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Chapter Four
The Holding Relationship
Children who are violent and emotionally explosive command continuous focused
interactive attention, while those who are severely emotionally constricted
are easily in danger of being lost and overlooked.
These essentially silent children appear absent to classroom life, seem
listless and without animation. They lack the energy to cry out for help
as our challenging and disruptive children do. Their’s is a silent
plea.
They have learned to deaden their feelings as self-protection from emotional
and physical threat and confusion. They hide not only from others, but are
lost even to themselves. They have learned that to be themselves arouses
disapproval and wrath. Though they selectively speak, they usually opt for
silence.
It is precisely the child’s lack of speech, which often arouses genuine
concern, and becomes the impetus for seeking professional remediation. Speech
therapy is the primary intervention sought. Unfortunately, many professionals
support this focus of concern. But the child’s silence is not related
to communicative difficulties. Fear, repressed emotion and spontaneity,
are more the underlying culprits.
Considerable and prolonged gentle, healing, loving balm must be provided
to psychological and emotional wounds before children are enabled to express
and release immense emotional pain, turmoil and often formidable, rage.
Emotionally repressed and confused children need to be helped to become
visible to themselves. Mirroring, that is the art of intuitively reflecting
to each child what their state of being is in a particular moment, is an
essential element of any healing and holding relationship. It is akin to
mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. It breathes life into children.
Mirroring confirms existence by helping children to see themselves through
the vision of an informed heart. Mirroring requires that a teacher be finely
tuned to the child, be able to intuit the child’s interior life, and
from her heart’s intelligence reflect what she sees, hears, and understands
to be true in the moment. Mirroring can be silent, a child feeling herself
lovingly reflected and held in her teacher’s eyes.
Mirroring draws the child into relationship, enlivens and energizes the
present moment, creates focused energy and the experience of being seen,
valued, validated and cared for. It stirs a child’s energy and ignites
dormant growth potential. It grounds the holding experience in unconditional
acceptance. Even a child who appears totally alienated cannot resist the
non-physical caress and comfort such holding provides. In its nature mirroring
is gentle and joining. In its Phase I use, it nurtures symbiotic craving.
Some statements that reflect Phase I mirroring are:
“I hear this boy. Sounds to me like you’re feeling sad, (angry),
(upset).” etc.
“Sometimes a girl just wants to sit and do nothing. I can sit here
with you.”
“I hear this boy saying no. Sometimes a boy needs to say no to his
teacher.”
“I see what you’re making. Looks like you’re working hard
on that.”
“Sometimes a boy just doesn’t want to do what his teacher is
asking. You can sit here and I’ll do it.”
As a relationship develops and unfolds, the need for growth demands gradually
increases in harmony with the behavioral changes the child evidences. How
growth demands (gentle energy frictions) are conveyed is important to maintaining
the holding relationship.
The essential quality of unconditional acceptance in Phase I mirroring must
be present in Phase II mirroring which now contains growth demands. There
is a place for both forms of mirroring once Phase II has become initiated.
Some statements that reflect Phase II mirroring are:
" I see you don't want to put this toy away. I will give you another
as soon as you do."
"You don't want to wash your hands? Guess what. You'll have your lunch
as soon as you do!"
I see you don’t want to hold my hand. I’d like to take you to
the kitchen, but I need you to hold my hand while we walk through the hall.”
“I see you don’t want to stay in our area, but this is where
I need you to be.”
(The child’s behavior may mandate the use of Phase II mirroring as
well as Phase I from the beginning of work with a child. The choices that
are made are always rooted in our understanding of the child’s needs
in the moment and not based on rigid formulas.)
A teacher’s growth demands generate friction even when gently provided
and may disrupt the child’s symbiotic connection with her, which in
turn may lead to a full-blown tantrum. The child’s response is the
teacher’s opportunity for therapeutic, healing intervention. The teacher
must then empathically see the child’s explosive behavior through
to conclusion, ensuring closure.
However, when a child has frequent emotional outbursts in response to a
teacher’s growth demands, attention should be given to the likely
possibility that the child is not psychologically and emotionally ready
to receive them. They should always be selectively chosen and only provided
when they are in the best interest of the child, or when classroom realities
necessitate them.
How a teacher responds depends upon her understanding of a child’s
developmental needs as manifested in the moment and in the flow of time.
The response a teacher provides must always originate from her commitment
to serve the child’s growth needs. Her entire being is motivated by
this concern. Through intelligent caring and emotional availability, the
child is enabled to develop a trusting dependency upon her. The use of mirroring
contributes to nurturing the holding relationship which continually evolves
and unfolds.
