But I think it needs to be said – Aggressive and violent meltdowns are awful ( and that might be the biggest understatement I’ve written). But with some topics, I have trouble saying what I want to say.īear with me on this one. Some things are just tough to write about. You can’t let one bad moment spoil a bunch of good ones.This is what it’s really like when your child has meltdowns every day. Don’t give up on your ability to parent and your child’s ability to learn because of one bad morning.
In fact, it most likely will be over in only a few minutes.
The next time your child is in the middle of a meltdown, remind yourself, this is just right now, not forever. I can also remind myself next time that a 10-minute meltdown over an entire day, over an entire week, means most of the time he is happy!
I can ask his therapists to help increase his ability to tolerate denied access. The temptation to use the toilet paper stand as a sword will be off the table! The meltdown trigger was denied access to what he wanted. What can I do? First, take everything out of the bathroom. One bad morning doesn’t negate all the hundreds of good mornings. While I hope his lagging skills of frustration tolerance, the ability to communicate his emotions effectively, and his empathy towards others will improve, for now, I have to accept where he is. Sometimes people, especially children, even more children with developmental disabilities, have bad mornings for no reason at all. What could I have done differently? Did I miss a trigger? Inasmuch as I want to define the very specific reason, sometimes there isn’t a clear one. I have reflected a great deal over that morning. We then made breakfast together like nothing ever happened. “Okay, I do it.” He immediately walked into the bathroom and dressed. I told him, “First clothes, then eggs and bacon.” I asked him, “Do you want to help me make eggs and bacon for breakfast?” A brief ten-minute span on one Sunday morning reduced me to hopelessness.Įventually, he began to calm. I questioned every bit of progress he had made. I doubted everything about my effectiveness as a mother. “No clothes, Mommy!” I was losing this battle. I removed him from the chair and repeated, “First clothes, then toys.” He grabbed a chair to reach the lock to open it himself. I said, “First clothes, then toys.” He refused. At one point, he decided he wanted some toys out of a locked closet. He followed me and continued acting aggressively. I left the bathroom, him still undressed, putting some distance between us. He became aggressive biting, scratching, hitting. He began grabbing and throwing every object within reach. Those two denials sent him spiraling into one of his worst meltdowns. I took that from him and sat it outside the bathroom.
He grabbed the lid to the toilet paper storage container and began smashing it on the toilet lid, denting it with each crash. I took it from him and sat it outside the bathroom. He picked up the standing toilet paper holder and, pretending it was a sword, started hitting me with it. I helped him out of his pull-up and pajamas. However, what came next was an obliteration of that routine. We headed to the bathroom for him to potty and change clothes. I tiptoed into his doorway, knocked, and waited for him to guess if it was mommy or daddy before peering in. I could hear him on the baby monitor reciting lines from a favorite movie. It was around 7:30 am and my son’s normal wake time. But often in that space, when I feel least effective as a parent, is where I find the strength to keep going. I sometimes feel frustrated, vulnerable, and overwhelmed. While I do believe it is important to remain optimistic, I also think honesty about the difficulties is equally important. I write about autism a lot! I usually keep my pieces uplifting, resourceful, and strategy-based. My 4-year-old son is on the autism spectrum.
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