I Don't Want My Kids to be High Achievers

Let me say that again:  I do NOT want my kids to be high achievers.  It is not a goal of mine and I don’t want it to be a goal of theirs.

So often the label “gifted”, “gt”, “talented”, “advanced potential”, “advanced learners”, etc, etc, comes with strings.  Sometimes these strings feel invisible, but oftentimes they are quite blatant.  Sometimes these strings are kind-hearted, but oftentimes they are vicious and misconstrued.  Sometimes these strings are meant to empower, but oftentimes they are meant to disenfranchise and disempower.  And no matter what the intent, I’ve rarely seen these strings be helpful.  In fact, more often I see children, youth, and adults of all ages crumble and suffocate as they become entangled with this one particular string.

At its essence, the most damaging string that’s attached to an identification of giftedness is one of performance.  People hear gifted and they assume high performing, high achieving, advanced.  They say things like, “You are so good at everything, you’re going to be tremendously successful” or “You’re so smart, everything must be so easy for you” or “You have the kind of brain that will one day find the cure for cancer” or “You’ve been given a tremendous gift, make sure you use it well” or “You owe the world to live up to your potential” or “You’re so smart, this shouldn’t be so difficult!” or “Well of course you got an A!”  This list could go on and on and on.  Many of these quotes have actually been said to people I know.  And I can unequivocally say, none of the people who heard these things found them to be helpful.

Believing that gifted has anything to do with performance has many damaging consequences.  I’m most concerned with the following two.

First, there are many, many, MANY gifted kids who are currently in school and are struggling.  They are bored.  They are unchallenged.  They are behavior problems.  They are hiding their giftedness.  Their outside of the box thinking doesn’t translate to high performance.  They definitely are not identified as gifted.  And so they are not given accommodations to challenge, feed, and modulate the joys and challenges of who they are and how they are wired to be.  When performance is tied to giftedness, we perpetuate a culture in which these kids will continue to slip through the cracks and not have their needs met.

Second, there are many, many, MANY gifted adults who are floundering under the pressure.  They’ve been hearing that they should be performing well.  They should have a very “successful” life.  They should be at the tops of their fields.  They should be solving homelessness and hunger or curing cancer.  Yikes!  That is an awful lot of pressure.  And when many of these gifted kids, youth, and adults have other intensities, that pressure becomes amplified and paralyzing.  Anxiety and existential depression find a home inside their minds and tear these people apart.  For many gifted individuals, by setting the expectation of high performance, we actually induce the opposite.  

So, no.  I do not want my kids to be high achieving.  I do not want them to have these intense expectations placed upon them.  I want them to be contented.  I want them to know who they are and follow what they are passionate about.  I want them to know that they can always change careers and vocations and locations and whatever else they’d like to change if they find life unfulfilling.  I want them to know that the weight of the world does not rest on their shoulders.  They are just as worthwhile if they choose to coach soccer down at the neighborhood community center as they are if they achieve a nobel prize.

I want my kids to know that it is perfectly fine to be ordinary.

I don’t care how they perform, so long as they are content and well.

And, see, here’s the irony.  If they are feeling content and well, they will naturally become high performers.  If we prioritize inner confidence, security, well-being, we are more willing to take risks.  And when we take risks to pursue our passions, we tend to pursue things we’re talented in.  And we tend to be filled with passion and enthusiasm.  And when those things are combined, we stretch higher, reach farther, and perform better.

Not that it matters.  ;)  

We Need Men

To be very clear, this post is not political.  The fact that the most recent misogynistic remarks between a certain presidential candidate and an entertainment talk show host prompted the writing of this post, has nothing to do with my political leanings.  This isn’t about conservative or liberal ideaologies.  This is about human decency and ethical behavior.

As a therapist, I work with countless ludicrously intelligent women who have hidden their intelligence for fear of intimidating others.  I work with brilliant women who have spent more time cultivating their physical appearance than their cognitive ability.  I work with women riddled with self-doubt and genuine lack of awareness of their own superior intelligence.

I work with women, teenagers, young adults, children who suffer from eating disorders.  Females who feel so disconnected from their bodies that they intentionally starve, over-exercise, binge, purge, in some false attempt to gain control, confidence, and security.  Females who hear a constant internal voice beating them up, dictating how much they should eat or not eat, imagining judgment from everyone around them, pointing out flaws (whether actual or simply perceived), imagining that worth is connected with how fat or thin they are.

I work with parents of middle school girls who have been told by middle school boys that they should be raped.  I work with middle school girls who feel they need to perform sexual acts or reveal parts of their bodies in order to be liked by boys.

