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Mar25
Do You Remember Your Childhood Meltdowns?
17 Comments[Note: This post talks about the physical and emotional abuse I experienced as a child. The descriptions aren't graphic, but if you're not feeling up to reading about the subject, you might want to skip this post.]
Lately, I’ve been reading a number of blogs written by moms of Aspie kids. At some point, each mom describes her child’s meltdowns, and asks for guidance and support. The girls’ meltdowns sound every bit as spectacular as the boys’ meltdowns—a fact that interests me a great deal, because I don’t remember having any meltdowns as a child.
Except maybe one. Or, at least, the beginning of one.
I was four years old and the flower girl at my uncle’s wedding. I was all dressed up and sitting in an empty room with pine wood floors. In front of me was a photographer who was getting ready to take my picture. To my right were a number of relatives, including some aunts and uncles, who started making baby talk and saying “Smile!” as the photographer picked up his camera. I decided, right then and there, that I would not have my picture taken. So, when the photographer pointed his camera at me, I started screaming. I really didn’t know why I was screaming, and I still don’t know why. It just felt like the right thing to do. When the photographer put the camera down, I stopped screaming. Then, when one of the relatives in the wings told him to try again, he’d pick up his camera, and I’d resume screaming where I’d left off. After several attempts, lots more annoying baby talk from my relatives, and lots more screaming from me, the photographer finally gave up.
Fast forward to the wedding reception. There I was, between my mother and my father, and the photographer thought he’d pull a fast one on me and take my picture. I caught him at it, though, and I started yelling my head off. The next thing I knew, my father yanked me by the arm down to the basement, where he started dragging me with one hand while he hit me, over and over, with the other. Everything became a total blur. At one point, an elderly man tried to stop the abuse, but he failed. I have a vivid memory of my ankles burning against the floor. I must have been completely overwhelmed, because I don’t remember how it all ended. I just remember coming back upstairs and feeling very ashamed and very ghostly.
There were many other incidents of this kind of behavior from my father. Often, my mother would set it up by concocting some reason that I’d pissed her off that afternoon. She’d then torture me for hours by telling me what my father would do when he got home. I was so afraid of the pain that I once tried to bribe her by spilling out the contents of my piggy bank on her bed—an attempt at self-protection that only infuriated her. By the time my father got home, I was actually relieved that the suspense was over.
So, here’s the question I’ve been turning around in my mind: Is it possible to hold back a childhood meltdown out of fear? It certainly seems so. When I was about ten years old, I remember walking upstairs in our house and realizing that I wanted to start screaming. I held it all inside me, though, because I didn’t want to get hurt. I remember thinking about it quite clearly.
Apart from the screaming episode at the wedding, I didn’t melt down again until I was out of my parents’ house, 3000 miles away, and in my first serious (and tumultuous) relationship. Then, I made up for lost time and had a series of absolutely stellar meltdowns. The best I can say for them is that they resulted in getting me into therapy, which was a blessing straight from heaven. Therapy didn’t just save my life. It enabled me to create a life worth saving.
But what happened during all those years of sensory overload, with my mother’s screaming and crying, and my father’s hitting and shouting? For one thing, I dissociated from my feelings almost entirely. Except for sadness and fear, I don’t remember having any feelings. Dissociation is very common with trauma, so that doesn’t surprise me.
But I did more than dissociate. I imploded. The meltdowns, which should have been on the outside, took place on the inside. I held everything in—all my fear, all my sensory overload, all my confusion, all my frustration, all my loneliness, and all my anger. But it didn’t stay inside and dissipate. It just wore me down and exhausted me with no possibility of catharsis. By my sophomore year of college, I was unable to read a single page of a book and remember what it said. When I tried to write my papers, the script was jagged because my hand was shaking.
That’s when I fled to the west coast. My first adult meltdown about four years later was an unbelievable relief. I felt as though I’d waited for it all my life. Which I had.
