Wednesday 20 January 2016

Scaffolding

This post has been drifting around my head for weeks, but it wasn't until someone else gave me the word "scaffolding" that I was able to start to make sense of it. It all starts with someone telling me how well cupcake is doing, and how proud of her I must be. Both those things are true. But they often, not always, but often come with an undertone of "And now we can all relax and you can lighten up and stop worrying." Um. Except the reason we are coping better (some days) and cupcake is making definite progress coping with school (most days), is the massive shift I make to how I parent her and protect her.

I read that in the special needs world, the vocabulary they use for this is "scaffolding" - the superstructure we build around children, to create an environment in which they can cope. All parents have things they do to make life easier for their children, especially very young children. Perhaps you make sure you always have their favourite cup or soft toy, perhaps you adjust the timing of activities around meals and naps so the routine gives them stability. But more than likely, these kinds of concerns and efforts start to taper as your child grows older. It was a sobering experience to realise that, in all likelihood, I will not be tapering off the structures I build for cupcake. As she ventures out into the wider world of school and early friendships (or at least, regular encounters with other children...) she needs more of that protection, not less.

We do things in a certain way, in terms of tone of voice, words used, doing things together, not forcing decisions or the pressure of choosing. We actively use regression, encouraging some baby-type time for more nurturing when emotions are running high. We rock (lord, do we rock) and I'm always looking for more rhythmic fun things to do, to help cupcake learn how it feels to regulate her body and feelings herself. (By the way, the teeterpopper is great for this.) I have just donated my old, comfy, massive bed, and bought a much smaller one - entirely so that I can fit an upholstered rocking chair into my bedroom and rock my child when she can't sleep. It took me ages to find one that is the right shape for me to do this cradling a nearly-five year old, as their legs tend to be a tad longer than allowed for in traditional "nursing chairs".


Designing the scaffolding is a matter of trial and error, testing out recommendations from other adoptive parents, medical or psychological professionals, books, online forums, and occasionally just mad ideas that occur by accident (who knew that sucking an ice cube can help reduce anxiety?). Rescue remedy chewy stars have also been deployed regularly, so that cupcake calls them "magic sweets". We have one each when all the other mechanisms are not getting us any closer to being able to leave the house with our emotions more or less in balance. As I get more practised at keeping all the scaffolding in place, we both look a little more like we're coping. In fact, I am doing everything I was always doing (and more) but I am better at  making it invisible to the outside eye.

And all the while, I am hoping like crazy that the scaffolding doesn't collapse, that it will be enough, that these supports will be temporary, like a stake allowing the trunk of a tree to grow strong without being beaten down by the weather.





My deepest hope is that one day I will be able to gently release the stakes, and she will stand tall and free from all the fears that closed her in.


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