Meltdowns

I’ve been saving up blog posts for a bit, making note of things I want to say but not finding the time to write the posts. This one caught me at just the right time, though.

This video recently came across my feed. It shows an adult woman having a meltdown, and her service dog doing his job of disrupting and calming her.

Normally, we think of meltdowns in terms of children, especially autistic or ADHD children. We think about how they look like tantrums and how to convince bystanders that they are not just the result of bad parenting. We think about what causes them, fatigue and overstimulation and pain and diet, and we work to modify the environment as much as possible. We have our service dogs for calming and disruption, and as parents we are always on the lookout in new places for where we can safely take our child when the next meltdown hits.

How many of parents fully realize that these meltdowns might not be something their children outgrow? I know a few spectrum children personally who show no signs of leaving meltdowns behind even as they approach 21 and beyond. How many of us think about how the world is going to deal with our adult children when they meltdown in public?

How many adults like me, who skated under the radar as children, realize what is going on when they finally hit their breaking point as adults?

It’s not a pretty picture. Autistic adults have been shot, tazed, and otherwise assaulted as if they were dangerous criminals when all they needed was a temporary reprieve from the assault on their senses or emotions. People who are already self-harming in a meltdown can lash out instead of calming if they are approached aggressively, and when you’re talking 250-lb man instead of 50-lb child, things can get out of control in the blink of an eye.

I was lucky. My first adult, “public” meltdown resulted in a security escort and a lifetime ban on entering the medical building where it happened. But I didn’t get arrested, and since then I’ve learned to just shut down when people are around, to wait until I can run and hide before letting it out. I focus on my kids, which gives me something that needs doing, that keeps me from having to look at anybody else, that keeps others from talking to me.

What if that office had arrested me instead of giving me a room to let it out and then letting me leave?

What about those who can’t hold it in until they can hide, who don’t have an understanding companion or an ever-needful set of children?

I know I’ve done my share of railing against phony service dogs. But not every little dog accompanying sighted adults is a phony. Some of them are there do to exactly what this dog is doing, to help calm and protect their owner until they are in control of themselves again. And you may never ever ever see these dogs actually do their job in public. Often just the presence of the dog is enough to help the person hold it together long enough to flee.

And if, one day, that seemingly-normal adult finally reaches their breaking point in public, that dog and its presence could be the difference between an escort and a death.

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