Whenever I read about parents of Aspies being concerned about handling their children’s meltdowns in the best possible way, I feel an incredible rush of love and appreciation for those parents. I’m not sure they know how well they’re doing. They seem to wonder whether they are being good parents. I wish I could get them all together and shout, “You are spectacular parents!”
And now, a question for other Aspie trauma survivors: Do any of you remember only a very few childhood meltdowns, or none at all? I’m wondering how common this scenario is.
If you’ve read this far, thanks for coming along with me.
© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
17 Responses to “Do You Remember Your Childhood Meltdowns?”
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I read and enjoyed it. And I want to know, how the hell did you save your life….what happened on the West coast to make things so much better? as an adult dealing with a difficult past (and present) I’d like to know.
I did hold things in to some extent in public, fearing consequences, with some people, but not all; with the people who it was not okay to do it with I did it in private; and yes I was actually feeling pretty depressed, to put it mildly, by the time high school came along. i imagined the breakdowns in my head. constantly. until they seeemd quite real to me.
I was fortunate enough to get a therapist in high school. That helped.
But I’ve got so many other problems now, i don’t even know where to start.
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Hi Kate,
Going to the west coast and getting very far away from the scene of my worst memories was in and of itself very healing. I wasn’t walking around being triggered by familiar sights, sounds, and people. In 1978, Berkeley and San Francisco were great places to show up and start over. They were very accepting of all kinds of weirdness. I went from feeling like I was the oddest person around to realizing that I was only sort of moderately interesting.
But I don’t think that I could have gotten a lot of healing done without basic talk therapy. It’s not for everyone, but it definitely worked for me. I also did some work in survivor support groups. More recently, I did Eye Movement Desensitization and Reintegration (EMDR) therapy, which was extremely effective in calming down triggers and anxiety. My husband noticed a major difference in my level of calm, assertiveness, and confidence.
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It’s funny, I do remember some of my meltdowns but usually once they’ve started my memory becomes blurry. I think the reason for this is that they’re not being processed through the brain in the same way as normal activities. There’s a loss of control involved.
The parent thing is difficult. In the past, not a lot of thought was given to people’s feelings and the adage “spare the rod, spoil the child” was handed around lightly. Alcohol also seemed to flow more freely when I was a child (there were no breathalysers then). My parents didn’t know how to handle my meltdowns and they made mistakes (but also got some things right).
I’m not trying to make excuses but it’s much easier in retrospect to see what our parents did wrong. At the time, for some bizarre reason, it was considered acceptable.
I hope that eventually you and your parents sorted things out as adults. I know that I did with mine and felt a lot better as a result. Of course, things weren’t on an even keel with my dad until I’d moved out of home and gotten married.
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One thing I remember clearly from my childhood is crying out of control, sobbing, being completely unable to stop and my father telling me to “Stop crying!” It always made me cry harder, knowing that I was unable to control it and I would just make him angrier. I don’t think he ever hit me for that, although he was a spanker… not a physical abuser, thankfully.
What your post made me think of is the many parents of kids on the spectrum (and NT kids, for that matter) who describe their childrens’ school behavior as cooperative and easy while the meltdown at home. I think this is a less extreme example of the same phenomenon: the children do not feel safe to melt down in school and they hold it in as best they can; when they get home, to the safety of their parents, they let go of the control and it all spills over.
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Thanks very much for sharing your experience, Quirky Mom. Now that you mention it, I remember at least one year of my childhood in which I cried every day–not at home, but at school, when I was walking somewhere, or when I was spending time at someone else’s house. Perhaps this was my way of releasing the internal pressure in a socially acceptable fashion. After all, in those days, it was always okay for girls to cry.
I also remember crying inconsolably during my senior year of high school, even at home. I must have felt safe letting it out since I would be leaving home within the year.
I wonder whether crying jags are an Aspie girl’s way of melting down when the alternative seems unacceptable or ill-advised. Certainly, in previous generations, it was completely unacceptable for girls to be anything but well-mannered.