Nancy
Nancy was two years three months when her step-mother and father brought
her to Beachbrook. They were primarily concerned about her lack of speech.
Parents frequently view their child’s lack of speech as an isolated
problem, separate from the child’s total being. Unfortunately too
many professionals, speech therapists included, look at communicative abilities
as an isolated phenomenon. From my extensive experience, I have observed
that once a child’s repressed, confused energies are enabled to flow
freely, so too does the child’s communicative speech. This applies
as well to our work with some autistic children.
I have seen many severely emotionally constricted children but Nancy was
the only one (of two) in recent years to appear catatonic (See Footnote). That is, totally
immobilized and frozen in space.
Two’s are naturally energetic, curious about their surroundings, and
are actively working on separation – individuation developmental tasks.
They are discovering that they are separate persons from their mothers –
which makes the use of the word No so vital to their development. Yet some
misguided parents respond to this natural development as the ending of an
idyllic time and rebel against it. Some parents are frequently unaware that
they need their child to compensate for their own past losses, deprivations,
abuses and emotional wounds. They then release their own repressed childhood
rage upon their innocent child in the mistaken conscious belief that their
child is being ‘bad’ and disrespectful when a counter-will to
their own is expressed.
Nancy stood frozen in space in her classroom area, silent, staring out of
beautiful wide eyes which appeared not to see. She stood like that for long
unbearable periods of time, completely unreactive and unresponsive to her
teacher’s overtures. Frightened and concerned, her teacher and play
therapist called me to see her at different times.
I’d crouch to eye level a short distance from Nancy and say softly,
“I came to see Nancy.” Not a flicker of an eyelash. Unmoving,
her eyes wide yet sightless, she stared blankly as if in a trance. “Nancy
seems scared,” I said, my own stomach knotting as it resonated with
her fear. “Nancy seems sad,” I helplessly added. The reality
before me was hard to take in.
In my weekly meeting with Nancy’s teacher, and later that day with
the Green Room teaching team (which included her teacher) and our concerned
school psychologist, we decided to contain and enclose Nancy within a small
holding environment. Nancy seemed lost in space. We wanted to help her feel
cradled and supported by the boundaries we would provide. We hoped the containing
boundary would enable Nancy to feel more secure, and safe enough to stimulate
inter-activeness in her.
From that moment on Nancy was helped to sit at a table with her teacher
sitting near her. When her teacher momentarily left the area, hand in hand,
Nancy went with her. As Nancy gradually awakened to the life about her,
her teacher lovingly mirrored what she intuitively and watchfully observed
Nancy to be experiencing. Nancy's attention was particularly drawn to crying
or tantruming children.
At these times her teacher said, “I see you looking at Sharon. She
seems very angry. Sometimes a girl feels very angry and needs to show it.”
Or, “Sean is crying. I think he’s feeling very sad. His teacher
is taking care of him.”
Like a dormant seed waiting for earth, light, water and nourishment, Nancy
was coming alive, not suddenly one day, but gradually and continually in
each unfolding day, revealing brilliant potential, and eventually ferocious
and sometimes fiercely self-abusive rage.
Nancy welcomed her father's visit when he came to be with her in her calassroom
for one hour once a week. During play with him she revealed she was very
cognitively bright. Clearly she was being taught cognitive skills at home.
On those infrequent occasions when her step-mother came, she became withdrawn.
Her step-mother was seen pinching her under the table once for some unknown
behavior. There was not the slightest overt response from Nancy.
Both Nancy’s father and step-mother run their home in a demanding,
rigid fashion. No room for deviation is permitted – or expression
of unwanted feelings or behavior tolerated. Personal belongings such as
toys, however small, are forbidden to Nancy and her siblings.
During rest-time on her cot one day, Nancy began to strike her backside
very hard crying loudly, “Whip my ass.” Tears flowed from her
eyes. Her step-mother happened to walk into the classroom early this day
to take Nancy home. Seeing Nancy crying, she said harshly, “Wipe those
tears, I don’t want to hear that.” At the sight of her step-mother
all emotion disappeared. Her tears vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.
In the ensuing days Nancy developed the courage to frequently say ‘No’
to the teacher she was becoming dependent on and very attached to. Her teacher
recognized the meaning of Nancy’s ‘No’, and the developmental
growth it indicated. She was pleased by Nancy’s assertion of will
and individuality and responded supportively and empathically.
Nancy’s growing emotional attachment and dependency upon her teacher
stimulated the repressed and disowned violent rage toward her parents to
erupt in ferocious, wildly striking-out attacks directed at her teacher.
