. I point out the triggers. I note when I see the signaling behaviors. I encourage decompression and self care. A bath, for example, works well for her. But, she has to be in a place to hear it. If she’s already surpassed her trigger baseline, we are on the overwhelm coaster. We will have to take this ride, even if it scares and nauseates us.

Frank Constanza screamed his mantra. I picture mine as a ticker tape in my head. “Don’t lose it… Don’t lose it… Don’t lose it… Don’t lose it…” It’s the best I can do. This, and running over hot coals.

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