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My Dad remembers me as a baby who just wouldn’t stop crying. I was very tearful until I started big school at the age of 11, then you just learn to hold it in. I never thought of these as meltdowns, but maybe they were.
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Soph, it’s amazing how sensitive we were as girls, crying so easily. I wonder whether this is common for Aspie girls and women. I still cry pretty easily, especially since I’ve realized that much of my anger was really masked pain and sadness.
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John Dale Lyons March 26th, 2009 at 4:16 pm
I remember temper tantrums that would last for hours. I would tantrum myself to sleep; that was the only time I slept soundly. I still have occasional problems with them, but not nearly as bad. (The new meds help). My parents usually didn’t overreact, because even without the diagnosis they knew something was up with me. But occasionally they would give me a minor spanking or say something hurtful. They were exasperated; I forgive them. It never crossed the line into abuse. I was lucky.
I still cry very easily for a male. I got a lump reading this post.
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My Apple and I both cry at the drop of a hat. For her it’s something that didn’t really start until she hit 3 (a few months ago), and I have no idea when it really started for me. I rarely blubber like I did as a kid, though, and I’ve definitely started having more traditional anger/rage meltdowns as an adult that I don’t really remember having as a child.
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Thanks for sharing your experience. I felt sick to my stomach reading your post. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that – the pain, the confusion, the fear, the inability to communicate your thoughts and emotions with other people who were unable or unwilling to put themselves in your shoes. I am so happy that you were able to work it out and find healing and balance in your life. That is the best possible place to be, coming from a place as horrendous as that. As a parent, I truly fear that I won’t be able to find balance between my frustration and my daughter’s frustration and we’ll end up fractured..ours is essentially a communication problem. She can’t describe how she feels and I have to fight my own frustration to find ways to understand her, so I can help her instead of making things worse. I feel a little bit less fear today reading this post and the comments about meltdowns from those who experience them.
As a high functioning Aspie, what do you think is the best way to allow a child to melt down, to blow off some steam, without it impairing family relationships or terrorizing the household? What are better ways, or other channels, to blowing off some steam that will not harm relationships or impair the ability to function in society? How to help a child find control over something so uncontrollable?
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Hi Erin,
Thanks for all your kind words. I am very grateful that I’ve been able to transform my life and bring the blessings out of difficult experiences.
As to your questions about your daughter…I’m not sure what to suggest for a child, because my daughter is NT and I haven’t had any experience with children who have meltdowns. But I can tell you what works for me as an adult when I’m having a meltdown. For me, the single most important thing is for the other people in the situation to not take it personally (even if I am trying to make it personal). I know it’s hard, but when my husband recognizes that my experience is not his fault, he becomes an anchor in the midst of the storm. Sometimes, his loving presence needs to be in another room, because after all, everyone’s sensory bucket gets full sooner or later. But just knowing that he is accessible and accepts me for who I am is crucial.
It’s also very important that he communicates how my behavior affects him. Many times, we Aspies are not aware of our effect on other people. When I have a meltdown, he is affected. He may be calm and accepting of me just as I am, but he can’t help but be affected by the small storm taking place in the livingroom. It’s very important that your daughter hear how her behavior affects you–not as a guilt trip, but as a reminder that you are human and have feelings, too. That’s critical to helping her enter the larger world. But you should definitely wait till after the meltdown to have the conversation. If you don’t, your words will just get swept up into the maelstrom.
Has your daughter ever done any work with an OT? Does she have a sensory diet? I find that using weighted blankets and vests, doing my artwork, exercising, having comforting fabrics to hold, etc. really help calm me down and make meltdowns less likely. I’m planning to write a post about my work with my OT and my sensory diet. Hopefully, that will have some useful information.