When these eruptions occurred, she (like other children) was clearly in
an altered state of consciousness. On many occasions more than one person
was needed to contain her, to prevent her from severely slapping her own face
and body, and to keep her and her teacher safe. In fantasy play, Nancy revealed
the cruelty she experienced at home, and her fear of her loved father.
There were times when she refused to go home. Getting her coat and shoes
on proved impossible. She was extremely strong in her resistance, and if
necessary would enter into a lengthy and violent tantrum. We were compelled
for a period of time to arrange to have her step-mother pick her up. The moment
her step-mother appeared in the classroom, Nancy left without so much as a peep.
One day she cried for her father saying, “I want to be with Daddy.
Daddy takes care of me, not Mommy.”
Nancy’s parents were unable to attend our weekly parent group. But
I was able to meet privately with either parent from time to time. Both
parents seemed guarded and knowing when it came to parenting skills. I shared
our concerns for Nancy with them, my opposition to rigid, dictatorial and
punishing behavior, and ways that we believed were effective and helpful
to Nancy’s growth. They seemed to tolerate what I had to say but
criticized the school as too permissive. They would frequently talk to me
about other people’s parenting situations. I used these conversations
as opportunities to indirectly inject healing ways to interact with Nancy.
Nancy was becoming increasingly explosive in school (I’m sure not
at home). With this release of pent-up toxic energy within a safe holding
environment came more and more verbal expression reflecting her inner life.
One day she said to her teacher, “I’m angry with you..I don’t
believe my mother and I don’t believe my father and I don’t
believe my brother and I don’t have any friends.” Her drawings
reflected her feelings of isolation.
As her teacher listened, mirrored and accepted her feelings of pain, rejection,
anger and rage, other aspects of Nancy’s being bloomed. She expressed
affection to her teacher, interacted more freely with her peers, began to
run, play and use the classroom yard, and she laughed! Her thirst for cognitive
learning seemed unquenchable. She was reading and beginning to write letters
and words in her threes. We believe Nancy will impact wonderfully upon the
world one day, if the world gives her half a chance.
Nancy has had a difficult beginning and is a very wounded child. She has
suffered early abandonment, emotional deprivation and cruelty. But she is
now alive to her own inner truth as well as her tremendous will. She is
beautiful, intelligent and lovable. We hope these attributes will assist
her through the challenges of growing-up in her family and in our difficult
world.
With time, Nancy’s parents seemed to modify their rigid demands and
behaviors.
To some extent they seemed more open to Nancy and her sibling’s individuality,
and more tolerant of their children’s genuine feelings. So they led
me to believe.
Though my words may seem critical of Nancy’s parents, I do not feel judgmental
of them. I know that their capacity to parent is largely influenced by their
own childhood experiences. Thus parents who were severely inhibited as children
are in danger of repeating this behavior with their own children or may,
in the opposite direction, provide little or no meaningful boundaries or
reality limits. Such an awareness can only lead to a compassionate response
toward the often profoundly difficult experience of parenting toward parents
and children.
Nancy was with us for three years. She has been attending mainstream Department
of Education classes for three years, and is an outstanding student.
*footnote
Since I have not written about Brenda, our second child
who appeared catatonic, the reader may be wondering about the outcome of
our work with her. Brenda also arrived at Beachbrook when she was two and
graduated at five. Though Brenda and Nancy are each unique persons, with
very different family histories, the themes of emotional deprivation and
cruelty were similar, as well as the paths of healing. Brenda’s mother
was extremely motivated to heal her own woundedness in order to promote
her daughter’s well-being. Her self-hatred, which was rooted in her
own traumatic childhood, made it difficult to love her daughter who reminded
her of herself. Brenda now attends a mainstream Department of Education class
and is reportedly doing well.
* * *
Autistic Children
I have deliberately saved my discussion of work with autistic children
for last, because all that I have said thus far especially applies to our
work with them, with the following important additions:
Autistic children often appear to be prisoners of isolation, and only intelligent
heart-mind energy can melt their imprisonment. Because they appear to reject
human contact they often seem out of human reach. Yet, with two exceptions,
I have not known an autistic child with whom an endearing relationship was
not possible, or a child with autism who has not achieved considerable developmental
growth, with some eventually emerging from the imprisonment of autism.
Children who are autistic are as individually unique in potential and personality
as anyone else. But, in the long beginning, like mining for treasure, one
cannot know what the outcome will be. Work with an autistic child teaches
one to live in the stream of the never-ending now. This moment – NOW
– is the focus of attention, and in the work, what matters most.
