Coming in Hot
From our new contributor, Amy Pahl-Zeszutek
Hello! I am so glad to be here. My name is Amy Pahl-Zeszutek and I also live in Lake Elmo. I met Kristin a bit over a year ago and we immediately connected. You see we share a common bond. We are on similar journeys, I just started mine what feels like a long time ago.
My 10-year-old son Henry is one of a kind. He is brave. He is hilarious. He loves with his whole being. He is autistic, struggles with anxiety, ADHD, a genetic disorder, and so on.
I will always remember Kristin bringing me my first purchase, standing on my front patio, and saying something to the effect of “when this is over…, and I shared “this will never be over. What Anna is going through doesn’t end. It changes, it has peaks and valleys, you will learn how to help her, she will learn how to help herself, you will learn how to help yourself, but it will never be over. It is an everyday for the rest of her life thing.” My son’s every day for the rest of his life journey began when he was just an infant. I look forward to sharing our stories and experiences.
Coming In Hot
Monday morning, 15 minutes from successfully making it to the car to go to school (always a triumph), my son slams on the brakes. He had what he calls a vision, which led to a panic attack. 100 to 0 in 0.2 seconds. Pure panic, terror, fear. Enter the coping strategies his psychologist, CTSS skills worker, OT have taught him for years. Finger breathing, cold glass of water, pet the dog. Still spinning. Then my anxiety starts: He needs to go to school. What if he throws something? What if he hits himself?
Breathe. Stay present. “Let’s go outside and throw the ball to the dog.” Feel the tension lowering. Bargaining, maneuvering. He is going to be an amazing lawyer someday. Stand firm - you got this. Just throw the ball and breathe.
100 to 60. Explain in as few words as possible that school is required. I hear you, I validate your fear, remind him that nothing bad has happened at school, he is safe – doors are locked, and people there care for him. And of course, the dog really wants to go for a car ride. He needs that car ride.
60 to 40. Start moving towards the car. Honestly, no idea how I got him in the car. “Are we going to school?” Skirt around answering that. “Step at a time. Let’s just take this little step. You got this.” Leave the driveway.
40 to 50. Pullover and text my husband to please call the school to let them know we are “coming in hot”, and to please have staff ready when we arrive in 10 minutes.
50 to 60. Reach the school parking lot and park as close to the front door as possible…just in case we must physically assist him into the building. Slow, steady coaching that he is strong, in control, safe.
60 to 50. Slowly get out of the car. Racing thoughts in my head – is this going to happen? How can I get him from the car into the school? All I must do is get him through the locked doors then I can leave. How is this my life? What if I must wrangle him and someone sees? Pray and pray and pray. God, please help him. Be with him and help him know he is safe. Surround him with your love.
He takes one step out of the car. Two steps. Back one. I walk towards the door, “you got this buddy.” The school counselor comes out, “you got this. How about those Chiefs? What do you think the Easter Bunny is going to bring you this year?” Three steps. Four steps. “Can you teach me some new football moves?” And we have liftoff.
In the vestibule. We are so close. “Mom, how about you are the teacher today? You can stay with me today.” Breathe. We are so close. “I hear you and it's an interesting idea. Unfortunately, I have all that laundry to fold. Or do you want me to save it until you get home and we can do it together?” (Sideways mom smile and giggle) “No way!” I just need him to take two more steps. The school counselor asks “who is your favorite player? Come tell me about him.” He is in. Shut the door and run. Do not look back. I have learned to not look back. He did it. He went in.
An hour later receive an email from the counselor saying he went to class and is having a great day.
Cry, breathe, and fold all that laundry.