I work with teens, young adults, and women who feel that the only way they can receive love, acceptance, intimacy with a male is to “give it up.”  They have sex with their husbands or boyfriends because they feel it’s their duty, whether they want to or not.  They are coerced into sexual acts as though their bodies do not belong to themselves.

I work with women who are in abusive relationships, but cannot define it as such.  I’ll ask if arguments have ever become physical and will be told, “No, not really.  Every once in a while he’ll push me, but he’s not abusive or anything.”

I work with young women who have been more traumatized by their family’s, friend’s, society’s response to their sexual assault than they were by the assault itself.  Being told they deserved it.  Being told they shouldn’t have dressed a certain way.  Being told they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Being told they shouldn’t talk to anyone about it.  They should feel ashamed.

And I am helpless. 

Yes, I can provide support to these amazing women.  I can help them find their strength and peace.  But, I cannot change the dynamics of our society which allows these things to continue.  I cannot guarantee my daughter will grow up in a world which values her for all of her and not just her body. 

Yes, Mr. Trump’s comments were disgusting.  But I’ve heard enough from him over the past 2 years that I expect nothing more or less from him.  I wasn’t shocked and so I wasn’t really all that upset with him. 

My real anger? My real disgust?  That belongs to the men who were listening, laughing, and egging him on.  Men who, perhaps, treat women with more respect, but allowed such degradation in their presence.  Men who didn’t stand up for the fact that objectifying women is what allows rape and domestic violence to continue.

Here’s the real conundrum:  I am female. 

I cannot make much of a difference in this culture of misogyny. 

I am powerless. 

Why?  Because the people who perpetuate this culture do not respect me.  They do not respect my voice.  And, therefore, it doesn’t matter how convincing of an argument I make, I am dismissed. 

I need men to be my voice.  My daughter needs men to stand up and tell other men that women are not to be objectified.  We need men and boys to change the dynamics of “locker room talk.”  We need good, honest, decent men to stand up to the few men who are assaultive, degrading, dismissive.  Women needed the men in that bus to put a stop to it.

And so, on behalf of myself, my daughter, and all the other women and girls, I ask that men grow intolerant to this type of “humor” and perversion.  I ask men to change the way women are viewed, respected, treated.  I ask men to change this culture.  Because we can’t.

Busy, Not Anxious

I don’t know how our world got to the place it is.  I have my theories, but really this post isn’t about how we got here, it’s more about how do we get out of here. 

And what is this “here” I’m speaking of? 

Our frantic, over-scheduled, constantly busy, anxious mindset. 

Maybe it isn’t grammatically correct to say “our mindset”.  After all, each of us individually is responsible for our very own mindset and perspective.  But I’ve run across the same lifestyle, the same frantic over-stressed pace from far too many people that I do honestly believe this is a communal anxiously busy mindset we’ve developed.

As a therapist and in my personal life, I’m a HUGE proponent of mindful living.  I’m regularly urging clients to simplify and I’m regularly trying to simplify my own life.  And yet, my family and I have gotten sucked into this ridiculous frenzy just like nearly everyone else.  And as I recognized that, I repeatedly would hear myself say things like, “I’m too busy”  “we need to cut something out”  “I don’t have enough hours in a day”  “How did we get here and how do we stop?!”  And then, thanks to my 11 year old and the wisdom of some more enlightened people than I, I had an epiphany.

It all began one day when I presented my 11 year old with his list of learning tasks.  As a homeschooler, he and I decide what he wants to learn about every few months and then, due to Cub’s request, I decide what topics we’ll focus on each day.  Every morning he opens up his notebook and sees the list of scheduled activities, chores, and learning topics.  This particular morning, he had 3 chores (animals, dishes, shower), 5 topics (history, spelling, physics, Japanese, flute) and Aikido.  Immediately he groaned and the all-too-familiar whine of discouragement began emanating from his mouth.

Apparently the list was too long, the chores were too overwhelming, and it’s all just too much.  Being a therapist, I of course (and probably far too frequently!), probed further.  To which I heard him talk about how his life is too scheduled, he has too much school work to do, it feels like we’re always running, etc, etc, etc.

As he spoke, I fantasized about sending him to public school while living on his cousin’s farm for a week.  “Too much to do!  Ha!  He has no idea what too much to do is!  He has no idea how good he has it!”  My mind ranted and raved for a while.  And then, I took a breath, and reinforced the seemingly eternal character development task of his pre-teen years.  “Cub.  It’s all about attitude.  How long does this stuff really take?  Do you enjoy it all?  Are there things you want to quit?  If not, then it’s about attitude.  Anything will be stressful if we decide it is.  Nearly anything can be peaceful if we decide it is.”

