Category Archives: fear

October 21, 2018 · 1:38 pm

What’s love got to do with it?

I have a kid with a severely limited diet. He has sensory processing disorder (SPD) and after many years of various therapies to overcome his challenges, he’s mostly a typically weird and weirdly typical kid. Except when it comes to food. His most persistent and consistent sensory obstacle is extreme sensitivity to taste, texture, and smell. The resulting anxiety and fear have wreaked havoc on mealtime in our family for as long as I can remember.

When he was five years old and newly diagnosed with SPD, I told his occupational therapist that I wanted more than anything to conquer his fear of food. I specifically remember saying, “I do not want to be having this conversation when he’s eleven!”

He’s eleven now and on the cusp of puberty, and we have a team of therapists and a nutritionist helping him ingest enough calories to gain weight and height during this crucial time of development. We’re definitely still having this conversation, and I know now it will be the elephant in the room for the rest of our lives.

Over the years, I’ve expected, anticipated, and imagined countless scenarios where food would be his kryptonite.

I expected my son to bring lunch to school instead of buying one, and I knew it would be difficult to order from a restaurant menu without a laundry list of edits and substitutions. I anticipated he would skip the pizza at birthday parties and sleepovers, and I imagined sleepaway camp would be a no-go.

It’s the future that paralyzes me now. What will he eat on a date? What will he eat at a business lunch or a cocktail party? And my fears go way beyond mealtime. Will he find love and acceptance? Will he be happy?

What I’m realizing as we navigate this arduous journey is that it’s the surprises that scare me the most.

A few summers ago, my son developed a terrible cold and cough that required antibiotics. It took him three days and a diagnosis of pneumonia to muster up the courage to swallow the medicine. His inability to take it when he was clearly in pain was shocking. It was the first time his health was truly on the line and it was terrifying. What if he ever has to drink barium sulfate for a CT scan? What about when he has to prep for a colonoscopy? His fear of food could kill him and have nothing to do with not eating vegetables.

Last night in the middle of watching a movie, my son blurted out with tears streaming down his face, “Does Skittles love me even though I don’t feed him?”

I was blindsided. Apparently, a friend told him feeding a dog is how they know you love them. He’s tried giving treats to and pouring dog food into our puppy’s food bowl, but the smell causes him to gag and heave.

“Of course he does,” I said. I reminded my son about all the things he does for both of our dogs—walking them, playing with them, and refilling their water bowl. I assured him the dogs’ love for him has nothing to do with food, but his question lingered in the air. He connected food and love, which is something I ponder, embrace, and fight against every single day as I struggle to feed my child.

After a restless night of sleep, I took the puppy outside to do his business and then put him in my son’s bed where he snuggled up against his legs and fell immediately back to sleep. There was no place else he wanted to be.

I don’t know where we’re headed, and I have way more questions than answers about the future, fear, and food, but there’s one thing I know for sure. Love has everything to do with it.

 

 

 

 

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Filed under fear, food, food issues, sensory processing disorder

January 11, 2017 · 8:34 pm

How Big is Your Fear?

boxfeara

It was a big day. It was Dylan’s first day of early morning band practice at school, and it was my first day of work.

Did I mention I got a job? After a brief twenty-year hiatus, I’m putting my M.F.A. in Modern Dance and Choreography to good use as a part-time creative movement and beginning ballet teacher at my local YMCA. I’ve kept a low profile about it because I’m so freaking excited and happy to have the opportunity to do what I love (and get paid!), and I don’t want anything to jinx it.

“My stomach hurts.” Dylan’s first words upon waking up were ominous, but they didn’t scare me. When you have a kid with anxiety, unexplained stomachaches are a common occurrence. I know because I get them, too.

My gut told me he was worried about the band. Truth be told, I was a bit on edge, too. After eight years as a stay-at-home mom, it was scary to be accountable to anyone other than my kids. I had deadlines and responsibilities as a writer, but for the most part, I worked when, where, and how I wanted. Now, I’d be clocking in and out on a weekly basis.

I made breakfast and sent Dylan upstairs to get dressed. He slogged through all of it. He barely touched his food. “Are you afraid of going to band practice?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “A little bit.”

“I know you’re nervous, but I want you to go because you’re a talented drum player and I’m pretty sure you’re going to have a great time. If you’re tummy still hurts after the practice, go to the nurse and I’ll come get you, but I have a feeling you’ll feel much better once you get there and get settled. Trying new things is scary. I get it. I really do.”

He agreed but continued to trudge.

I went to my bedroom and into my closet to fetch a small, round, hand-painted wooden box that I used to hold hair pins. It was a gift from a choreographer back when I was in college. She gave a different box to each dancer backstage before our first performance. Mine was red with raised streaks and waves of black, white, and gray across the top. My name was painted on the inside of the lid.

It was the first time I performed at a venue that wasn’t on campus. Instead of the audience being filled with teachers, friends, and family, it was filled with teachers, friends, family, and complete strangers who paid actual money to see the show. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once, and receiving that precious gift eased my nerves.

I told Dylan about the performance and the box and how scared I was to perform that night. Then I asked him, “How big is your fear?”

“Big,” he said.

“Show me with your hands.” He spread his hands wide like he held a beach ball in front of his chest.

“Put it in the box. Squish it so it will fit.” He looked at me like I was nuts, but he followed my directions.

Once his fear was safely in the box, I closed the lid. “It’s mine now. I’ll hold your fear so you can let it go. Go get your socks and shoes on.”

Still, he lumbered. We were going to be late if we didn’t get in the car in the next two minutes. I bent down to help him with his socks and that’s when he projectile vomited all over himself, the kitchen counter, the bar stools, the floor, and me. It even landed on the lenses of my glasses.

He was definitely nervous about band practice…and he also had the dreaded stomach bug. My big fear of vomit and even bigger fear of my kids getting sick on my first day of work came true. It was a good thing I unearthed that special little box. Hopefully there was enough room in it to hold my fear, too.

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