"I Just Don't Know"

Our younger son and I were waiting for his morning bus last week. It was freezing cold. We had just put his brother on his bus and had five more minutes of standing in the driveway before our younger son's bus arrived.

Five more minutes, friends, and I would be home free!

And, then he grabbed my hand.

"Um, mom, I don't really know how to describe this, but, ever since Christmas, I haven't really wanted to go to school," he said.

Oh, dear, this could go south very fast. I tried to remain calm as I said, "Well, buddy, what exactly is wrong?"

"I just don't know," he said.

That's his common response to a difficult situation. It is visible that he is feeling something, but more often than not, getting him to recognize and express those emotions to us is a process. That's part of the emotional deficit that comes along with his autism. He just can't understand and explain the nuances between emotions.

Asking a child like him 101 questions about whether he felt sad/mad/lonely/anxious or frustrated was pointless.

Putting on my psychologist hat, I probed into the nature of his feelings with the goal of resolving this issue before the bus rounded the corner. Happy, happy, happy. Everything must be happy, and we must get him on that bus!


Was he upset about the work load? The kids? The teachers? His therapists? The length of the day? I stretched his thinking--and mine--as best I could to tease out the issues so that he could step on that bus and feel better.

"I just don't know," is all he could say. He was completely incapable of thinking his way through his emotions.

Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc.

The arrival of the bus was imminent, and I was out of ideas. And then, out of the blue, he burst into tears. It was as though he couldn't hold his feelings in any more. Forget the bus! I hugged him and swept him back into the warmth of our home and situated him on the couch with his favorite things. And, I watched him, this child of mine who always seemed to hold everything in. Every fear. Every worry. Everything all locked up in that head of his until he buckles under the pressure one morning in the driveway waiting for the bus.

An unfortunate amount of children diagnosed on the autistic spectrum deal with some sort of anxiety. I had always suspected he had it. And, over the next few days to follow, it continued to overflow.

"Mom," he said, "I'm getting that feeling again like I got in the driveway." Then the waves of tears would wash over him.

"When you cry," I asked, "do your tears come straight from your eyes like they do when you skin your knee? Or, do the tears come from your chest as if you are scared or unsettled?" This was my feeble attempt from trying to decipher if he was sad or anxious.

Hey, I was trying!

"I just don't know," he answered.

Well, he may not be able to articulate it, but after a few times of watching him, it was pretty clear to me that this child was suffering from anxiety attacks. No third-grader should have to deal with anxiety attacks. And, yet, here both of my children have anxiety.

Our older son runs from his anxiety. When he is hell on wheels, we know he is feeling anxious. When he can't sleep and is up all night, anxiety is one of the culprits. Nervous energy. Pacing. Fervently vacuuming and tuning us all out. Definitely anxiety.

In his early years, our younger son was a nail biter. He also heard and announced every sound around him, asking for assurance that each one was okay. Everything makes sense now.

Often, along this path in autism, I feel so helpless in parenting my children.

And, at the same time, I am very thankful for the professionals in our lives who are committed to our children, their future and this cause.

This is life with autism.