annie2 wrote:
Hi. I'm the parent of a 10 yr old Aspergers boy. Over the last year I have noticed a pattern of behaviour, where about once every 6-8 weeks he displays more agitated behaviour which eventually ends up in a meltdown . . . and then he seems a lot calmer. What I am trying to work out is whether a meltdown is completely unavoidable, and whether it actually "helps" in terms of releasing frustration . . . or whether I should still be trying to work really hard on reducing the triggers and agitated behaviour so that we avoid the meltdown. The agitated behaviour tends to occur well into a school term or in the holidays . . . never really at the start of a school term. I'd be interested in how others feel about the role of meltdowns - should you avoid them at all costs . . . or do they actually help?
They help you emotionally because they're often necessary. At least for me, they are. At the same time, you want to reduce the need. Kind of like... um. Well, like algae in fish tanks. The algae is beneficial because it metabolizes waste into oxygen, but it's not a good thing to have algae. I mean, it is good, but it doesn't look good, and unhealthy tanks are likely to have a surplus of the stuff algae uses for food.
And you CAN just go at it with an algae scraper or buy a pleco, but that might make things worse, or just not fix the problems the algae is warning you of.
You want to reduce stress. Meltdowns will be few and far between in a good environment. For me, we're talking weeks to months in between, and generally only a couple of minutes during. Once I had one that was under a minute. But that's for me. I don't speak for everyone.
It's a shame when we're taught to be ashamed of meltdowns, because when the goal is to avoid them entirely, we can never meet that goal. They'll happen. The goal is to reduce them to the minimum by reducing the need for them to the minimum.
You have to learn to hide them, to delay them, but those strategies DO NOT PREVENT THEM. They only delay the inevitable, giving it more fuel. I wish I could have them at a time I choose, because I end up delaying until my willpower runs out or until I relax my vigilance, and sometimes that means right after it stops mattering, but sometimes that means at a random time that's no better than average and might be worse than other times I might've had it.
But I was never taught to let go, only to hold on.
I'm glad I was taught that I could control myself, that I could always keep from doing things. I mean, it's not true, but thinking I could get total control is better than the other extreme. I would think somewhere in the middle would be better. Because I managed to wrest a large amount of control back for myself. A huge amount, more than some people here have ever gained even with far more years under their belt than I have. That might be because I had more inherent potential to do so, but I want to point out that I didn't start out capable. My family just stressed that I should never panic, should stay calm, should "put the pause between the stimulus and the response" (basically, if something makes you feel strongly, think for a second before you react with your body or your words). Even so, I can't prevent them. I am not totally in control of myself.
But this isn't a bad level of control. I don't hurt people. I can always keep myself from destroying property. Sometimes I can still think almost semi-coherently. I still care about what I care about. And it's not a bad frequency-- they happen with varying times in between, but rarely enough that everyone around me knows that if I've had one there's actually something wrong. If I have more than one in a week or two, things are very wrong. That's everyone's cue, mine included (I don't remember to go easy on myself; I don't usually get much done, and tiredness kind of sneaks up on me, so I have no cues to tell me I've overworked myself-- after all, I've done less than everyone else-- until I suddenly get sick or have a meltdown).
There's a distinction I want to make here. The meltdown-- FOR ME-- is about two things. The spark, and the fuel.
The spark is usually something unexpected. Something changes, my expectations were wrong, I don't get my way about something. One of these. Normally I make myself like steel against that, so when it happens, the spark burns out.
But the fuel... the fuel is all the tiredness. The fuel is all the bad things. The fuel is all the pain. The fuel is everything bad that's been happening to me. Everything adds a little, or a lot, or somewhere in between.
So I try my best, when there's a lot of fuel, to close off all oxygen, to make sure there's no airflow. So I try to keep the fires small, I try not to let it happen. And all that fuel? It weighs on me. It makes life harder. Trying to keep it from burning tires me out. Sometimes it makes me feel self-pity, and that's more fuel.
Reducing both is good. But having no fuel is impossible in this imperfect world. Eventually, it's gotta burn. Though a controlled burn might be possible. I don't know.
So both strategies. All strategies. The only strategy I don't recommend is treating them like a behavior problem. Don't punish someone for a meltdown. If the behaviors are done in an attempt to get your way, you're having a tantrum. A meltdown is not a tantrum. People get them confused all the time. Telling the difference is hard. Even from the inside, though it's way easier from the inside. And there's always the possibility of lying. I have a real problem with admitting my needs. I usually say I'm lazy or stupid when someone asks why I'm not doing what I should, or why I'm taking a long time or making stupid mistakes on homework. So I can totally imagine someone calling a meltdown a tantrum and not admitting it. And someone could also call a tantrum a meltdown because it would be more effective that way.
You have to be able to delay. It's like you gain this iron grip on yourself. You don't do ANYTHING. You don't let anything come out. Not speech. Not movement. Nothing. You can't even go limp. You go rigid. Sometimes that's what you have to do. Sometimes it's less extreme. Sometimes the iron grip can be a little looser. When you're not so close to the edge, you can do things, maybe you can talk. But what you're doing is denying permission for movements or speech or anything to do anything. You bottle up EVERYTHING. It's like you squeeze your heart with your mind. You contain the meltdown in your core, and you don't let it leak out.
But that's not forever. Success at delaying doesn't make you more psychologically healthy. There's a cycle. From right after a meltdown, I, at least (maybe not others), am fresh. Stuff gets worse from there until it's unendurable. Then I lose control. Meltdown. Then I'm fresh again. (Note: sometimes stuff's so bad, you don't go all the way back to zero.) Delaying a meltdown extends the cycle, but the specific part of the cycle you buy time in is the time between bad stuff reaching critical mass and meltdown happening. It's worth it to be able to do, but you're not buying good time. It's not where you want to live your life.
But sometimes a meltdown would have such huge ill effects that the pain of delaying for a minute, an hour, a day, even a week... all those time periods can be worth it.
What I would advise you as a parent to do is wait it out (at some neutral time ask your child what would be helpful-- usually, being left alone in the quiet dark wherever you've run to, but EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT), and afterward-- AFTERWARD-- but soon afterward, figure out what the causes are. As many of them as you can catch at once. Some will be one-off problems to solve once or ride out. Some will be recurring issues. And work on communicating about them. When we most need to be able to communicate nonstandard needs politely is when we're least able.
@alone, hang in there! It gets better!
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I'm using a non-verbal right now. I wish you could see it. --dyingofpoetry
NOT A DOCTOR
14 Dec 2010, 5:01 pm
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