If I was a cartoon character a little light bulb would have popped on above my head.  Of course!  How can I expect my 11 year old to calmly face his schedule if I am modeling an attitude of anxiety and overwhelm?  Isn’t it possible to be busy, but not anxious?

Yes, we all need to be mindful of our commitments and the activities we sign ourselves and our kids up for.  But, we need to be even more mindful of our mindset.  We live in a world with a lot of information and opportunities at our fingertips.  This is excellent.  And we can set our minds to remember how excellent this is.  Or, we can set our minds to focus on the frenetic.  It is entirely up to us.

From nearly anyone’s perspective, Cub really didn’t have that busy of a week that week.  He had 2 scheduled hour long activities, approximately 30-45 minutes of daily chores, and approximately 3-4 hours of formal learning work each day.  Which means he had approximately 25 of his waking hours scheduled and 73 hours of free time, not counting 10 hours/night for sleep.  Yes, I do empathize that his understanding of busy and my understanding of busy are two different things.  And I really did try to provide empathetic support and understanding, but I also hope I conveyed to him that at the end of the day, the overwhelm was of his mind’s own making.  And, with work and practice, he can choose his mindset.

I can be busy and anxious, or I can be busy and calm.  Either way, being a married mom to 3 Fringy kids, a business owner, a writer, a speaker, a volunteer, I’m busy.  And I choose to be busy.  So why be anxious about it?  Over the past couple of months, every time I begin to feel the frenzy and overwhelm creep in, I try very hard to remind myself that I can be busy without being anxious.  I am telling you, with full hearted honesty, this has made a world of difference in my own well-being and my family’s well-being.  Make the choice.  It really is yours to make.  And by doing so, you’ll also be helping your children make the choice.  Be busy, not anxious.

Accelerating to What?

As a high school student, I didn’t really understand that my math education was “accelerated.”  I knew that once a week a small group of my friends and I traveled to a nearby university and spent the afternoon with a college mathematics professor.  I knew that we covered 4 years of high school math in 2 years.  And I knew that I enjoyed getting out of a few regular high school classes while I made the weekly math jaunt.

I also knew that I was supposed to be covering much of the material independently during the week between classes.  I knew that it was supposed to be more rigorous and challenging because the pace was accelerated.  I knew that I didn’t crack the textbook on any day other than “math day”.  I knew that I completed my homework on the thirty minute bus trip each week.  I knew how to balance my notebook in just the correct position so my penmanship didn’t reflect the bumps and jostles of the bus.  I knew that I passed the 2 years doing the bare minimum without putting a dent in my 4.0 gpa.

Why do I bring this up?  Certainly not because I’m bragging or feeling better than anyone else.  I bring it up to point out the limitations of acceleration if we are only accelerating gifted students into more of the same type of academics.  The problem with gifted education is not simply the pace.  It is the lack of depth that is missing.  It is teaching to a test when gifted students want (and need) to follow their deep and inquisitive thoughts down rabbit holes to discover new information, new ways of thinking, new connections, new ideas and innovations that couldn’t possibly be on the test because they’re brand spanking new.

I had one little guy, about 8 years old, in my office.  He informed me that school was really stupid.  When I asked him why, he said that today he had to begin working on a writing assignment which involved gluing words in place, but he was only allowed to temporarily place the words correctly because tomorrow’s assignment was to actually glue them.  He said, “Heather, it was the stupidest thing.  I put the words in place in about five minutes, then I had to take it all apart, just so I can redo the work tomorrow.”  But then, as though he could read my thoughts about talking to his teacher to find more challenging assignments, he quickly stated, “But, you CAN’T tell anybody that I got it done so fast.  You CAN’T tell anybody that it’s easy for me, because then I’ll just have to do more!”

More of the same isn’t helpful.  More or faster paced of the same isn’t helpful.  For the most part, our current education system in the US isn’t meeting the needs of our gifted learners.  And giving them more of that is simply not going to be the answer.  Gifted children learn in different ways than the norm.  They need to be challenged and to be allowed to ask questions and to be allowed to dig as deep as their brains can take them. 

That little 8 year old understood very early that he needs to hide his intelligence for fear of being moved into doing more of the same meaningless work.  Is that the message we really want our brightest minds to be sent?  I know that the only thing I truly learned from my accelerated Math class was that I could get away with doing the bare minimum.  And I certainly wasn’t the only person sitting in the back of the bus completing that week’s assignments.  Is that the message we really want our brightest minds to take on?  It doesn’t matter if you’re challenged, just do the minimum and get the grade?

