Two days ago, my mom was visiting and Chris made pizza. Unfortunately, it was not to Rosie's specifications and she screamed at us. "You never ask me what I want for dinner? You ask everyone else but never me. You all hate me, you hate me and you don't even care about me. I just want to die." And then she ran out the front door, slammed it and was gone. We thought we'd give her a moment to cool off, but then the red-headed little boy neighbor came over and told us that Rosie had just had a fight with his mom. Apparently, Rosie had slammed our door, then immediately marched over to our neighbors, with whom we are friends, and demanded that they feed her. You see, their dinner was more appealing. When our neighbor kindly said that she only had enough for them, Rosie started screaming at her. Replay previous screaming conversation. Then she ran off.
After we got the news that our girl was loose and guano in the neighborhood, I set off in my sweatpants (I thought I was in for the night), to try to deescalate. Deescalation is all you can with a kid who has a mood disorder. You can't yell, can't threaten them with time-outs, can't do anything in the parenting handbooks. Believe me, we tried. Our new method come from Ross Green's The Explosive Child.
So I wander down and hear screaming. She's lambasting the twin five-year old girls and the six year old red head who was been a step ahead of me. He's crying - I send him home. The twins are throwing their hands up in consternation and I send them home. And my girl is wedged in a driveway (not ours) between a minivan and a brand new Audi. All I can think is, please don't fuck up the new car. More screaming, violent thoughts and then I walk slowly toward her, extending my arms. She yells at me to go away, but I keep walking and she throws herself in my arms, dissolving in tears and pain.
When I bring her home, she runs in her room, hides in the closet and refuses to come out. My mom makes her a grilled cheese, just something so that her meds won't upset her belly, and she falls asleep.
This happens at least once a week. Other things happen too - making our nights, our days and school challenging. But something really struck me on this night. We live in a very kind bubble. Every neighbor knows what Rosie has been through, her current diagnosis and what we live with everyday. They can hear it. Our houses are close. So I've told everyone. I would have told them anyway. I believe in the circle of empathy. Make a circle, tell people your feelings, your pain and people will care and they have. I have never lived around so many loving people in my life. That night, no one came out to ask if I needed help, because they know that there is nothing to be done. Deescalation means one on one, with minimal shame. That can only happen with as few eyes and witnesses as possible. At least that's how Rosie feels. Later the texts came, the check-ins. "Everything okay?", "Do you need anything?" And I love these people, because they trust me and they trust Chris and they love Rosie and they know that things are hard and there is nothing to be done. It's sounds impossibly flippant but I think we're all training for the police lights when she's a teenager. Right now, I can sit on her. I can hold her. I can control her. But when she's bigger, stronger and wiser, many more hands will need to be involved. And that's why I 'm so glad that I live in this very kind bubble - because when that days comes, they will come out of their houses and help me. And I love them for that.
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