Once work has begun a discerning eye is needed to see and intuit the child’s
almost imperceptible moment-to-moment unfolding. This seeing, validating
and mirroring of the child in the present-centered moment energizes and
heightens the child’s awareness of experience, moment to moment throughout
the school day. Like a magnet it draws the child’s attention to the
living moment, toward human interaction, and therefore toward our everyday
reality.
On the surface an autistic child seems impervious to human overture. But
paradoxically the utmost sensitivity and intelligence is required to engage
such a child. Soft, generous, reaching-out heart, quiet voice, playful disposition,
loving eyes, patience and faith are some of the needed qualities.
For as the teacher attempts to engage the child, the child’s presence
frequently seems to slip away, as if sucked into an interior dark vacuum.
The teacher may succeed in establishing a fleeting connection one moment
only to see it vanish the next. Yet in that engagement, however brief, resides
possibility. The teacher (and others who work with the child) is literally
in a gentle, yet tenacious, struggle for the child’s life.
The momentary glance, attracted by the child’s interest is akin to
an injection of vital energy from teacher to child. It intrudes upon the
child’s dormant energy system in the form of a present-centered living
moment and disturbs the vacuum that is autism. The child’s genuine
interest, however fleeting, is a vital living moment. It is such moments
strung together, extended in time, that contain the potential for lifting
and releasing the child from the dark lonely isolation that is autism.
In the long beginning, such vital, living moments are sparse. In the course
of time, they should continually increase and become sustained, enabling
the child to live more and more in NOW or related time. Joining with the
child, entering into the unfolding mystery of the child’s being, imagining
and understanding experience from the child’s perspective, serving
the child’s developmental needs as evidenced in the moment and in
the course of time, is the imperative and motivating factor in the work.
All action, including non-action, the spoken word, as well as silence, contains
energy and must be injected mindfully and carefully, especially in the work
with autistic children. The injection of loving, living energy extends an
invisible magnetic life-line to the child. This life-line must be present
and available for the child’s use. The child’s life depends
upon the teacher’s ability to entice, attract, hold and engage the
child’s genuine interest while she works to awaken the child’s
self-awareness and interest in our world. The child’s ability to grasp
the life-line, internalize, digest and integrate the new vital energy it
provides, profoundly influences the outcome of the work as well.
There are degrees of autism, of what I see as primary (or severe) and secondary
(less severe) autism. What differentiates the two for me is the degree of
fragmentation and self-stimulation a child is driven to express. The extreme
intensity of such expression is a more serious form of autism.
Both forms have organic, psychological and cognitive components.
However in primary autism the organic or biological aspect dominates.
But in the secondary form, psychological and cognitive
factors profoundly influence the course of autism. I believe this is
why children who suffer from secondary autism generally respond so well
to therapeutic intervention at Beachbrook.
Since an autistic child is isolated and adrift in the very core of being,
the essential challenge is to find ways to join with the child, to awaken
in the child the need for a particular person, to form an almost symbiotic
relationship (almost because there must be enough friction to generate growth)
which will eventually foster individuation in the child. This means that
it is necessary for the teacher to be acutely sensitive to maintaining her
alliance with the child. Empathically mirroring what seems to be the child’s
reality in the moment, or what a child is or is not motivated to do superbly
supports joining with the child.
David
David was two when he came to Beachbrook. He seemed infantile, small, lost
and blind. He’d crawl on the floor and could not be kept in his area.
He seemed completely unrelated, did not say any word, and made no eye contact.
His face seemed sad and lifeless.
His teacher, who also cared for two other children, began to hold him in
her arms for long periods of time in order to contain him and also to make
contact with him. David passively accepted her holding of him. At times
she tenderly and playfully stroked his arms and back and even his face.
(Changing his diaper on the changing table provided another opportunity
for loving encounters.)
David’s teacher continuously held him in her arms. Although I inwardly
questioned this, I remained silent and watchful. I observed David’s
passive acceptance of her nurturing, although he showed no other outward
feelings. And I observed the pleasure and deep caring of his teacher.
Before long, David began to explore his teacher’s face as an object
of curiosity in what appeared to be an attempt to comprehend the mystery
that she was. He began to try to scratch his way through the skin of her
face, and to pull, full force, her long beautiful brown hair.
