After yesterday's rant about school, things got worse. Simon's anxiety went off the charts last night, and there were a lot of tears. He went through the new schedule today, with some class changes, and he was in full meltdown by the time he got home. Some of it was the discomfort around change and uncertainty, but the sheer volume of homework overwhelmed him completely. Diana was able to chill him out before dropping him off for math tutoring, and he was better when I picked him up. I was able to get him to copy some definitions to a typed up worksheet, but he was done.
I don't want to make it about me, but hearing this going on while I'm in my office working, is a lot like the feelings you get when your baby is crying at night and you don't know what they need. Even into the teenage years, there is a point where something chemically changes in your brain, and you flip from "learn a lesson" to an intense need to protect. This happened as recently as our DC trip in the spring, when he thought that he lost his earbuds in the Jefferson Memorial (they were in his pocket the whole time). He got so upset that I wanted to comfort him instead of lecture him about responsibility.
His feelings and concerns are legitimate, but it's increasingly hard to separate the discomfort issues from making sure that he gets what his IEP entitles him to. Diana is going to at least bring up the latter and the class schedule stuff with his guidance counselor tomorrow. In a couple of weeks, he has another IEP meeting. Fortunately, Diana is excellent at advocating for him at these. I wish that I could also be there, but in a short work week with stuff happening at work my anxiety will already be high, and I don't know how constructive I can be about making sure he gets the services that he should. (I have baggage here... During the pandemic, one of the people in these meetings, a professional, allegedly, suggested that he just had messy handwriting because he was a boy. I barely held it together, but called her out that, "Testicles have nothing to do with his handwriting." And here we are years later getting him tested for dysgraphia.)
Like Simon, I can get overwhelmed at times too. The smaller, tactical steps to resolve things are difficult to see. My head is already at, "OMG these years are going to suck for him." Getting him the right level of help and way of learning is hard enough, but getting him to the point where he can just be happy in school feels impossible. This was a big talking point in my last therapy session. I can solve all kinds of complex problems in my work, but I can't apply those same skills to my child's wellbeing. To be fair to myself, I'm not an educator, let alone an expert in developmental learning challenges. Knowing that doesn't put me at ease.
Ten days ago, I was like, "This might all be fine." That was awfully naive.
No comments yet.