Showing posts with label murder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label murder. Show all posts

Parenting Kids With Disabilities: How to Get Through Tough Times

Shannon Des Roches Rosa
www.squidalicious.com

Content note: This article discusses abuse and murder.

Photo © Steve Silberman
[image: a white woman, standing behind a white teen boy
with brown curly short hair. He is looking at the camera.
Her arms are over his shoulder, his arms are up
and tickling under her chin.]
When parents like me talk about our kids with disabilities and intense support needs, we have to be thoughtful. We need to make it quite clear that our kids are much-loved and very awesome human beings. We should never, ever state or imply that any challenges we face as a parent are our children's fault. We need to handle their privacy with delicacy. And we shouldn't accidentally enable disrespect towards children who are already too-frequent magnets for morbid fascination, and pity.

But we do need to talk, because our parenting gig is not like other parenting gigs. It just isn't. We, our kids, and our families need different supports than families whose kids don't have disabilities, and we often need a lot of them. Sometimes we're not always sure where to find those supports, or even aware of available supports; sometimes we're ashamed to pursue the supports we and our kids need. And not having the supports we need for the best quality of life possible can lead to unnecessary hardship for everyone involved.

So, let's talk about what parents like us need, and especially how to get what we need. But first, I need to be forthright on one matter: In no way does lack of services excuse harming our children. Ever.

People with intensive support needs deserve sufficient resources, and so do their families. When these services are minimal or unavailable, that is a large-scale failure on our society's part. However, insufficient resources don't explain or justify murder of disabled children, because such crimes—which are also, frighteningly, not rare—do not actually have lack of services in common. So please don't buy into or spread the dangerous message that if parents don't get enough services, they might kill their autistic or disabled child.

Instead, parents—like me, like you—need to hear that it's not a failure or shameful to ask for help, and we need to feel safe about doing so. For our own sake, of course, and because reaching out also protects our kids.

Being in crisis is not the same as being a failure. Nor is it a personal failure to admit you and your child need help. So we need to work past fear and misinformation, and get educated about what our support options are, both during emergencies, and in general. Misinformation can lead to tragedies, as when parents absorb media-propelled myths that it more understandable for a mother to try to kill her child than to call Child Protective Services (CPS) on herself if she's thinking about harming that child. These dangerous myths sometimes persist because parents don't actually understand the role of CPS in protecting both children and families, nor are they aware of emergency services or rights-based services that were always available to them, if they'd known or been told where to look.

I spoke to Dori Tanaka, Family Resource Specialist Coordinator at Support for Families in San Francisco, who says:
"While contacting CPS is perceived by many families as a negative, it can help families access emergency services. Once CPS is involved, they may be able to assist families with support to get through a crisis. If possible, CPS's goal is the reunification of the family. 
"Unfortunately, it would be better if families did not have to resort to using CPS services; it would be better if services that would help them in caring for their children were easier to access. [But] many parents are often unaware of resources like Support for Families (and its local sister agencies) that help San Francisco families of kids with disabilities navigate IEPs, home health care, childcare access, and insurance scenarios -- services that can help prevent getting to that crisis point in the first place."
But avoiding parenting crises isn't just about services. We also need to be thoughtful and compassionate in how we approach our parenting, because our kids do not exist in a vacuum. They have a relationship with us, they react to us, and if our behavior and parenting choices do not respect our kids' needs and choices, then we parents can actually be the main problem in our kids' lives.
Especially when, as with autistic kids like my son, so many treatments and approaches and interventions are based on "normalizing." If we prioritize compliance and obedience, if we do not allow that autistic people have autistic brains and autistic learning styles, and are ill-served by forcing them to learn in non-autistic ways, that can lead to trouble.

How else can you work on improving your outlook and attitude as a parent? By finding a supportive community. Community matters, when it comes to feeling supported as a parent. It matters a lot. Both online community, and IRL.

You need to be selective, though. You need to connect and talk with people and parents who are good listeners, and avoid those who aren't. Once, when I was feeling particularly overwhelmed, I managed to squeak in a night out with a friend. On the ride home, I confided in her about some of my parenting worries. She responded by telling me about a friend whose children died from degenerative diseases, implying that by comparison I didn't have anything to worry about. I certainly never confided in her again.