By now David had taken root in his teacher’s heart. Even though he hurt
her, she welcomed the sign of life in him. Laughingly, she
repeatedly extricated herself from his painful grip. She said, “I see
David wants to scratch my face and pull my hair but that hurts. I can’t
let you hurt me.” She constructed a fabric board that David could
scratch and tried to divert his attention to it. David sometimes
accepted the scratching board, but he clearly preferred the direct
encounter with his teacher. Soon he was drawn to digging his fingers
into his peers, as well as his play therapist and speech therapist, who
supported his teacher’s work. He seemed to be driven to get into the
substance of being rather than be limited to its surface. Feelings of
power, of renewed energy were beginning to surge in David and seemed to
drive him to discover his world in these new aggressive ways.
David required continuous safe boundaries, for his protection as well as
others. Contact with peers had to be closely structured and supervised and
rarely occurred at this time. In response to David’s assaults his
teacher held him less and encouraged him to sit at a table while she sat
next to him helping him to be there. When she needed to move about the classroom
or leave it, she offered David her hand and encouraged him to walk with
her. Where she went, so went he. He needed the continuous support of his
teacher’s presence.
When she left for her break without him evidence of her meaning to him
erupted in strong emotion, and he cried with tears flowing from his eyes.
David had never cried tears before. His dormant possibilities were stirred
by the loving, generative friction the boundaries of reality necessitated.
And in his sorrowful moments, David discovered that his feelings were validated,
understood and mattered deeply to others.
In the course of time, David’s investment in the moment’s outcome
increased. He raged against life’s limits, his awakened energy a fire
in his being. That fire, which always accompanies the birth of new life,
was recognized as the promise of future growth. In his rage was the evidence
that life mattered! Events mattered! David was alive and present, here and
now.
His teacher understood the meaning of his behavior. She understood that
acceptance of David’s rage was pivotal to his emerging growth; that
it was important not to stifle or divert it, and important to accept and
allow its potential for healing full expression.
David’s teacher became a safe container for his feelings. As they
furiously erupted, she quietly received, held and mirrored her understanding
of them. And he in turn discovered not her – but himself!
Gradually words came – as they tend to do with the frequent release
of emotional energy, and with the intake of new, fresh, vital living energy,
in the form of loving intelligence. David’s erupting emotions, as
well as their safe holding and containment, was the essential link to motivate
him to communicate his needs. Gradually, David was entering the world of
everyday reality.
David’s mother came to only one Parent Group. It was to express her
gratitude for giving life to her son. He had been diagnosed as autistic
at a hospital, and he had achieved stunning growth within one year.
David has had a succession of care-takers since birth, none of whom were
his mother. The reality is she barely saw him. A single, professional woman,
she needed to work long hours to support them. David missed the first vital
stage of life, a loving symbiotic bonding with his mother (or mothering
caretaker.) Without this vital connection, he could not develop.
David’s teacher intuitively knew exactly what he needed. He was in
a way, unborn. Understanding this, she gave the breath of life to him.
In this sense, the child is as much teacher as the teacher...
Anna
Anna had been enrolled in a well-known and acclaimed special education school,
and had been placed in a class composed of autistic children. Her mother
rightly believed that this was not an optimum environment for her child.
She objected to the lack of healthy stimulation and to the random chaos
of the classroom. After visiting many schools in search of a school for
Anna, she chose Beachbrook. “I could feel the difference the moment
I stepped into this school,” she said.
Anna showed severe signs of autism. Her beautiful face and body were in
constant motion. Her mouth babbled a stream of continuous sounds but offered
no words (although typically she had said words but stopped at about 18
months); her soulful dark eyes, while fleetingly passing over one, seemed
not to see and didn’t cry tears, her fingers fiddled in perpetual
motion with her shoe laces, belt, ribbons on her clothing, or any small
object that attracted her attention. She moved continuously on her toes
and seemed lost to our world.
Having noted the above, it is necessary to add that Anna radiated a deep,
magnetic intelligence, something that seemed well beyond her two plus years.
I was instantly committed to working with her whenever I could. I wanted
to bring my energy to the struggle for her life. I wanted my life to be
connected to hers.
In this I was not alone.Anna easily penetrated the heart of her teacher
and anyone in school who came to know her. The question was, to what extent
would we be able to penetrate hers?
When she first came to school, Anna took container after container of toys
(manipulatives, small sponge blocks, rubber animals, people, etc.) and forcefully
threw them (including containers) onto the floor in her area making a tremendous
mess. She did this for many months with increasing glee.
Was this a response to her mother’s prohibition against such behaviors
at home? I did not know. (Anna’s mother did not attend our parent
group.) What seemed obvious to me was that the throwing of her energy was
spontaneous, alive, present-centered, non-fragmented and important to Anna.
Therefore, her teacher and I decided to accept this behavior. If we were
to be of use to Anna, we would have to find ways to join with her, to meet
her in her world.