Accelerate or don’t accelerate, for gifted kids in a broken system, the end result will be roughly the same.

This blog is part of Hoagie's October 2016 bloghop.  Check out more great posts about acceleration here.

The Guessing Game

Every day I play a guessing game.  This sounds super exciting and fun, right?  And I wish it was.  I wish my life as a Fringy mom was like some giant television game show, complete with trivia questions, oversized buttons that make weird beeping noises, prizes, and especially balloons and confetti (that I don’t have to clean up).  But, that’s not exactly the kind of guessing game I’m talking about.

Every day I spend a good portion of my time guessing how much my children can tolerate of any given activity.  On big occasions, it’s questions of how long can we stay at the town carnival before the sensory input overloads my daughter.  Answer = 50 minutes, if anyone’s curious.  Or, what time of day is it going to be most likely that my children will be able to function and have fun for a birthday party?  Or, will it be better to have my daughter come home from school, take a rest in the bed to keep her routine, but then cut the rest short so we can get to her older brother’s activity in time OR will it be better to have her rest in the van and take a longer route to the before mentioned activity?  Which will be least likely to provoke a meltdown?

But, there’s the day to day questions, too.  In what order should I do errands that will be least likely to provoke a meltdown?  How many stores can my daughter handle?  What type of crackers is she going to like today?  Is she going to be able to tolerate a bath tonight or should I wait til the morning?  What can I do during the freetime to prevent boredom (big meltdown trigger), but how much structure is too much and will be overstimulating (ooh – another possible meltdown!). 

And the guessing game doesn’t just apply to my fringiest of children, either.  How much math can I assign Cub so that he is challenged, but not overwhelmed?  Can I joke and be sarcastic with Cub today or is he going to be feeling particularly sensitive?  How far in advance should I tell Cub or Chimp about something exciting?  Wait too long and the surprise is overwhelming.  Tell them too early and the excitement and anticipation is overwhelming.  True story – when Cub was 7 he wanted to see Les Mis when it came out as a movie.  After pre-screening it I decided he could go.  I made the mistake of telling him on Friday that I’d take him to see it that Sunday.  2 nights the little dude couldn’t fall asleep.  Because he was excited.  About a movie.  About the French Revolution that is a musical.  2 nights.  But, telling him (or any of the 3 kids, really), at the last minute backfires, too, as none of them really like surprises because they can’t prepare themselves for whatever the event it. 

My daughter has an under-responsive tactile system.  So she needs tactile input.  But, give too much tactile input and she gets overwhelmed.  She has an under-responsive proprioceptive system.  So she needs deep pressure.  But, give too much deep pressure or in the wrong places and she gets overwhelmed.  My kids need social interaction.  But, too much social interaction and they get overwhelmed.  They need activities to stimulate their minds.  But too much activity and they get overwhelmed.  Are you sensing a theme here?

The window of tolerance can be so small with these differently wired kids.  And that window seems to fluctuate daily.  It’s like trying to hit a moving target when you don’t even know what you’re aiming for.  And, so I spend a large portion of my day guessing.  Guessing how much will be enough, but not too much.

I’m glad to say that as I’ve been able to learn and study my children, and understand myself, that my guesses are more like hypotheses now.  They have more education and information to support them.  But, some days, I simply want to know the answers and be able to stop playing the game.  Or at least get a massive balloon and confetti drop at the end of it.

It Gets Easier

Disclaimer:  There was a time during the first year after KBear was diagnosed that I didn’t want to hear about how things would get better.  I didn’t want to hear that we’d find our way and she’ll mature and just hang in there.  I wanted, and needed, for my pain and grief and exhaustion and fear to be seen and heard and recognized.  I wanted to hear people say, “Yes.  This really sucks.  It is the hardest thing you will have to face.  It makes sense that most days you don’t even know how you are physically or mentally or emotionally putting one foot in front of the other.”  If you are in this place, know that I get it.  I see you.  I feel you.  It sucks.  End of story.  And if you are in this place, put a bookmark on the post and stop reading it.  It’s fine to stay in the muck for now.  Know you’re not alone, and know that this post is here for you when/if you get to the place that you will be ready to read it.

For the rest of you who are just starting off on the higher needs path . . . it gets easier.  I still feel as though I’m just starting out, but really we’ve been at this SPD, autism, 2E thing for over 2 years.  I am close enough to those early months that I can vividly remember the heartache, the frustration, the anger, the doubt, the uncertainty, the stuck feeling.  But, I am also far enough down the road to know that it does, indeed, get easier.