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Hi Rachel, thanks for your thoughtful response! My daughter used to have complete meltdowns over not getting her sensory needs met. That’s gotten better as those needs have been addressed. Now her meltdowns seem more of a frustration response – being unable to do some fine motor tasks (zippers, buttons), the inability to communicate exactly what she feels, being surprised by sudden emotion, figuring out how independent she can be, wondering what she can and cannot get away with, and sometimes not understanding the rules of things.
In response to your question – my daughter does indeed see an OT. At first the goal was self-help skills, fine motor planning, building muscle strength, etc. But since this fall she’s been with an OT who is working more on sensory integration and I’m thrilled with that. She loves spinning, swinging, heavy weight, jumping, things like that. Her OT lets her do that stuff – giving her the sensory diet she seeks, while also working on building strength, helping her work through her frustration when things are hard, and social skills. I’m in love with OT! Anna’s come to a place where she now recognizes what her body needs and then seeks that stimuli for herself instead of throwing herself on the floor and having a meltdown. She’ll go jump on her trampoline or she’ll brush herself with her therapy brush. She does have a heavy weighted blanket that she sometimes uses at night, plus a lap pad to use when she has a hard time sitting still. It’s been so great to watch her get to a point where she can start taking care of her sensory needs in a constructive way, all by herself. As long as we can continue to have her see an OT, we will – it’s invaluable!
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Bob R. March 27th, 2009 at 9:01 am
You’ve definitely created a “life worth saving.” I’m sure glad you did!
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Hi Erin,
It sounds like your daughter has two essential things that all kids need: 1) she feels safe in her family and 2) she is learning self-care. Those are tremendous gifts to give her. Great job, mom!
And I’m so glad she has a good OT. They are worth their weight in gold, aren’t they? When my OT asks me how I’m doing and I say “crummy,” she doesn’t say what nearly every other health professional has ever said to me: “Go home, rest, and drink some orange juice,” or “Tell me about your childhood.” She just says, “Would like to lie under the big weighted blanket?” Heaven!
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I know this is an older post, but somehow I missed it.
“There were many other incidents of this kind of behavior from my father. Often, my mother would set it up by concocting some reason that I’d pissed her off that afternoon. She’d then torture me for hours by telling me what my father would do when he got home.”
Been there.
As to the question of whether fear can cancel a meltdown, yes, without a doubt. But the type and depth of fear it takes to make that happen is an awful thing.
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I’m so sorry to hear that you’ve been there, too, Stat Mama. I’m so glad that we both got out and created families in which we love and advocate for our kids. It’s very healing. Hugs to you….
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Taylor Selseth October 26th, 2009 at 9:09 am
Most of my spectacular meltdowns were at school, the result of bullying by both peers and faculty or me going nuts over things like people tapping pencils on their desks or poking me in the back.
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About Me
I'm Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg, and I publish this blog, Journeys with Autism. I'm a wife, mother, writer, singer, artist, photographer, community volunteer, and the chapter leader for the Vermont Chapter of the Autistic Self Advocacy Network (ASAN).
At the age of 50, I awoke to my place on the autism spectrum and discovered a world of gifts, struggles, and life-changing possibilities. My latest book, The Uncharted Path: My Journey with Late-Diagnosed Autism, was published in July of 2010. My work has also appeared in Shift Journal of Alternatives: Neurodiversity and Social Change and in the Disability Rights and Neurodiversity section of the ASAN website.
My Memoir
"The Uncharted Path is an autism autobiography unlike any I’ve ever read.....I’d recommend The Uncharted Path to anyone on the spectrum, to anyone who has friends or relatives on the spectrum, and to anyone who cares for people on the spectrum. Her book is written straight from the heart.” —Gavin Bollard, author of Life with Asperger’s
“Cohen-Rottenberg is emotionally honest and skilled at relaying the stories from her childhood and adulthood that made her the person she is today....A highly recommended read."—Kate Goldfield, author of Common Scents: Adventures with Autism and Chemical Sensitivity
“What Rachel has written, few others would be able to....An enlightening journey."—Jon Gilbert, author of Same Child, Different Day
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Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
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