While some containers were put out of reach to lessen the mess and cleanup
for her teacher, Anna’s will to throw objects and to devastate her
area was accepted with good humor. It was necessary for her teacher to suspend
her usual need for neatness and order. Objects were picked-up only to be
forcefully thrown again. What was essential to the work was to foster Anna’s
discovery of her teacher’s affirmation of her. Smiling at Anna, she
playfully mirrored, “I see Anna throwing all the toys on the floor.”
Increasingly, as Anna engaged in this excessively rebellious two-like behavior,
her eyes briefly sought her teacher’s. There was a wonderful look
of defiance in them. And occasionally, Anna was beginning to respond to
her name!
When exhausted, her teacher offered Anna her lap. There she would cuddle,
thumb in mouth, for long periods of time, her head nestled on her teacher’s
breast while she attended to her two other children. During these moments
the internal fragmentation that tore at Anna’s little being was held
at bay, and Anna received nurturing and some respite. Other times, severe
fragmentation dominated her every movement.
We quickly learned from Anna that she was alert and paying attention. As
was mentioned earlier (Chapter One), Anna continually escaped from her designated
area, with her teacher lightheartedly going after her to bring her back. It would take Anna time
to discover the value of having her own special place to be. When her teacher
was momentarily engaged with another child, Anna would seize the opportunity
to flee. But not for long. Her teacher was soon leading her beautiful, smiling,
brown-skinned girl, back to their area.
Space and boundaries appeared to be taking on new meaning for Anna. She
began to make contact with chairs, tables, shelves in odd ways. She’d
fit her chest over them, push them, put her legs on them and make body contact
with the furniture that divided the area, sometimes causing it to give way.
(Many months later after dislocating a rolling shelf divider, I saw her
return it to its original position.) It was as if in making contact with
these hard and defined surfaces, Anna was not only discovering their boundaries,
but, more importantly her own. Anna continued to sometimes throw things,
but she was also beginning to return them to their proper places.
One day I came into the classroom to work with Anna. She avoided contact
with me. I stacked four or five red brick cardboard blocks, stepped back,
said and did nothing. As I hoped, Anna accepted my silent invitation and
with full force knocked the blocks down. I immediately built them up again.
And the game was on. She even added one block when I handed it to her. During
these alive moments there were few signs of her debilitating autism.
In the course of time, I began to take Anna to my office to work with her
there, sometimes daily for up to thirty minutes, usually in the mid part
of the morning. Encounters with Anna often energized the rest of my day.
When I worked with her, I frequently entered an altered state of consciousness,
with Anna my sole focus. Everything else was suspended. My attention was
riveted by my interest in her, by the mystery and challenge she posed, by
the delightful person she was.
There were times when she demolished my office. Looking me straight in the
eyes, within an instant papers and books were hurled from my desk to the
floor. My phone went flying too. She’d move without warning with lightening
speed. I’d rescue my things, place my phone away from her, and say,
“I can’t let you mess up my desk Anna!” I was both exhausted
and exhilarated from our work together. When she was not engaged in these
sweeping activities, her fragmentation was present in her toe walking, and
fascination with twiddling small objects. She continued to babble sounds.
On occasion she was heard to say a word or two and “peek-a-boo,”
a game frequently played with her, but no word was consistently said or
used.
In the weeks to come, I took charge of my desk by structuring where I sat,
but I also provided objects for throwing (if necessary). Anna, however,
seemed to want to throw what was definitely off limits. On more than one
occasion she hit me hard, pulled my hair, sobbed and cried real tears when
I provided necessary limits. Believe me, it took too long to free my hair
from her clenched fingers. Then I reflected back to her that I saw how mad
she was with me when I didn’t let her do what she wanted. While all
this was happening, Anna didn’t seem autistic. What was happening
mattered to her! To me too!
There were times when we were together that fear for Anna gripped the pit
of my stomach when she seemed utterly lost to me and to herself. Then,
however silently, there was something in me, cold and wet, that wanted to
give up and walk away. I wanted to win this battle against autism... I cared
too much...Anna mattered too much... It hurt too much...
But each day, to my amazement whenever I entered her active and busy classroom,
sometimes to speak with a teacher, I suddenly felt a small hand in mine,
pulling me with such surprising strength out of the classroom and into my
office. She could be at the other end of her large nursery classroom and
within an instant her hand was in mine. This girl was strong, determined,
and not giving up. In these moments Anna rekindled the values of faith,
hope and courage in me.
