Since I haven’t blogged much for a long time, it seems like, based on the most recent several posts, that this blog is all about Spuds. I’m not going to help change that perception today, unfortunately. I mean, we’ll get there. There is more to talk about than Spuds. Just not today.
About a week ago, give or take, I took spuds to see an energy kinesiologist, or, you know, voodoo shaman for short. No, seriously, this practitioner we saw is a friend of ours and has been for years. After extensive training and gradually taking on clients, he recently quit his career as an IT guy to practice kinesiology full time. I know, I know, it seems weird. I get that. But when you have a kid with all kinds of emotions just plugged up inside him that intermittently explode out all over the place, and he doesn’t want to talk about any of it, and really doesn’t have enough life experience, let alone good, functional life experience, to put it all of his trauma into some kind of usable context? Why not. Just. Why. Not?
Trying to explain this stuff to other adults is hard enough. Trying to explain where I was going to take him and what the purpose was to a nine-year-old???? At first I told him we were going to see an energy therapist, but then the wild look in his eyes made me realize that was a poor choice of words. Spuds hates therapists. So I back peddled and told him therapist was the wrong way to describe it and that he wouldn’t even really have to talk. The confusion was all over his face. Finally, I told him that our friend is like Aang from Avatar the Last Airbender, but that he’s an emotion bender, not an air bender. For good measure, McH, who, deep down in his very soul is pretty sure I’m a quack for even trying what he is pretty sure is quackery, told Spuds that it would be kind of like Po learning how to be a Chi Master in Kung Fu Panda III.
Yes, I am pretty sure that, at this very moment, arcade game developers are updating the old Whack-a-Mole games to Whack-a-Doo games. You will be able to bop our likenesses on the head for a quarter if you’re fast enough.
So I took Spuds for the two recommended sessions. At the end of the last session, the friend/practitioner told me that it isn’t uncommon for an uptick in the negative behaviors as things work out and re-regulate, but that it was also possible to just see the rages disappear. I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE THINKING because, I’ll be honest, I thought it, too: He pretty much covered all his bases there. No matter what happens, he told me it was to be expected. So the next day, when Spuds had a total meltdown, well, what could I say?
The thing is, I’d seen this meltdown coming for days. The Husband saw it, too. Heck, even my mother, who has never experienced one of these episodes, saw it coming while we were there visiting. I hoped it wouldn’t happen until McH was back from Utah and the rest of us were back from our appointment-riddled road trip, but it was not to be. On the whole, however, it was shorter and much less intense than usual, so I thought, “Hey, maybe the emotion bending helped a bit.”
But the real story in all of this [What? she’s written this much and hasn’t gotten to the REAL story? I’m going to need more coffee and maybe a time machine if she really wants me to keep reading] happened the next day.
We were back home and in desperate need of milk (according to my kids) (none of whom have actually used any of that milk that is still sitting, factory sealed, in my fridge), so Spuds and I went to the grocery store. As we were walking past the pre-packaged frozen foods section (on our way to the Ezekiel bread), Spuds saw some lasagna or something and said, “I’m an Italian guy!”
“You’re Italian?” I asked.
“I’m an Italian food guy,” he explained. “I’m not actually Italian. I don’t think.”
“Well,” I ventured, “we don’t know anything about your biological father, so I guess it’s possible that you could be part Italian. Maybe someday we’ll get some DNA testing done and find out if you want?”
He liked that idea. And then? The proverbial floodgates opened. I mean, not like the Hoover Dam floodgates or anything. Probably more like a little dam built by small children that is falling down from the force of the tiny brook running through somebody’s backyard or something. But for Spuds, the conversation that followed was flood gates opening. He talked about some of his life experiences in a way he never has before. There was no reticence or reluctance. There was eye contact. It was casual and comfortable (for us, anyway — can’t speak for the other shoppers who overheard it). When the conversation got interrupted by the need to get something off a shelf, he picked it back up on his own with, “Let’s see . . . where were we? Oh, yeah, the ear piercing . . . ” and went from there.
There was a coherence to his narrative that has never been there before, and he was able to give me a timeline to some things that he had never been able to give me before. It was all just a jumbled mess of random events in his mind until that conversation in the grocery store.
So, yes, there we were, walking up and down aisles, waiting in the checkout line, etc. talking about his biological mother, what “biological” even means in the context of parents (even though he’s heard this before, he somehow never got it), police cars, being taken away, how his birth mom “did it” with “every guy she knew” (his words, not mine), who he was actually living with vs. who he was literally with when the police showed up, and whether or not he feels safe with us and why. I was asking questions, he was asking questions, and did I mention the eye contact? This was huge . . . YUGE! (shudder).
I don’t pretend to believe that everything is magically over and done with and we now have a perfectly healthy child, thankyouvermuch. I know that’s not the case. However, I also know that we had a breakthrough in the frozen foods section on Monday, and it lasted clear through to the checkout.
Was it the energy kinesiology or coincidence? I’m leaning strongly toward the energy kinesiolody, but, as a friend said, “Either way, it’s God.”
Tewt the Newt couldn’t agree more.