I'm not weird. I have SPD by Chynna Laird

Talk about echoes of my childhood and my present with my Sensory Processing Disorder (a.k.a. Sensory Integrative Dysfunction).

In the book, I’m Not Weird, I have SPD, author Chynna Laird uses descriptive words like:  hurt, screamed, pain, and scared. Those are words that I use to this day as an adult with SPD.

Sensory overload still erupts in a flight or fight response that makes me want to scream and run away.  What validation and relief I would  have felt if such a book had been written was I was a girl.

How lucky her daughter is that she has the SPD diagnosis.  In the book the fictional girl goes from the hurting words to words of relief.  Her parents are able to help her, and they accept her the way she is.  In my heart, I know that had there been an SPD diagnosis in my childhood, my mother would have read this book to me.

As a parent of a child with SPD, we hadn’t known about it in “his” younger years.  (My child does not wish to be identified.)  “He” hated to be touched.  Like in the book, he had to be taught to accept a hug, but only a certain kind–the very tight ones.

Later he learned that touch can soothe also, but always hard touch like a massage when I push my palms hard into his back muscles and neck.  I had to do that every night for years so he could get to sleep.

This book is too late to read to him, but it is perfect timing for so many parents who wonder what is wrong with their children.  It’s as much of an education for them as it is for the child, since, in parts of the book, it is written from the child’s perspective, so parents may be able to relate to their child a little bit more.

I must admit that when I first read it, I was sad–very sad.  I remember the pain, literally and emotionally.  One event stands out in my mind.

Forest Park Elementary School was a radical idea in the 70’s.  It was an open concept school, meaning children could move from class to class depending on their skill level in a particular subject, which my mother thought would be better for me rather than skipping any more grades.  But, the classes had no walls; it was literally an open concept.  The 360-degree noise burned my senses until one day, I freaked.

I ran to the bathroom and sat in the corner and leaned against the wall.  With my fists clenched and my body in a tight fetal position, I rocked.  The breath coming into my lungs hurt.  My head hurt so badly that my vision blurred.  A teacher found me and carried me to the front office where my mother picked me up.  At home, I hid in my room for hours until the pain abated.

After this happened many times, I was dubbed as having migraines.  Now I know that I don’t have migraines and likely never did.  It hurt; I screamed in my head for help; I was in pain; and I was very scared.  Yes, I did get teased.  My mother was mystified, and I remember her face looking scared too.  The doctors said there was nothing they could do.

If you know a child who screams, hits, hides, runs away, or has other unexplained outbursts, read about Sensory Processing Disorder.  If the child is diagnosed with this disorder, buy I’m Not Weird, I have SPD so the child can feel a sense of relief too.

Chynna Laird’s Website
Chynna Laird’s Blog

Related posts:
360-degree Noises
Family TV Watching and Autism

Have you ever noticed?

I was asked what was the magical part of my childhood as a person with autism.  With such a question, it took me days to choose one memory over the others.

One Island Lake.  It was a magical place, a sandy beach hemmed in by trees with a shoreline that curved inward toward the beach.  I felt safe because the water was shallow, and when I looked up my Mum was always there.

She let my sister and I stay there all day.  I studied tadpoles, minnows, plants, and lightning bugs.  I made great rivers from one small sandbar to the next.  I was quite happy in this little world of wonders–the smaller the better.

Study the photo above and notice beyond the tadpoles to the sand.  Every piece of sand is a different color.  They all sparkle in different ways.  When you swirl your hand in the water above the sand, some of the sparkles will swirl like a hurricane of rainbows.  The darker colored ones sink first, with the lighter, sparklier ones remaining in the swirl longer.

Have you ever pushed your fingers into the sand on the bottom of a clean, shallow lake?  It feels like…indescribable heaven.  If you leave your hand there long enough, the minnows and tadpoles will come and swim around and tickle your skin.

I remember getting very upset when other people came there because of my discomfort around people and because they were talking and sometimes playing a radio.  It upset me to the point of angry.  It was MY place.  To this day, I have a hard time sharing with others when I have set my mind on something belonging to me, whether it be a place, a thing, or a time of day.  I don’t want to share, but I know I have to so I others will be happy.

Maybe my Mum’s ulterior motive was to get some rest because my sister and I were occupied.  She read a lot.  And, I remember being so tired and wanting to go to bed.  Smart woman, my mother.

I wasn’t aware of the rest of the lake, just my small part of it.  To this day, I know so much about the minutiae of tadpoles and minnows.  On my deck at night, I will see lightning bugs and I still wonder how they do it.  I have the urge to run and grab a jar to catch one in, but that would be mean, so I wonder instead.  I refuse to look up lightning bugs on the internet because I don’t want the magic to go away by having memories turned into realities.

I know Mum brought food and water, but I wasn’t much aware of that.  She said to drink so I drank.  I don’t remember much of anything she ever said when we were there.  I do remember how the waning sun made her blond hair into gold and bronze.  I was quite amazed at such a beautiful sight.  She was the one who brought jars so my sister and I could catch lightning bugs.  I was in awe of her because she knew of such things.

Every time, though, she said one dreaded thing, “Time to go, kids.”  But oh, how I slept.

ttfn in Tennessee, thank you for your question and the lovely memory it invoked.

Mum, this is for you too.

Today, my daughter, who does not have autism, gave this to me, her mother who has autism.

I’m sending this post to my Mum because when I was a kid I didn’t show much or say much, but I sure did love her.

How do I love thee, let me count the ways:  oranges in the summer, One Island Lake, tucking me in bed, taking me to Granny’s, answering my questions, letting me draw (except for the time I drew a mural, sorry Mum), letting me drink at the spring, taking me berry picking, showing me what success looked like, teaching me to make spice cake and eggs, letting me stay in my room, getting me around people, and for trying so hard to get me to talk with her.

I suppose now she wishes I would stop talking so much when I call her.  I’m making up for lost time, I suppose.

And to my daughter, Sarah, I love you too.

- Mummy