There were times when I’d have a reason to re-enter her classroom
after we had already worked together. On one such occasion, Anna cried broken
heartedly, tears streaming, when I left the classroom, this time without
her. Her teacher with soft tenderness held her, comforted, heard and mirrored
Anna’s pain. Whatever Anna expressed was a gift from her soul, which
we cherished and returned to her in the form of understanding.
Two more events need telling before I draw this chapter to a close.
One day, after working with Anna in my office, I returned her to her classroom
as usual. However this time instead of joining her teacher, she went immediately
to the housekeeping area, lifted a child’s size broom from its holder
and began to sweep the floor in fantasy play. I remained nearby, watching
her, outside the area. Anna heard teachers announcing that it was time for
children to get dressed to go outside. A few children already had their
jackets on. Anna loved outdoor play. With an expression of rapt attention,
she threw the broom down on the floor.
Seeing Anna’s urgency to go out, I seized what appeared to me to be
an opportunity to enhance Anna’s comprehension of language. I was
prepared to stay in with Anna and to live through her likely rage and grief
if necessary. I deliberately refrained from giving any body cues when I
said matter-of-factly, “If you want to go out, pick up the broom and
put it back where it belongs.”
Anna instantly picked up the broom, carried it to its holder, lifted the
broomstick in the air and slid it into its holder. A teacher’s aide
who was standing nearby witnessed this event with total incredulity. Until
this moment there were few indications that Anna understood what was being
said to her – and nothing remotely so complex. She might respond to
“sit here” with cuing at times.
As matter-of-factly as I had spoken before I now dressed Anna and sent
her out to play. Inwardly my heart raced with joy. Can anyone doubt the
power of the right intervention in the right moment? This child was full
of surprises... wonderful surprises... What else was to come?
Anna's spirit was full of the spark of life as she explored, struggled,
fought, enjoyed and entered deeply into new experiences. In so doing, moment
- to - moment, she revealed her growing awareness and investment in her
life in school. She laughed, she smiled, she cried, she protested. She cared
about outcomes. She seemed to adore her teacher whose eyes she frequently
sought for loving, mirroring confirmation. Her teacher's gentle love for
her was a constant source from which Anna drew new energy. She was the most
important person in Anna's life in school. I took great pleasure in the
selfless beauty of Anna's teacher's love for her, and in the rightness of
my choice of teacher for Anna.
I came to know in depth this exquisite and moving relationship for the following
reasons...
As I stated earlier, I tried to see Anna every day, but there were weeks
where I may have seen her only once or twice because of a highly pressured
work schedule. The sparseness of our work together during these weeks seemed
to pose no noticeable problems. However when I returned to school in September,
after a one-month vacation in August, there was a marked difference, even
though school was closed for only two of those weeks.
When I entered Anna’s classroom eager to take her to my office, she
barely paid attention to me. My heart sank. I did not know what to make
of her lack of interest and recognition. On the second day as I entered,
I saw an unmistakable sign of recognition as a corner of her mouth hinted
the beginnings of a smile that disappeared almost as soon as it had spontaneously
begun. Anna made no movement in my direction, but continued her activity,
her teacher the center of her enchantment.
Day after day, I entered the classroom, now sitting a short distance away
from Anna and her teacher and observed with delight her teacher’s
work with her. Anna showed not the slightest interest in me – not
even the recognition I formerly saw.
I was truly puzzled and disquieted. I considered many possibilities. Perhaps
because of the long time gap between our last meeting, I no longer existed
in Anna’s world, and we would have to resume our work as if, for Anna,
we had no history. I wondered, did our work together disappear into an autistic
vacuum never to be retrieved? A chilling consideration. This seemed the
worst possibility since it suggested impairment of Anna’s ability
to remember, retain and integrate what she knows. Another consideration
was that in the great gap of time, which can be endless from a child’s
viewpoint, Anna had felt rejected and abandoned by me. Perhaps she lost
heart, and our relationship ceased to have meaning for her. I did not and
I do not know.
I considered taking Anna to my office to begin our work anew. But this solution
felt unacceptable to me. I needed to know more about the meaning of Anna’s
obvious rejection of me before deciding to initiate a new beginning. I needed
to give the situation more time to see what else might be revealed.
So each day I entered her classroom, sat a short distance away and observed
her teacher’s exceptionally sensitive work with Anna, and then left.
This occurred for several weeks, until one day as I was walking in the hallway
on my way to my office for a weekly meeting with one of my teachers. Then,
suddenly, I was caught up in a whirlwind of commotion. The raucous noise
caused me to turn in the direction of the sounds. What I saw was Anna in
front of her teacher, pulling her with all her strength in my direction,
her teacher running (and laughing) to keep up with her, and office staff
moving quickly to get out of her way. Within minutes Anna had reached me.