Because when when any of us are floundering, depressed, or in crisis, it doesn't matter if other people have things harder. They are not living our lives. We are. So find someone who gets you, who wants to be around you, and/or who wants to listen (and to whom you will return the courtesy, yes?). Then cut the scoffers or other unfriendlies out. Your time and energy are precious, so don't waste them on people who treat you and your heart thoughtlessly.

Unsurprisingly, many of my friends are parents of kids with disabilities, and/or autistic and/or disabled themselves. When we talk, we talk—and talk and talk and talk. We discuss things we would never, ever say in public, out of respect for our kids and also for the reasons listed in this essay's first paragraph.  We coach and advise each other. And we talk about silly things that are totally unrelated to our kids, because all parenting all the time gets old really quickly. It's all cathartic, it's all fair, and it's all necessary. So try to find your people. Either IRL or online is fine, and anyone who tries to tell you that online community isn't real is living in 1994.

A last, much-appreciated resource for me (as I've written many times) is the writings and insights of autistic adults. Parents and professionals are capable of beautiful observations and crucial recommendations, but there is no substitute for having lived an autistic life. Consider also my personal experience: professionals were the ones who lobbied for my son to have early intervention because otherwise he might "never develop" life skills—and left me a panicked, jibbering wreck; autistic people are the ones who soothed my soul by reassuring me that my son's developmental trajectory was his own, and that, like them, he's probably going to be a life-long-learner and developer.

And of course, my son is also good at teaching me what he needs, as long as I'm paying attention. Our relationship is one of affection and synergy rather than one-sided deficit-battling. He is not my precious special angel meant to teach me life lessons, but rather an embodiment of self-advocacy and grace despite the crap that life, silly people, and even well-meaning people constantly throw at him due to his disability. I hope I will always have his back in the way he deserves, and in the way he has mine. Even when things are tough for either of us.

A final reminder about healthy attitudes towards parenting kids with disabilities, from autistic autism parent Ally Grace. I think we all could all use such a reminder. Possibly daily. Possibly hourly.
"My children owe me nothing. I brought them into the world, which was my choice and is my responsibility now. I will unconditionally embrace who they are. Because that's my job. And because that is my ethical obligation to my children, who are fellow and equal human beings. Whatever their neurological makeup."
Please know that I am not saying every parenting crisis of ours is fixable, because that also would be unfair and untrue. But there are tools, there are people, there is information that may prevent crises from happening, and can also help us find our way to the other side when crises do happen. We parents of kids with disabilities both deserve and need to know more, and feel better, about our options.

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Resources

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A version of this essay was formerly published at BlogHer.com
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His Hands Were Quiet: A Review

[image: Brown book cover. Small yellow text at
the top reads, "Zachary Goldman Mysteries 2"
Next, the title in white all caps text reads,
"His Hands Were Quiet." Next is an image of a
yellow triangle with a silhouette of a person bending
backwards and being struck in the chest with a
bolt of electricity. Large yellow text at the 
bottom reads, "PD Workman".]
Maxfield Sparrow
His Hands Were Quiet
By P.D. Workman

Content notes: suicide, abuse, murder, house fires, burn injuries, PTSD, Judge Rotenberg Center, ABA

This book review gets all the Autistic trigger warnings. It is a gripping thriller/suspense novel that could help people understand autism and Autistic people better, and it is raw and honest about what some of the most vulnerable Autistic people endure. It will be a tense read for everyone and could be especially triggering for many Autistic people, so proceed carefully with this review and remember that your self care is more important than anything.

Zachary Goldman is a private investigator with his own past history of trauma. He grew up in the foster care system and had a long and painful recovery from being badly burned in a house fire. He’s not in the greatest life situation when the novel opens—he’s sleeping on someone’s couch and not even doing that very well. Zachary suffers nightmares and insomnia from the stress of his current situation and the long-term effects of trauma.

When the mother of an Autistic boy living in a residential facility contacts him to investigate her son’s death—the institution and the coroner have decided that her son’s death was a suicide but she doesn’t feel that’s the truth—Zachary falls down a rabbit hole of autism therapies, electric shock, and adult Autistic protestors. Will Zachary uncover the truth about the boy’s death? Was it suicide? Murder? And why do the therapies used in the school make Zachary feel so uncomfortable? It looks to him like torture, but surely professionals know what’s right?