Note that I say it gets easier.  I do not say it gets easy.  Maybe someday it will, but for now, I know that there are still days when I am so physically drained that I can’t think straight.  I know that there are still days when I am crying in the closet and lack all confidence that I can do this.  There are still days when it takes all of me and then-some to make it through.  But, I also know that these days are not every day. 

In the early months and years I didn’t really have any tricks to fall back on.  I didn’t know what works for KBear.  I didn’t even know what senses were fully affected or what senses we all actually have (I mean seriously, the only reason you might know that we have more than the 5 external senses is if you’ve had a sensory diagnosis in your family!).  And so I felt more helpless.  I felt like I was floundering in the wind and KBear was floundering right next to me.  And because I couldn’t help her regulate and she couldn’t help herself regulate, most of the time she was dysregulated.  Which meant most of the time she was melting down.  Which meant most of the time I was feeling more than empty and cried every day.

Now, I have tricks and tools.  KBear has tricks and tools.  We know what often works for her.  She is not melting down continuously.  I am not crying every day.  And because of this I have the experience to tell me that the bad days won’t actually last forever.  I know that good days are possible, even if they’re few and far between.  That wasn’t an assurance I had back in the early days.

And, yes, of course, the bad days continue to happen, but I’m not nearly as depleted, so I only have bad days once or twice a week or maybe even every other week.  And yes, there are months that can be bad and difficult still.  Last spring was a nightmare and it felt as though we were right back at the beginning.  And I intentionally don’t think about puberty and how it continues to inch closer because I can only imagine what kind of craziness that time will bring.

But, hang in there.  It gets easier.  You will learn your child and what your child needs.  You will gather your own tricks and tools.  You will learn the cues that indicate when one type of intervention will be more likely to succeed than another.  You will find support.  You will find time for yourself.  You will make it through.  And I know that it might be REALLY hard to accept or believe this right now, but it will get easier.  And until you can believe that for yourself, we’ll be here.  Holding the hope out for you however we can.

Dinner

Life with 3 children is high energy.  Life with 3 fringy kids is CRAZY high energy.  All of these children of mine experience life more intensely.  And, if I’m being honest, I have to admit that my husband and I do, too.  All this intensity can be a lot of fun.  When we do something fun or exciting, we do it BIG.  The Boormans don’t know itty bitty kinda-sorta fun.  We know FUN and jump up and down flapping your hands EXCITEMENT!!  Aside from the fact that these intense energies can also be overwhelming, and aside from the fact that these intensities can trigger meltdowns, there is another downside to this intensity.  Namely . . . dinner.

I don’t know about your house, but at my house, here’s how dinner generally goes:

Me:  OK – time to eat!

KBear:  random noises (touching everything on the way to the table)

Chimp:  (running from across the room and diving into his chair)  Yippee!  I LOVE dinner!  I love you mom!  Oh, gross, I don’t like (fill in the blank, basically anything and everything we make for dinner).  Can I go watch sumfink?

Cub:  (5 minutes later as he makes his way to the table with the speed of a sloth)  So, I was thinking about Pokemon.  And I. . . blah blah blah blahCharmander . . . . blah blah blah blah Darkrai . . .

Me:  OK – Cub.  Just pause the conversation for a second.  Who’s going to pray?

All 3:  I will!  No, I will! 

Me:  Chimp, go.

Chimp:  Rub dub dub thanks grub.

KBear:  (simultaneously while Chimp is praying) some sort of pterodactyl sound

Chimp:  KBear!  I was pwaying!

KBear:  pterodactyl sound

Chimp:  I’m not hungwy, can I get down? (as he’s climbing off his chair)

Me:  No, Chimp, it’s dinner time, you’re staying here.

Chimp:  melodramatic cry as he climbs halfway back up the chair, but then decides to hang over it backwards.

Meanwhile, Cub continues his conversation about Pokemon through it all.

KBear:  I no like!

Now at this point, you might be wondering just where in the world Jon is.  Either, it’s one of our many solo parenting nights, or, he’s mumbling to himself about how nobody appreciates his cooking, can’t we just get some bloody peace and quiet, and why does he even try.

Me:  KBear – you can’t touch the food on other people’s plates.  KBear please chew with your mouth closed.  Cub, ahh, so that’s what Wigglypuff’s powers do.  Chimp, you need to sit on your bum.

KBear:  (scream!) It’s MY turn to talk!

Chimp:  No – I wanna talk.

Cub & Jon:  (eye rolls and sighs)

Me:  OK – Kbear, go.

KBear:  Wanna know somefink?  At lunch today. . .

Chimp interrupts

KBear:  (Scream!)  Chimp!  It’s my turn!