She let go of her teacher’s hand, grabbed mine and literally caused
me to lose my balance as she yanked me into my office, as if to say, “Enough
already! Let’s get started!” And this is how our work resumed,
because Anna initiated it, right then and there in that moment. (Of course
my teacher had to wait for another appointment.)
I was glad I was able to resist my desire to begin work with Anna in favor
of listening to a deeper voice which questioned the rightness of this action
at this time. I needed prompting, either from within myself or from Anna,
that the time for beginning again had arrived. That prompting came unmistakably
from Anna.
Perhaps my action in the form of non-action reawakened Anna’s interest
in our work. I do not know. I do know that I wanted Anna to value, want,
and to choose to continue our work together. Such active willing and choosing
could only intensify, energize and heighten the meaning of our work. Most
of all, I wanted evidence that Anna remembered, retained and valued what
had already transpired between us. That evidence she dramatically provided,
which aroused in me a response of deep gratitude.
Anna is now three and a half. She can remain with us until she is five.
Let us assess what Anna has accomplished since her arrival at Beachbrook,
one year and a half ago.
Anna is considerably more related, to herself and to her world. Individual
persons and events matter to her. She expresses feelings in response to
events. She sustains and seeks eye contact. She plays and wholeheartedly
engages in some activities. She gestures, leads and will take a particular
object to her teacher for a desired activity (like finger painting). She
is much less fragmented as is evident in her ability to sustain focus for
brief periods, and in her considerably lessened interest in random small
objects. She now likes her teacher’s lipstick (which she has given
to Anna) and she will (at times) apply a little to her lips and then wipe
it off with a tissue and throw the tissue in the garbage pail – all
on her own. She is obviously thinking and problem solving. That she wills
and fights for what she wants is an accomplishment in itself. She continues
to babble streams of sounds, rich in cadence, as if speaking a private language
to herself, some phrases repeated so frequently they have become familiar.
However, Anna is beginning to pay attention to lip movements (with prompting
and motivational efforts) and on occasion is now trying to imitate mouth
movements as a word is being formed and spoken. Will Anna be able to discover
the key to communicative language? If it is physically possible, and we
fervently pray that it is, then Anna will do it. Anna rarely walks on her
toes now, and in general is much more grounded in her world.
Looking at these bare assessments Anna’s achievements within a year
and a half’s time are impressive. They have occurred because of the
uniqueness of this particular child who happens to have autism, and her
response to the generative dynamics of our work.
We have deeply valued the essence that is Anna and have encouraged her
essence to blossom. This has profoundly energized and motivated Anna’s
will to be herself in our world. Toward this end we have joined with her,
and she in turn has joined with us.
An Update
Anna has just turned five.
While I had concluded my presentation of our work with Anna, I now find
I must share recent accomplishments and their implications.
A serious commitment to Anna’s toilet training was not undertaken
until she was four and a half. Earlier attempts were met with disinterest
and rejection and were abandoned until signs of greater bodily awareness
and receptivity appeared. These became visible in her increasing self-emergence
and relatedness.
While Anna was initially reluctant to relinquish her diaper, (which she
wore to and from school) she was now able to do so and was given regular
panties to wear in school, which her mother provided.
Anna has achieved almost complete mastery of her elimination needs. What
contributed to the difficulty in the past was the extraordinary internal
fragmentation that Anna experienced, as was evidenced by her involuntary
body movements as well as the frequent stream of perseverative sounds she
was compelled to emit.
From the beginning our work sought to unify Anna’s internal functioning
by wholeheartedly inviting, welcoming and respecting each of her responses
to the boundaries of meaning we continually provided.
We observed that it was precisely following a long and turbulent emotional
outburst that Anna seemed most related, internally still, relaxed and whole.
Over time her self-emergence and relatedness increased while her need to
discharge violent energy decreased in frequency and duration.
Anna’s evolving self-awareness and responsiveness to others functions
as a synthesizing energy force which fosters integrity and wholeness. She
is able to sit quietly and play cognitive games without emitting perseverative
sounds for long periods. She is now saying some words. It is evident that
Anna understands whatever is said without the need to provide her with bodily
clues.
Anna’s awareness of her elimination processes and her will to master
them (which her teacher inspired) has profoundly elevated her self-view
and her struggle to be whole.
* * *
It is necessary to remember that in this work, it is the barely visible,
the particular, the subtle, that requires sensitive, and continuous attention...
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