Her and me and SPD.

I don't think you understand, she never stops crying. It isn't normal, is it? When I turn on the light in her room, she recoils, like she's in physical pain. Whenever we go for a ride in the car, she throws up. Her Dad coughs and she jumps, like she's afraid. Trying to get her to eat anything is a huge, huge struggle. She screams when it's time to get dressed. And she cries and she cries and cries. She never stops. It's more than crying. It's life-halting, room-clearing, ear-piercing, screaming. Everything overwhelms her. Everything. I don't know what to do. I don't know what I did wrong, but I must be doing something horribly, horribly wrong.

Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD, formerly known as "sensory integration dysfunction") is a condition that exists when sensory signals don't get organized into appropriate responses. Pioneering occupational therapist and neuroscientist A. Jean Ayres, PhD, likened SPD to a neurological "traffic jam" that prevents certain parts of the brain from receiving the information needed to interpret sensory information correctly. A person with SPD finds it difficult to process and act upon information received through the senses, which creates challenges in performing countless everyday tasks. Motor clumsiness, behavioral problems, anxiety, depression, school failure, and other impacts may result if the disorder is not treated effectively. --SPD Foundation

My daughter was recently diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder. I’ve known (or suspected) that she had sensory issues for a very, very long time. From the moment I brought her wriggling, screaming, uncomfortable little body home from the hospital, I had a gnawing feeling deep down in my Mommy gut that something was just a little off. It's not usual for babies to sleep in 15 minute increments for months. It's not typical for children to refuse anything but breastmilk beyond a year. Bathing and dressing and walking and just, everything...it wasn't normally like this. There were signs, but it took me over 4 years to get the nerve up to take her in and get a diagnosis. Why did it take so long?

Because I was afraid.

I was afraid of what they would say about her. That she’s different. That she’s not “normal.” That people would find out what she has and focus on that instead of seeing her for the wonderful and brilliant little human she is, in all her pink, sparkling tutu'd glory. That they would hear she was diagnosed with SPD and automatically judge me. I've heard people say it's not a real thing. A name for what people used to call "spoiled rotten," a brand that reflected more on poor parenting skills than on a child in a constant state of overwhelmed chaos.

I was afraid of what I would think of her. What would it look like if we found out, indeed she did have SPD? From that day forward, would I treat her differently? Be too soft on her to make allowances for her difficulties? Be too hard on her to force her to overcome obstacles that most 4 year olds don't face? Would I be too focused on fixing her to recognize how wonderful she was just the as she was? Maybe my biggest fear: what if there's nothing wrong with her and I'm just a horrible Mom...

I was terrified.

But one day, after a particularly difficult morning on a loud, hot and overwhelming soccer field. After yet another epic meltdown that had me fuming and cussing and wishing I'd never been born (much less birthed this glorious creature into the world). After more crying and screaming and helpless feelings than I'd ever like to admit; I'd had enough. THIS. WASN'T. WORKING. It wasn't working for me and it really wasn't working for my precious, sensitive little girl. 

So, I pulled on my big girl panties and made the call that I'd been dreading for years. The very next day we were in with the OT and literally 3 minutes into testing, the kind girl looked me in the eye and said, "I can already see some sensory issues. We will get you the official results after testing, but yes, we will recommend she start therapy."

Justification. Disappointment. Relief. Anxiety. Guilt. It was all there. 

My thoughts swirled and I talked myself up and down, praying through the emotional roller coaster: Yes, my little girl has SPD. Yes, she will always have SPD. No, things will never come as easily for her as they do for other kids. I am not a failure as a parent. I couldn't have prevented this. People will think what they think and we will have no control over that. And she will be fine. We will be fine. We will gain the tools we need. She will be successful. She will be capable of having deep, meaningful relationships with friends and peers. She will rise above the added challenges that she is faced with. She is a conqueror. She is a tiny woman of Christ.

And it is a blessing to know. Now that we know, we can see these "overreactions" to seemingly average life circumstances are not just naughtiness or the result of poor parenting. We can finally get the tools we need to help her through life without the screaming and kicking and emotional hardship. We can aid her to a life of success. (That's the hope, anyway!)

Because, you see, there is nothing really wrong with my little girl. She is brilliant. She is intuitive. She is kind. She is compassionate. She just feels deeply. She is sensitive. Sensitive to everything. And sensitivity is a treasure, not a disability. 

But we need to prepare her for a world that doesn't have an extra half hour to talk her out of a panic when a train passes by and it is too loud and she falls to the ground in a heap. Acceptable at four, perhaps. Never at 44. The world doesn't care that she gets physically ill from the smell of coffee brewing or a public restroom. The world doesn't care that the sounds of children playing and laughing and squealing make her anxious and therefore, she would rather just play alone. The world sees anything aside from normal as weird. And the world doesn't have time for weird. The world is hard on us all, and as a Mommy, it's my job to make sure she is ready.

So, here's to being brave enough to admit that my little girl has SPD. Here's to being brave enough to admit it out loud, to others, but mostly just to myself. Here's to being ready to leap over hurdles that often seem too high and too wide and too impassible to even begin to run at. Here's to hours of occupational therapy and to gaining "frustration coping skills". Here's to patience neverending. Here's to sore knees and dewy eyes and years and years of prayerful parenting. And here's to celebrations over little victories like 4 bites of chicken (even though the white part is stringy).

And thank the Lord for little victories that make life so much easier as she get's older. Nothing makes me happier than glimpses of a future where Rosaline's heart and her desires can overcome the chaos of her confused senses.

"Rosaline, please sit down and eat your breakfast."

"Mommy! I can't! I'm too uncomfortable!!!"

"What's uncomfortable, Rosaline?"

"My back!" "Ok, it's a new shirt and it is just the scratchy kind. Should we change your shirt?"

"No, Mommy. I love this shirt. It's just so uncomfortable."

"Would you like to be comfortable or would you like to wear the new shirt?"

"I want to wear it."

"Ok, but no more tears. Let's eat breakfast."

"Ok, Mommy."

Victory.