The Alchemy of Need and Independence

I spent some of yesterday evening taking a lot of photos, of Charlie's desk, homework folder, calculator; of the bathroom, the bathmat, a bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo, the hot/cold water dial in the shower. At school, Charlie follows a schedule of photos and simple phrases throughout the day and his teacher regularly notes his eagerness to get out the little binder containing the schedule and get to work. At home, while there's a general routine of things we do afterschool----getting off the bus, shoes and coat off, sitting around, snacking, cello, shoes and coat on, walk----it hasn't seemed that Charlie has needed an actual schedule, with the photos and phrases velcro'd to the pages.

But lately we've been feeling that, for all that we do our best to provide Charlie with plenty of activities in a clear order after school and on the weekends, maybe it would help for him to have more of an actual, visual, schedule to follow. Ever since December, transitions have become potentially difficult moments for Charlie. This past weekend was busy and active with a walk in the snow, a swim in the pool, a trip to IKEA, but Saturday morning began with an anxious, anxious Charlie and Sunday evening, just as he was going to bed, ended with the same.

Sometimes I just feel that we're stuck in an endless morass of transitions, of inbetween and limbo, when Charlie---now an adolescent---is still so young, rapidly growing older and I just don't know. How to find the proper balance, the alchemy of need and independence, and interdependence? How best to help Charlie move forward while assuring him at every step of the way of how much we love him and are here for him, always?

I have been talking to Charlie's teacher about teaching him things like taking a shower on his own, and this conversation led to a realization of how it wouldn't be a bad idea to give Charlie the sense that homelife has the same sort of structure, laid out in a little binder, as school does. So (feeling ever thankful that this is the age of the digital camera and of ready access all the binders, clear sheet dividers, and velcro that I might wish for), I've been taking photos, including some for a "bedtime routine." Mornings before Charlie gets on the bus tend to be a bit harried but---in the can-do spirit of my friend Maddy at Whitterer on Autism---there has to be a way to make that time of day less, ah, stressful and strenuous to all, with a schedule clearly showing what happens, and then what.

These are the sorts of pro-active strategies that can be implemented prior to and instead of something like restraints and seclusion. When Charlie's gotten upset, we've tried to focus on what happened before he got upset, and tried to figure out what we can change. It sometimes seems the finest of lines to walk, between creating a hefty amount of order, and sensing when the order becomes a need in itself, when we need to shake things up and be spontaneous.

I think of how, when he was much younger and in a gymnastics class, Charlie could walk the balance beam with ease, but became fearful when he had to get off and perhaps that's the moment to consider: What is that fear that rises in him just prior to the big moment when he's to jump off, to fly? when I, his mother, am taking one big gulp?

Photo by House of Sims