Me:  Chimp, wait your turn.  KBear be kind, please.

KBear:  Wanna know somefink?  At lunch today . . .

Chimp interrupts

KBear:  (UGH!!)  CHIMP!!!!

Chimp:  What? (feigning innocence)

Jon:  Chimp . . . shush.

Me:  Go on KBear.

KBear:  Wanna know somefink?  At lunch . . .

Chimp interrupts

Cub, Jon, and I:  Chimp!  Hush!

KBear loses it and throws her fork at chimp.

Cub sees his opportunity and starts in on another 15 minute long diatribe about his favorite youtube channels.  I turn off my ears, hang my head and wish I was anywhere but the dinner table.

Yes, all family dinners can be high energy.  But, fringy family dinners can be crazy-making and tend to end (at least in my household) with someone storming off in tears or a rage or a meltdown.  Not only are all 3 kids vying for talking time, but all 3 kids are also impulsive, AND it’s the end of the day when 2 of the kids are simply over-done and tired.

Here is a tip that I’ve found extremely helpful.  Especially on the days when I don’t have the energy to play referee.

We play games at the dinner table.  Not board games, usually, because those also tend to result in storming tears or rages.  We will break out Headbanz or Yahtzee on occasion.  Or pass the pigs.  More often, we do talky type of games.  Some of our favorites include:

20 questions, I spy, cooperative storytelling (where one person says one sentence and then the next person continues the story with a second sentence and so on around the table), name that tune, name a song that has the word ____ in it, 1 minute speeches (everyone gives a 1 minute speech on the same topic – the topic can be anything – just look around and name the first thing you see!)

We’ve also recently had fun downloading party game apps onto my phone and playing those, like catchphrase, 3in5 (where you have to name 3 items that fit a category within 5 seconds – we make it easier for KBear and Chimp and just have KBear name 2 and Chimp name 1), Taboo, Trivia games.

And, we’ve also had fun with conversation starter question books that ask questions like “if you won a million dollars what would you do with it?” or 30 second mystery books.

Essentially, the more structure I add to the evening meal, the less craziness and anger that explodes (usually).  I’d love to simply sit down and have a great conversation with my fringy family, but I’m learning that those great conversations tend to be more successful and be prompted more often when they can be in the midst of some type of structure.  Sure, I’m still having to be referee on occasion or help KBear re-set, and I will ALWAYS have to remind Chimp to sit or stand in his spot, but, for the most part, our fringy intensities end up channeled in a similar direction instead of in the colliding mess of craziness that dinner can otherwise be.

Just What is a Peer?

We are inundated with messages from an extroverted world that emphasizes the need for peers.  And, as a therapist, yes, I do agree that relationships and peer relationships are important for a fulfilling life.  But, just what is a peer?

According to the online definitions I found, a peer is a person who belongs to the same social group based on age, grade, or status.  But, when I dug just a little deeper to consider the etymology of the word “peer”, I found that it wasn’t until 1944 that the word became associated with age.  For 600 years prior to that, peer was simply defined as a person equal in rank or status.  Why do I bring this up?  Because the concept that we should be relating and finding all of our social group among similarly aged people is REALLY new.  And this is something for us parents to keep in mind.

Having a relationship with a true peer, someone with whom our interests or development is relatively equal, is far more essential than forcing our children to connect with similarly aged people.  With gifted kids, this is especially true and especially freeing.  There is nothing wrong with our gifted kids having a friendship with a 32 year old who is equally fascinated by photography.  There is nothing wrong with our gifted kids having a friendship with a 67 year old who is equally passionate about the humane treatment of animals.  There is nothing wrong with our gifted kids having a friendship with a younger child who is equally dramatic.  Well, except for the days when those dramatic tendencies collide!

Here's my point – our gifted kids benefit from the original definition of peer.  Often our gifted kids find connections with people across the age spectrum easier than kids of the same age. 

But our modern society sends us extraverted, age-grouped messages and I, for one, have found that I’ve internalized many of these.  In my head I balk at the idea that friends need to be similarly aged.  As an introvert, my head knows that some people only need 1 or 2 close friends to feel contented.  But my gut keeps forgetting the things my head knows, and if I’m not careful, I find myself filled with this weird urgency to foster different “peer” friendships for my children. 

Especially as a homeschooling mom, I find myself getting caught up in the fear that my children are actually not receiving “socialization” simply because it looks different than the norm.  And as a mom to some gifted kids, I find myself getting caught up in the fear that they’ll turn into a socially awkward loner of an adult who’s living in a shack deep in the mountain woods, playing video games over their self-constructed satellite internet signal 24 hours a day.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I suppose.  Except I want my kids to launch confidently into this world and I want them to feel the fulfillment of quality peer relationships.

