In my previous life, pre brain injury, I worked in a special needs preschool. The children we supported had a wide variety of needs, lots of kids on the autism spectrum, kids with cerebral palsy, genetic disorders, and I loved it. I was drawn to the kids that were maybe the toughest to work with. The ones who had meltdowns, the ones with unpredictable behaviour. I don't miss getting up and going to work everyday, but I do miss the kids.
The kids came to school on buses and we picked them up at the bus doors and walked them into to class. There is always at least one kid who NEEDS to push the button to open the door, the one meant for people in wheel chairs, and if they didn't get a turn to push it, it was THE END OF THE WORLD. I am not exaggerating. It usually meant someone lying on the floor crying, yelling, and generally letting you know how unfair the world was. And really when you are 3 the world is a pretty unfair place. Even more so when you don't have the words, or skills to articulate how you are feeling or what you want.
The meltdown at the door, or at the end of play time, or leaving the gym, generally boiled down to a few things. First unexpected change. When kids were surprised by something starting or ending, or not going the way they expected, there was an issue. The second thing is lack of control. Little kids have little to no control over the things that happen to them in their lives so they grab for it wherever they can get it. This is even more true for kids with special needs. They have even less autonomy, and can you imagine being in a wheelchair and not having control of your body? Nothing listens to you! So meltdowns and sadness come with the territory.
That's great, you're thinking about now. Not really yoga philosophy, but great insight into the minds of 3 year olds. Well, here's the connection. I had a complete 3 year old moment yesterday. I mean it wasn't over pushing the button to open the door, but close! I had been feeling a bit on the edge for a day or two. Some sad song came on, and I lost it. My husband held me while I cried. And cried. And cried. When I had composed myself a little bit, he asked if I wanted to tell him what I was feeling. I told him that I felt like I had no control in my life anymore. Everything I had planned for my future was taken away from me, and now my future feels like it is being decided by people who have never even met me, at insurance companies and service Canada. I don't even know what I really want best case scenario. And it weighs heavily on me. It is constantly on my mind. Little things go wrong or unexpectedly and I fall apart. I told my husband I was a three year old now. And instantly I deeply understood and empathized with the kid on the floor when someone else pushed the button. It was the one thing in their day that they had control over and it was taken away from them! That feeling of loss of autonomy, of being in charge of your own life... I often feel like that is a way bigger loss than my vision. I can't even go get groceries if I unexpectedly run out of something! I can't go meet a friend for coffee in the city, people always have to come to me.
And then it occurred to me (here's the yoga philosophy part); control is always just an illusion. We think we are running our own lives. We all think we are in complete control of our lives. We daydream bout our futures, imagine what will be doing in 5 years time, but the truth is none of us know. We can work towards a goal, but it might not happen. You never now what is going to happen. Growth and learning happen from these unexpected twists in turns. You grow as a person each time you can let go of the attachment. As you lean into the unknown and trust that everything is working you fall more into alignment with the best possible version of yourself. And maybe it gets a bit easier too.
So to the little guy/girl rolling on the floor because you didn't get a turn; I feel you right down to the core of my being. If I thought that maybe I could get away with that, I think there are days I would definitely try it. I understand how you feel. It gets easier. We all need to be kinder and bit more patient with ourselves and others. Because some days are really hard, and maybe the lesson is not to fix it, but to sit in the place that feels hard and scary. To practice the feeling of no control when it is safe, to practice trusting that things will be okay.
Everything is working. Everything is working. Everything is working.
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