My child’s first words broke my heart. It was her first sentence actually…18 months in the world, and my Buddha baby was a beautiful mess of fat rolls with a spirit so pure that being with her felt like something in between worlds.
We were getting ready to go out that night—getting ready to go to a potluck at the eco-village where we lived when my sweet baby said “No!” and turned from the door, her gentle face contorted in worry.
“You don’t want to go to the potluck?” I asked her.
“No!” she said. “Everybody grab you!”
Everybody grab you. When she said “you,” she meant herself. And then she moved away from the door and stood, like a tank, determined to stay home and avoid the potluck, avoid the touch from people she didn’t know while my heart sank.
The truth is, I knew she hated touch. She would flash a bright smile, someone would approach, she would giggle, they would reach out, and then she would freeze. I could feel her muscles stiffen. I could feel her energy change. But sometimes the smile would stay frozen on her face. Nobody knew. No one but me. This is when the mama guilt set in. I knew she hated it, but I did nothing. I could come up with a million excuses here, but the bottom line is I didn’t think anyone would believe me, I didn’t think anyone would like me if I stuck up for her, so when I thought of saying something, I kind of froze too.
Fast forward through a couple of therapy sessions, and I found the magic words, “please ask before you touch.” It wasn’t easy to find my voice—to find my confidence as a mother—but over time I began to realize that protecting my child’s space was more important to me than anything—including what other people thought of me.
It took about a year before her social anxiety waned. When we walked through crowds, my arms were gates on either side of her—protective bumpers that kept her safe inside. When I signed her up for martial arts, I waited in line with her, keeping the four and five year olds from crashing into her with their helicopter arms. I would have loved to watch her proudly from the parents’ area. It simply wasn’t an option. When another child approached, she literally cowered in fear. If someone made contact, she became hysterical and had to be taken out of the room. It was excruciating to watch. If she was going to function in the world, I was going to be her bodyguard.
I didn’t know the term tactile defensiveness then. I didn’t know my daughter was on the autism spectrum and had significant difficulty processing sensory input. I just knew I needed to protect her space.
It’s been many years of protecting her space, and my sweet child has grown by leaps and bounds. She still takes martial arts, but I’m in the sidelines now. She does partner activities, holds hands with other kids, and participates fully in class.
Now that we know she is on the spectrum, all the pieces are coming together. Now that we know what she is dealing with, we can get support. Within a few months of her diagnosis, we got on a waiting list to get her a service dog. She’s always had an amazing connection with animals and we know that a service dog will help her to gain even more independence. She currently needs me in sight most of the time, even in our own house. With an 80lb dog at her side, that will change.
“Everybody grab you.”
Those three words that broke my heart also gave me the impetus to find my strength. Eight years later, my child is finding hers. “Having a service dog would help me a lot,” she said. “Being with a dog makes me feel safer—especially if it’s big and strong, because I feel protected.”
We should all have what we need to feel protected. I’ve been her bodyguard for the last eight years. I cannot wait to welcome my 80lb understudy.
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