So now we come back to the original question:  What are quality peer relationships?  For our gifted kids, especially, it’s relationships in which they find commonality, camaraderie, and stimulation.  And sometimes that looks like 15 friends all the same age, and sometimes that looks like 1 friend, who is older or younger or anywhere in between, but who completely and fully understands my kid and cares about similar things.

Peers are important.  But, peers have nothing to do with age or grade.  And if I can let society’s messages that lots and lots of similarly aged friends is the only way to have real relationships slip right out of my gut & head, then I can actually allow my children to find their peers.  They tend to understand who their peers are better than I do if I simply provide the opportunities and stay out of their way. 

My oldest went to a one-room school house for a short time and at 8 years old his closest friends were in their teens. 

My youngest was bouncing from one small group to another at a homeschool park day.  And when he discovered that the kids his age were still engaging in parallel play instead of the rich imaginative and collaborative pretend play that he desired, he moved on to the older kids.  And when the older kids only saw him as the cute little kid who had the motor coordination of his 2 years of chronological age and didn’t really want to play with a baby, he moved on to play all by himself.  And he did so quite joyfully.  I was the only one who felt a pang of sorrow for him as he tried to find his peers.  He was fine with knowing that no one there quite fit the bill. 

I guess, in the end, it all comes down to what we choose to normalize.  Our society defines peers by age and claims that to be normal.  I will continuously strive to normalize the more traditional understanding of what a peer is, and in so doing, I hope my kids won’t have quite as many of those unhelpful, internalized messages questioning what they know to be true in their heads.

For more great articles about finding peers for gifted and 2e kids, check out the other blogs through the GHF BlogHop!  

I Thought I Knew What Love Was

I thought I knew what love was.  I thought I understood the unconditional sort of love that I was taught created healthy, intimate relationships.

I was skilled at forgiveness, at compassion, at total and complete acceptance.  I loved my parents and tried to honor them.  I loved my husband with the kind of unconditional commitment that stuck by his side despite disagreements, differences, betrayals.  I loved my first-born with the self-sacrificing attentiveness and nurturing that we hope for from mothers.  I understood love.  Or so I thought.

My daughter was born in 2008.  I’d had 3 years in the mommy hood by that point, and so I thought I knew how to love as a caring mother.  I continued on with my loving behaviors much as I had with her older brother before.  But, over the months and years it became abundantly clear that my feelings toward her were very different than they were toward her brother.  There was a distance somehow and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

As the years passed and we encountered the more challenging behaviors and were obtaining diagnoses and therapies and transforming our home and family and routines into a sensory friendly life, that distance became more poignant.  There was some sort of disconnect and it was a disconnect that got me wondering if I truly loved my daughter.

In one of my more vulnerable and real moments, I remember talking to my best friend through tears and saying, “I must love her, right?  I mean, I wouldn’t do all this stuff for her if I didn’t love her?”  But it seemed so much more in my head than in my heart.  I had days and weeks, when we were in our hardest moments and ALL of my interactions with her were filled with trials and sensory meltdowns and defiance and her screaming awful names at me while she physically attacked me with her feet, hands, teeth.  In those days and weeks I felt so stuck.  Part of me didn’t want to do this anymore.  Part of me fantasized about finding a different set of parents for her, or at least a different mom.  But, the other part of me knew that I couldn’t ever do that.  That part of me knew that I couldn’t imagine anyone else being with her or understanding her the way I do.  

I couldn’t keep parenting her and I couldn’t not parent her.  I was stuck.  And because I had these feelings and because my parenting of her felt different than my parenting of my boys and because I often felt like I was parenting her from my mind and not my heart, I wondered if I really, actually, deep down loved her.

There was a single night in the midst of this torrential storm that changed everything.  I was laying next to her in bed, watching a movie with her.  KBear turned around, reached her little arm up around my neck in an awkward half hug, looked me straight in the eye, and said with intense sincerity, “I love you, mom.”  I started to cry.  I started to cry at that moment when it happened and I’m starting to cry now as I type it.  It was the most bittersweet moment in my life as a parent so far.  My heart melted at her spontaneous act of affection.  And my heart broke, because for the first time I realized, in 7 years of her life, this was the only time she’d initiated a genuine hug.  It’s the first time she had feeling and connection and intimacy behind her words.  

My mind flashed back to the rest of our relationship.  As a baby her social smile came “late”.  I didn’t realize what that meant at the time, but I remember joking about the fact that we had the world’s only curmudgeon of a baby.  

