I Sit With My Son During Meltdowns So One Day, He’ll Stand On His Own

One of the most important aspects of how I raise my non-verbal son is empathy. I need to understand his frustrations in order to calm them. If everything is just seen as being “fussy,” it leaves my boy all alone.

I genuinely can’t fathom what it must be like to need something and not have the capabilities to ask for it. That’s why we’ve been doing just that since he could grasp the concept of pointing and leading me to the things he wanted.

This way of thinking has been helpful to me across the board, as it relates to Lucas. Remembering what he’s going through has helped me take meltdowns down a notch rather than escalating them.

If Lucas sits on the ground, I sit next to him. No one cares. We don’t block aisles or cause chaos. People walk around us. Seriously. I live in New York. They just keep going. Try it. It probably works where you live too.

I rub his back and let him cry out his woes for the minute or two he needs. In that moment, he knows that this isn’t something that he’s going through alone. We’re both in it and, by the time I tell him firmly that we need to get up and go, he’s in a better position to do that.

He senses that understanding, and it’s been a big part of our bond. I let him have his moments. Rather than insisting that “big boys” do this or that, I let him process his feelings.

As he’s gotten bigger, that’s become the easier route to take. Back then, the physical part was easier, but emotionally, it was darker than anything. When still tiny, I could scoop him up and run away. Meltdowns in the supermarket quickly morphed into the parking lot, then car seat, then home.

Today, it’s the opposite. Physically, I know the ship sailed on carrying him a long time ago, and the clock is ticking on my ability to gently arm hook him to his feet. Emotionally, it’s fine now. I get what’s happening. Lucas is upset. I’m here to help him through it.

Are people looking? I don’t know. Whatever. Let them look. They know what’s going on here. Trust me, people would rather see a parent comforting their kid than some tornado of body parts in aisle three with what appears to be two full-grown men fighting over “no more cookies.”

In some weird way, though, it’s good that they look. All of our in-store meltdowns have ended with Lucas coming to his feet and leaving peacefully. If that wasn’t true, I’d be writing this one from a supermarket right now. I’m not. So I know they all ended without incident.

Compassion works with Lucas, and I’d venture to say it works with most people. We all want to be understood and know that there’s a person who “gets” us. I get him. I know where he’s coming from.

The only caveat is that he can’t lash out at others. That’s when the compassionate dad goes away, and there are waved fingers, insisted-upon apologies, and stern voices have to come in.

I hate it, but I need to do it.

His personal favorite thing was helicopter arms. They’d start spinning until they grazed a face or something. I think he believed it gave him plausible deniability.

That was then, and while it rarely happens, even rarely isn’t good for my massive baby. With the same storybooks at bedtime and shows on his iPad, it’s easy to forget how large my boy has grown. But he has. I’m reminded of this when I see a full-body picture or I’m barefoot standing next to him in his sneakers.

Lucas is my little man in name only. He’s not little at all. He’s Lucas, my giant man. The cute little boy has swelled into the giant cartoon bear that hugs the bunny too hard.

At the end of it all, my job is to give Lucas a happy life. I need to make sure he never feels alone and that he learns how to connect with others. He needs to be a part of society, not just seen by them. He’s a great person, and the world could benefit from knowing him.

For that reason, I show him love and teach him to love others. There are some things I’m not sure my son understands, but love isn’t one of them. He gives it, he feels it, and that’s what truly matters.