social anxiety disorder Archives

No really, it’s okay for me to thank God, because I’m Catholic. So it’s not blasphemy or anything.

And today I’m thanking Him for good teachers. Because if you’ve been following my blog, you’ll know that I own a sweet little guy with a social anxiety disorder. (Remember this post?)

Getting him diagnosed was half the battle, and when we did, I spent a lot of time describing the condition to his teachers and school helpers – trying to communicate in a succinct way that he’s fully capable of speaking, but in social situations, he often chooses not to.

(In other words, so NOT like his mama.)

Hence, with a brand new school year and a brand new school, it was my responsibility to find some time to have a quick chat with his teacher. Warn her, if you will! You know, just casually inform that there’s a super cute kid who’s super smart and super silly but may have a problem borrowing a pencil crayon from a classmate. Even though he has no problem ripping it from his little brother’s hands. *shakes fist*

Well, this afternoon, I decided to break the news to his teacher, who had three full days to spend with him and therefore, would have likely cottoned on to the anxious kid with light-up shoes. (Empire Strikes Back shoes y’all! Totally bought them for my own perverse enjoyment.)

I began the conversation with “So, how’s his anxiety?” – as if we had already had an in depth discussion about it and she knew all about his behavioural history. It was either that, or say: “You don’t know me, but I have a kid whom I can’t relate to and I kind of want to give you money because you take him off my hands for hours each day and I know you don’t know me from Adam but I’m putting all of my eggs in your basket with the hope you can make him talk at school cause Lord knows (again, not blasphemy) that he talks too much at home.” Riight… not happening. So let’s just say I was pretty happy with my opening.

However, within moments of chatting with her, she asked, “Is he a selective mute?”

Hand on heart, I almost cried on the spot. Then I wanted to break out in a dance of joy. And I even briefly considered pausing and buying an expensive handbag online, because these moments of kismet need to be celebrated and nothing marks the occasion like Marc Jacobs.

After years of trying to describe his social disorder to teachers, parents, friends, strangers, you name it! …

Here was someone who understood. Who spoke Ryder’s language… even when he doesn’t speak.

I nodded my head enthusiastically and rushed to tell her everything I could about Ryder and his social quirks. And, by the end of our conversation, I walked away with a skip in my step, knowing that he will undoubtedly get the help he needs to emerge from his shell this year. I’m so happy! Thank God for great teachers.

p.s. That’s Ryder on his first day. Those eyes! Love him to pieces.

I was born to tell stories. Putting thoughts on paper has always come easily to me; through story telling, I paint pictures with my words and draw people in. It’s truly my passion, my job, my life.

Sometimes, the story isn’t mine to tell.

I’ve been accused of over-sharing. Of putting my life on the Internet; I’ve told stories about births, bloody noses and bare bottoms. And whenever I begin a blog post – especially one that involves my boys – I ask myself if they’d be okay with me inviting readers into our private lives. At ages 3 and 5, they’re too young to consent to being a fixture on my blog; hence, I often have to step back and envision them reading the post 10 years into the future.

Would they want me to talk about the funny little things they do? Will they be happy that I shared our stories… or mortified that I could be so personal and candid with strangers? Will they relish every post, as they take a glimpse into their wonderful childhood from years passed?

(Dear Sons of the Future: Your childhood was kick ass. Years from now, when you call me a b*tch and say life isn’t fair, I’ll send you blog links to the toys you played with, the places you’ve been, and the people you’ve met. You are spoiled fortunate.)

The story I won’t tell today is Ryder’s story. Months ago, he was diagnosed with Selective Mutism, a form of social anxiety. He lives with it every day. We’ve lived with it every day. To make a long story short, Ryder just completed an entire year of school, and spoke only a handful of times.

Of course, he is completely capable of speaking (to the point we often wish he would shut up), but in brand new social situations, he does not. At this point, you may be thinking Huh? I’ve seen videos of him speaking! Click the link above; it explains the diagnosis in a clear and concise way, and actually describes Ryder to a tee. Again, I could spend 5000 words going into specifics, but it simply isn’t my place to share these details. However, I did want to address the issue today for two reasons.

The first is to put it out there – and tag it up the wazoo so if anyone else is searching the Internet for selective mutism they’ll land on this post and contact me. I’d love to swap stories, share anecdotes and coping techniques. There are so few selective mutes out there, and finding information is difficult and frustrating. Most sources point to children growing out of it by the age of six… you can probably guess the number of prayers I’ve recited in the meantime.

The second reason I chose to share this post is to offer my sincere thanks to one of Ryder’s classmates, a sweet, patient, nurturing and caring little girl I’ll call K. From the very beginning of school, K befriended Ryder and took him under her wing. She held his hand when they lined up at recess; she sat beside him and complimented his amazing penmanship and ability to quickly grasp every Montessori concept introduced to him. She spoke to him as an equal; not as the weird, silent kid. And while she encouraged him to talk, she was never offended if he simply nodded in response. By the end of the school year, K was the only person Ryder had uttered a few words to – but in the case of selective mutism, it was considered a small breakthrough.

I wanted to thank K for being such an amazing friend to Ryder. And so I did something I’ve never done before – I called Fisher-Price and shared Ryder’s story with them. And when I said, “I’d love to gift K with something to show our appreciation…” they responded immediately and sent us the Little People Disney Princess Songs Palace to present to her. I am a proud #FisherPriceMom, and in that moment, it reinforced my adoration and commitment to the brand. Thank you K, and thank you Fisher-Price, too.

This was Ryder moments before K stopped by for a play date. A little boy, waiting for his princess to arrive.

My hope is that by this time next year, we’ll have made progress and Ryder will open up to everyone – not just the people he is comfortable conversing with. He is an inquisitive, intellectual and expressive little boy, and I want everyone to know the Ryder that I do. Until then, we’ll continue to introduce him to new people and new situations.

And we’ll continue to be his biggest cheerleaders.