I have been a fan of P.D. Workman’s writing for years. She mainly writes YA and adult genre fiction and develops relatable underdog characters who move the story forward with their drive to understand and be understood. Workman’s characters seek and speak truth while others doubt their information and often their basic life competence.

Zachary Goldman is no exception to the theme. In fairness, his life is in shambles when the story opens, but people hover, untrusting. Both his ex and his friend who owns the couch Zachary is crashing on suspect he’s going off the deep end when he becomes obsessed with the school, the therapies, and the autistic children as he watches more and more troubling “therapeutic” situations—including a malfunction of a skin shock device, resulting in an electrical burn on an autistic girl’s skin.

As you may have already guessed by now, the school in the novel is modeled after the infamous Judge Rotenberg Center (JRC). When Zachary begins his investigation, he’s shown reward areas with cartoon characters, bright colors, a ball pit. He’s given the “glossy brochure” tour and might have walked away satisfied if it weren’t for all the protestors outside. The school’s director has Zachary enter and leave through a back door, hoping he would ignore the protestors, but Zachary ends up talking to a woman, an Autistic adult, who is with the protestors.

There are many moments in the novel that shine as not just scenes in a well-crafted story, but sensitive and insightful teaching moments. Zachary’s conversation with the protestor is one of those moments. As a longtime fan of Workman’s writing, I knew she was working on this novel and, along with many other Autistic activists and advocates, helped her connect with as much #ActuallyAutistic #OwnVoices as we could. Her research was tremendous and I felt a depth of understanding of Autistic issues throughout the novel. Some characters are ableist, some are grappling with entrenched ableism, but the bedrock of the novel is clearly respectful and Autistic-allied.
“Even without aversives, therapy can still cause PTSD or other anxiety or emotional problems.” 
Zachary scratched the back of his neck. “Do you have proof of that?” 
“I am proof of that.” 
He looked at her, studying her face and her body language. “You did ABA?” 
“Yes. I did.” 
“What for? You aren’t autistic, are you?” 
“Yes, I am.” 
 “You… must be very high-functioning. I wouldn’t have guessed it…” 
 “Do you think that’s a compliment?” she snapped. 
Zachary fumbled for an answer. He had clearly said the wrong thing. He’d somehow insulted her. And he didn’t know what he’d done or how to undo it. 
“You think I want to be like you?” Margaret persisted, her eyes flaming. 
 “Like me?” Zachary let out one bitter bark of laughter before he caught himself. “No, I don’t think you would want to be like me.”
(From His Hands Were Quiet, location 1088, Kindle version)

Researching for the case, Zachary reads the ABA classic text, The Me Book by O. Ivar Lovaas. At points throughout the story, Zachary reflects on what he had read in The Me Book and how it relates to the aversive therapies he witnesses in the school.
And Lovaas… what had Lovaas said? He had said something along the lines of some children being rewarded by negativity and punishment, so that the parent or therapist had to be very angry and hard on them to get the proper results, and that weeks or months of such intense therapy could be taxing on the parent. Poor parents, having to be so hard on their kids. Zachary shook his head, thinking about the arrogance of such a statement.
(Location 1995)

His Hands Were Quiet serves as an engaging fictionalized introduction to many crucial issues in the Autistics Rights movement. Many people who would be disinterested in reading non-fiction political writing will find themselves drawn into and caring about the human rights issues of the JRC, ABA therapies, the presumption of Autistic competence, and related issues through reading Workman’s mystery/suspense novel. His Hands Were Quiet is part of a series of novels about Zachary Goldman’s cases, but reads well as a stand-alone novel.

If there are people in your life who enjoy detective novels and would want to (or NEED to!) learn more about autism, here’s your Christmas present for them. Workman’s eye-opening story will lead to many fruitful discussions and much increased empathy for the struggles and needs of Autistic people.

Once more, I warn about the general content of the book, which can be intense at times, both in the ways that most mystery/suspense novels are but also for any Autistic who has experienced stressful therapies. With that caveat in mind, I loved this novel and recommend it to anyone who enjoys the genre.
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