Hidden Invitation

His mom comes in frazzled. Her eyes wide, she holds the small whimpering child close to her in distress but then quickly her face softens in relief as she sees the therapist enter the waiting room. The therapist, sizing up the situation, quickly takes in the mom with the tear streaked cheeks, and the angry pinched face of the little boy who is half clinging to her, half pushing her away in a confused tantrum.

"What's going on?"

"He tried to jump out of the car on the expressway on the way here. It's been a horrible day"

The small boy with the big brown eyes squares off with an intense gaze at the therapist. His hair is wild and disheveled. A mix of anger with a small bit of hope brewing there. A look that the therapist knows all too well. An expression that says fuck you and help me in the same long stare.

"Let's go buddy!" Trying to change their location and the conversation focus, they walk together back into the sensory gym area. He lets out a sigh as he sees the lycra hammocks, squishy bean bags and soft slide. He finds it a welcome sight after an otherwise soul crushing school day.

The therapist sits quietly letting him calm himself and adjust to being free to wander, move and breathe without guidance or having to follow someone else’s lead.

They look around the room discussing the ways they could play, the equipment that would feel soothing and organizing to his weary system. He starts to smile, relax and let his guarded facial expression relax. He starts to settle in and feel safe.

Something familiar yet simple should work, she thinks and slides an empty dry erase board his way. "Want to draw your idea?"

It was too much. It was too fast. It was an expectation.

The expression that had started cautiously softening now turns to an angry hard glare once more.

“NO!” he screams as he scampers away and towards the door of the play area. He is furious, screaming, “I hate you, I hate this place, I’m never coming back!”

The therapist tries to beat him to the door, jumping through swings and hammocks and running awkwardly over squishy uneven surfaces. She doesn’t win. He reaches door and with a violent yank he throws it open and takes off running down the narrow hallway. The waiting room is just steps away and a door isn’t enough to muffle the sound of the shrieking and yelling that is occurring on the other side of it.

He makes it to the next room with the therapist on his heels. There are looks from the rest of the staff and other therapists and she feigns a casual look. She’s got this, she has seen this before. She has it handled. The countenance she is portraying definitely not matching the uneasiness in her body.

He has his hands on one of the shelving units in the room next door. He is across the room and not close enough for her to touch the shelving unit or keep his hand from pulling it over. He is now looking defiantly at the therapist and threatening to pull it down without saying a word. His eyes dance with a message of retribution. Retribution for his day, the way he has been treated, the helplessness he feels in everyday situations and the anger that hits his nervous system in moments of uncertainty. He is rocking now, back and forth, and with it, the bookshelf that is clearly unstable. How could she not have that thing better stabilized? And yet, how would she know we would land in this situation today?

The therapist knows the only option to keep them both safe from the tumbling shelving unit is to somehow get him away from it.

She drops to her knees. Holds out her arms. And waits.

She waits for what seemed like an eternity but was in reality more like ten seconds. She waits to see if her assessment of his behavior is what she thought it was initially. Help me. See me. Meet me where I am and get me out of my heated nervous system.

He pauses and looks confused. This wasn’t part of the plan. Revenge was the plan and the therapist wasn’t following the script. Hesitantly he takes his hand off the shelf and looks curiously in her direction. The arms still outstretched, the face still calm and welcoming. She waits and tries her best to exude the sense that this is exactly what he needs and her face shows him that she has confidence in that sentiment.

All at once, he doesn’t walk but runs, as if in a huge hurry, into the safety of that hug. A safe place where he can finally cry, explain his horrible day and tell her why her expectation felt like the last straw. She finds herself emotional as she realizes with great relief that she had assessed it correctly and what he needs is love. Love will help him let go of anger and feel understood. In this moment, understanding that behavior is communication was the only way in to his thought process. This hug was the quickest way to get there.

As she explains to the now sobbing little boy that her intentions are always to make things easier and never harder and she apologizes for making things worse, they come to an understanding. We are in a trusting relationship. One where the therapist understands that his behavior is telling her what he needs, even if he can’t explain it with words, and her job is to get the message.

She returns to the waiting room, now holding his hand, to a surprised mom who looks at first ready to admonish her son. She then sees his face and now the therapists own tears in her eyes and realizes that it would be unnecessary. Gains have been made in their relationship along with a bond that will from this point on be solidified by a once uncertain hug.