Why Neurodivergent Meltdowns Might Be Uniquely Difficult for Adults.Specific Reasons Why Neurodivergent Meltdowns in Adults Might Occur. Now let’s get you some education and strategies to make meltdowns less hard on you <3 I’ve been there and just want you to know it’ll be okay. So big hugs to you if you’re beating yourself up about a meltdown. They’re a way to cope when you just can’t cope anymore. You’re just overwhelmed by stress, difficult emotions, masking, or sensory triggers. You’re not a bad or manipulative person (as others may have wrongly assumed). More frequently than the general public might want to believe. Neurodivergent Meltdowns in adults happen. But they are double difficult when we have them as adults. Meltdowns are excruciating for Neurodivergent people in general. I’m sure you’re reading this because you feel ashamed and/or frustrated that you’re experiencing meltdowns as an adult. Thank you.As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases at no extra cost to you.įirst thing’s first: Neurodivergent Meltdowns in Adults are NOTHING to be ashamed of. Your readership and support help make our content and outreach possible. To support our mission of providing ADHD education and support, please consider subscribing. Q&A: Should I Have My Child Evaluated for Autism Spectrum Disorder?.*Author’s Note: Careful consideration and discussion was given to honor my child’s privacy and consent in writing this piece. In these ways, I can make the struggle and suffering matter. I can explain all sides to my children to help them better understand what they went through and know they are loved and never a burden. I can heal myself and not carry the experience as a perpetual wound. I can temper my pain, remembering the unmitigated anguish experienced by my child. While I can’t control what happens, I can control how I think about it, carry it, and narrate it to my children. I work to recognize and process the depth and weight of what we went through in a culture that prefers I either immediately get over it or be so compellingly triumphant that I can’t acknowledge the suffering. That this time in the middle is part of it. Looking forward, I see that the future will be filled with happy and hard moments. Of enjoying the beauty of the mischievous glint that returned to my child’s eyes while acknowledging my own anxieties over the future. I struggled with the dissonance of holding the profoundly hard things and truly beautiful things in the same hand. What I found was untidy, uncomfortable, and unavoidable. To find closure and absolution from my complicated feelings. In the aftermath of the crisis, I yearned for a neat and tidy ending - to put a bow on answers that would prevent another crisis from happening. I felt shackled by what we had just endured, and I found myself scanning for signs that another major meltdown might be brewing. Instead, a heaviness settled on my chest, making each breath feel shallow. Our family finally stopped living in an anxious haze and took a collective breath.īut I felt no relief or happiness in the following breaths. I watched as my child slowly started smiling and laughing more. To count on only one hand how often they happened during the day. The Complicated AftermathĮventually, we were able to measure meltdowns by minutes instead of hours. Family, friends, therapists, and school staff worked tirelessly through countless phone calls, emails, texts, consults, and face-to-face conversations until they had knit together a beautifully elaborate blanket to catch and support us. Fortunately, we had a support network that came together in ways both expected and unexpected. That nothing would ever get better, and we would live in a continual vortex of stress and trauma. My child was in a state of absolute distress, and so was the rest of the family.Īmid the two-month crisis, it felt as though this would be our life forever. And then there were feelings of guilt as one member of the family needed almost all of my care and support while the others faded into the background. I remember the pervading sense of hopelessness as the countless strategies we acquired through years of therapy did nothing to help. The crisis has since receded, but I still think back to those anxious, stress-filled days and sleepless nights before we could find solutions or respite. I was convinced of this during an intense crisis recently experienced by my autistic child, who also has ADHD. We especially forget about the big picture during the bad parts, when our minds often try to convince us that a challenging moment is and will be our whole story. It’s easy to forget that our lives are ongoing stories made up of parts - happy, sad, and bad parts.
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