When she was 2, I would get so angry because she would demand that I stay and “snuggle” her at bedtime, but when I tried to wrap my arms around her, she’d yell at me not to touch her.  At one point, in desperation, I remember saying, “I don’t know what you want.  To snuggle means we are touching.  You want me to just lie next to you.  That isn’t snuggling.”  

At 4, she’d bring me dandelion bouquets and would suffer through my grateful hug, but she wouldn’t reciprocate.  She’d sit on my lap, but wouldn’t wrap her legs or arms around me tight – I felt more like a chair to her than a warm and cuddly lap.  When I asked for a kiss, because she would never ask, she’d simply lean her forehead in or lean her body into mine.

In that beautiful first moment, when at age 7, my KBear initiated affection I realized why I had questioned whether I loved her.  It’s because my love for her had been truly, and completely, unconditional and self-less.  Over the years I had not received any of the warm fuzzy feelings or affections from her that I thought love was.

Sure, loving my sons has been more self-less than other types of love.  I’m their mom, so I’m giving them more of my time, service, heart and soul than they give me.  But, the key difference:  they do give back to me in warm and fuzzy ways.  From them I’ve received the pudgy arm hugs.  They spontaneously and genuinely tell me that they love me.  They push into my hugs instead of pulling away.  Just today Chimp said, “Mom – I love you.  You are important to me.  You are so special.”  I’ve always gotten something back from my boys.  They do things that trigger the lovey-dovey, ooey-gooey, heart-melting feelings that I thought was love.  I thought having those feelings meant I love someone.

Associating love only with tender feelings sets us up for trouble.  The ooey-gooey-ness of emotional love is temporary.  Being infatuatingly, googly-eyed “in love” with a spouse fades over time.  Kids and spouses and friends and family get crabby.  I get crabby.  And in those moments, I don’t feel very lovey-dovey, warm, tender, “in love”.  When my understanding of love is based on my feeling, well, at those moments I don’t feel like I love them.  I don’t feel like they love me.  I am more apt to try to fix them or shame them back into doing the sorts of things that feel loving, that feel worthy of being loved.  My love becomes conditional on the state of my relationship or on the mood of myself or my beloved.

And so, with that understanding of love, no wonder I questioned whether or not I loved KBear.  But, in reality, it has never been that I’ve lacked love for her.  The truth is I lacked true unconditional love for everyone.  It just took her and her autism to show me that.

I recently heard someone define the Greek term agape (love) as an intelligent, purposeful attitude of esteem and devotion.  In other words, love is mindfully choosing to regard someone favorably and to act with loyalty or enthusiasm for a person.  It is a choice.  It is a mind-thing.  It really has very little to do with the feeling.

I’m grateful that my daughter has been capable of being affectionate a bit more often over the past year.  But, mostly, I’m grateful that she has taught me what love really looks like.

My Mistake

The morning started much better than anticipated.  All 3 kiddos were awake, moving around, interacting with each other in friendly manners. 

Less than 2 minutes later, 1 child is crying, 1 child is anxiously trying to parent his siblings, and 1 child is yelling threats, throwing things, and screaming at the top of her lungs.  How did this happen, you may ask?  I made one grave mistake.  Are you ready for it?  My mistake . . .

I went to the bathroom.

You wouldn’t think this would have been a mistake.  You would think that NOT going to use the toilet would have been a bigger mistake.  But, I forget that even though all of my children are chronologically out of the toddler years, emotionally, one of my children still frequently needs the same level of high-intensity, eagle-eyed supervision as she did when she was 1 ½.

Like a toddler, my spectrum-y kiddo can fool you into complacency by being all nice and sweet, but then flip in seconds.

Like a toddler, my sensory kiddo can seem calm and put together one moment, but then scream from hunger, fatigue, overstimulation the next.

Like a toddler, my spectrum-y kiddo can play and share nicely, only to swipe the toy away from your hands and scream in your face that she never wants to play with you again because she’s been offended somehow (like maybe saying you wanted to call the baby doll Frank instead of Prince).

And so, my household can turn from Little House on the Prairie to Lord of the Flies in 0.9 seconds flat.  This especially happens when I’ve stepped away from the room and felt falsely confident that the peace would continue, but it also can happen right before my very eyes.  Calm to chaos and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I’ve got no words of wisdom about this.  Just the quiet comfort of knowing that if this happens in your household, you’re not alone.  And, maybe buy a giant pack ‘n play for your fringy kid, so you can sequester them and go off to pee in peace.  Or, you can take Jon’s suggestion and buy a giant pack of Depends, so you never have to leave the room again.