Shortly after learning that Fletcher likely had a sensory processing disorder, we got him evaluated by an occupational therapist through a clinic recommended by our pediatrician.  It was the worst experience I’ve ever had with therapy.  But also one of my most empowered moments as a parent, my child’s biggest advocate and fiercest ally.  You may be familiar with this part of our journey, but it bears repeating.

The evaluation was difficult.  Rather than work with and around Fletcher and find ways to gather the information she needed as he led the play, she expected our very young four-year-old to sit.  And wait.  And follow instructions.  And wait some more.  He has always been keenly aware and incredibly perceptive.  He asked a lot of questions – most related to the large motor activities he saw around the gym that his body was clearly craving.  

The first official appointment was even worse than the eval.  She expected this very active child with whom she had no rapport or relationship to sit and cut tiny squares of paper as other children around the therapy gym were climbing and swinging and playing large motor games with other therapists.  Mid-way through the appointment, without warning, Fletcher got up from the mat he was sitting on and walked over to join another child’s session with a therapist who had set up an obstacle course.  Fletcher’s OT was flabbergasted and visibly annoyed.  I was beaming with pride.  Fletcher recognized what he needed and went and sought it out for himself.  That’s obviously not where it ended…

Fletcher was asked to come back, sit down and finish the cutting that was really difficult for him and wasn’t at all feeding his sensory input needs.  He became incredibly dysregulated which is how she ended the appointment.  I had to carry a screaming four-year-old down the elevator and out to the car while he hit and swatted, kicked and resisted.  It was the middle of Wisconsin winter but I was sweating by the time I got him buckled into his carseat.  And when I finally climbed into the driver’s seat I couldn’t hold back the tears another second – the dam broke and those giant salty drops of water fell from my eyes for what felt like an eternity.  It was a release of sorts – charged with anger and frustration, confusion and pain.  Fletcher was sobbing, I was a blubbering mess and I couldn’t even begin to think about what would come next.

We never went back to that OT.  I didn’t know much at that point, but I knew better than to return. I leveraged my resources to find another occupational therapy clinic that would better suit our needs.  Not going back was one of the best decisions we made related to Fletcher’s sensory journey.  My only regret is that I didn’t call to share my discontent.  I was too fragile and too overwhelmed to think about expressing my frustration and to be honest, I didn’t realize at the time how terrible that therapist’s approach was for us…until we found our therapy home a few weeks later.  If I had known then what I know now, I would have called.  (PS:  Your child shouldn’t be leaving therapy more dysregulated than when they arrived.) (Also – every profession has people who are highly skilled and others who maybe just skate by.  For us, this was an isolated incident but it’s always good to be prepared to be your child’s advocate).

While it would have been easy to fall prey to the feeling of defeat and sideline the idea of therapy, I’m so glad we didn’t.  Therapy (occupational, craniosacral, speech and therapeutic listening) has become our North Star.  Guiding us, pointing us in the right direction and showing us the way as we have navigated even our darkest moments.  Most of all, therapy has shown us change, progress, growth and hope.  Hope in all forms.

Have all of our therapy sessions been roses and rainbows?  Absolutely not.  Tears of frustration,  sweat, resistance, meltdowns and having to go back to the drawing board.  But also tears of joy, pride in its purest form, an understanding of what’s possible….and ultimately what will be.

Here’s the THERAPY FOR ME part.  A tremendous part of our journey has been therapy for me.  I meet with a therapist bi-weekly which has played a vital role in my ability to show up for my boys every day.  Mike and I went together during a really hard point as well.  It’s helpful to have a sounding board that isn’t my spouse who can validate my feelings and help me come up with tenable strategies for maintaining my own health and wellness – and sanity.

It’s one of the most genuine and sustaining acts of self care and self love and has helped me find and harbor my own mental strength.  Therapy is one of the greatest gifts I give myself and my family and you’ll never hear me apologize or make excuses for it.  Loud and proud over here.  I’m happy to tell anyone and everyone about how therapy sustains me.   

I’ll save my soap-box speech about how unacceptable it is that we don’t live in a society that adequately prioritizes mental health and how many of our collective issues would be mitigated if we did.  And I recognize that BECAUSE our country is set-up this way, not everyone has the privilege of accessing the kind of mental health resources they greatly need.  So if a licensed therapist is out of reach, do you have a friend or confidant that you could speak to regularly to truly process the hard things?  You might also consider starting with a regular mindfulness or yoga practice.  There are so many apps available now for guided meditation (I really like Head Space), yoga practices, deep breathing exercises, etc. and many of them are free or very reasonably priced.  To be honest, something is better than nothing.  The time and space to process the heavy stuff along with the celebratory milestones is key.  Reach out if you’re not sure how to begin.  I have some ideas.

Here’s to prioritizing our collective mental health! <3