Sarah is Busy

Sarah is busy. 

She feels busy every second of the day.  As her husband likes to say, "she only works part-time," and somehow that makes her in charge of everything. She's the family's cook, cleaner, chauffeur, stylist, banker, therapist, teacher, advocate, and expert on their Autistic child. 

When I met Sarah for the first time, we were in her home, and I was interviewing her for the assessment I would conduct so that her family could receive in-home ABA therapy services. Her son, Max, is what some people might call "a handful." Sarah did her best to get him set up with activities he enjoyed while we talked, but he came to her for attention repeatedly, crying and then screaming if she didn't pick him up, then almost immediately struggling to get down after she did. She tried to satisfy whatever it was he wanted in the moment so that we could talk, and we were eventually successful, but it was clear what he wanted most - the time and attention of his mother. 

Once we started working together, what happened during the assessment continued. Sarah's attention was split between trying to keep Max happy while also wearing one of her many hats. And by "happy" I mostly mean not tantrumming, not screaming, not trying to put his hands in the toilet, just being relatively calm, quiet, and willing to stay in one place for a short time...and sometimes he would be this version of happy. 

These were Sarah's "best" moments. 

Which was a little bit sad because they were usually a frantic time of trying to get 30 minutes of work done in 10. These were the moments when she was finally able to take the laundry out of the washer and put it in the dryer. Moments when she could get away and make the doctor's appointment that'd been haunting her. Moments when she could finally use the bathroom by herself. Moments she needed, not really enjoyed. This was completely reasonable.

Unfortunately, it would only be minutes before Max required her immediate attention again.  I could see this version of her son's "happy" and her "best moments" were not all that happy or great. In fact, they were stressful, rushed, and just... gotten through.

We had a short conversation.

I asked her to start noticing how she was spending her time with her son when she didn't have a free moment, when she was trying to get things done AND engage with him. Then I asked her to think about when she pulled herself away from those rare moments to herself. When she told a friend she was finally connecting with on the phone that she'd have to call them back later.  When she'd get the wet clothes into the dryer but then have to respond to Max - who might be screaming, crying, or throwing toys at the wall - before starting it. To notice what it is that he really needs in those moments - her attention. 

A parent's attention is incredibly powerful - especially when that parent is very busy and spread thin - and kids quickly learn what gets it.  It's not true of every family, but most of the families I've worked with are in this cycle to some degree, the cycle where the child gets the most attention when they do things the parents don't want, and the least attention when they're doing what the parents want. 

I told Sarah we’re going to flip this.

This was the plan - Sarah was going to do something often called "catch them being good." When she noticed she was in one of those rare, free moments, she'd run over to Max and make sure he knew how much she appreciated it. No behavior was too small to notice. For many Autistic children, being specific can be especially helpful because it makes it clearer exactly what you're noticing and appreciating. Let's say Max was coloring by himself, something he does, but not often and not for very long. Now, she'd go over and say some variation of, "Wow! I love what you're doing! That is so beautiful. And it was so nice being able to make a phone call while you were coloring. That really helped me." (If your child is younger or has receptive language skills that are not as developed, you can pare it down to an act of affection - if wanted - like a hug or squeeze, and whatever words you think will mean something to them, maybe a big-smiled "I love it!"). 

On top of that, she started giving him her full attention for small pockets of time throughout their day. Sometimes it was getting on the floor and playing with blocks for 10 minutes, sometimes taking him to the ice cream place on the corner, sometimes reading a book together. Whatever it was, she took off the hat she was wearing, focused only on him, and connected. Within a few days, Sarah noticed that he was seeking her attention in challenging ways less often.  She'd flipped the script.

Now she was really connecting with him every day. When she was busy, she would try to involve him somehow, and if that wasn't possible, she'd be sure to stop what she was doing every once in a while, just for a second, and give him a smile, a positive comment, rub his back, something.  Sarah started noticing the good and commenting on it, responding to it with affection, admiration, or appreciation. And every day she created small periods of time where she gave Max her full attention. 

Did this mean that sometimes the clothes stayed wet in the dryer?  Maybe.  Does Max still have tantrums sometimes, still throw toys at the wall?  He does. But things are better and Sarah is quick to point out that the time she spends connecting with Max is more than made up for by the time she no longer spends putting out fires or giving him watered-down attention that never really satisfied.

"Sad," "frustrated," and "angry" still happen, but now, "happy" is happy and "best moments" really are the best. 

Sarah and Max are fictional names, and their story combines real-life experiences and results from families I've worked with.

__________________________________________________________

If you think this means you should also change how much attention you give to challenging behaviors, you're right.  To be continued...