I can’t say that I truly understood the concept of fight or flight, until we met Autism through Luca’s eyes.
However simply explained, the weight and severity of it cannot be captured in words except when experienced first hand.
For many on the spectrum, they experience “fight or flight” as their immediate reaction to anything overwhelming. Whether it be anxiety driven, unexpectedly scared, or passionately emotive (mad, sad, happy, doesn’t matter), similarly to when a switch board blows a fuse, their neuro-wiring lets them know they anticipate they are in danger, and they either turn to fight or flight mode.
For Luca, we’ve learned that when he’s feeling any emotion intensely that’s driven by feeling dishonored, dismissed, or worst, negatively to someone he cares about, he enters fight mode. Our peanut of a six year old, can tackle, tame, or target anyone who he believes to be the cause of this emotive sensory overload. We’ve learned to trim his nails at least once a week, to avoid life long scars, and watch how he intently watches someone with purpose, in the hopes to anticipate anything he may be feeling without the words to express it.
During the last year, we’ve worked closely with his teachers to help him name his feelings, in the hope the words will continue to gain momentum and power so he communicate verbally, instead of physically about how he is feeling. This takes patience and diligence that can feel exhausting, both for those working with him, but particularly for Luca.
We’ve battled his fight mode for nearly 3+ years, and there are days where we can’t imagine what our neighbors must be thinking from the shrieks and cries of whoever he’s come across, because the audio of it must sound awful.
Our poor Luca, afterwards, always feels remorse, confusion, and regret. He is the sweetest boy you could ever meet, and loves so fiercely that you know his wish is not to hurt anyone. It’s simply in the way he is wired, and how he processes his feelings.
As hard as I’m sure that sounds, I can deal with fight mode all day compared to flight mode. I can take the scars and the bruises it takes to keep him safe, and believe working with him continually in the ways that our village is doing so, will give him the muscle memory to change how he processes those feelings before he is old/strong/big enough to cause real harm.
It’s when he is anxious, nervous, or scared, and his default is to hit flight mode, that I’m at a loss.
We are fortunate to live at the end of a very long driveway, one which I’ve had to sprint down too many times to keep him from running into the main road. Although I’ve been a runner for years, there have more times than I like to admit that I worried I wouldn’t catch him, and even though his speed will serve him athletically in whatever sports he finds solace in as he gets older, it can send my anxiety to a place that only a parent’s desperation to be able to protect her children could understand.
There’s something that’s causing him extreme anxiety lately, and on Friday, it took a turn for the worst. It could be that solar eclipse that happened last week, or that yet another mercury retrograde has all of us out of wack until next week. It could be that he’s growing, and feeling everything intensely, or the heat wave last week has him out of sorts. But where he cannot tell us, we’re left observing, trying to narrow down the possibilities, and keep him safe however we can.
Unfortunately, our really loving and well behaved new puppy is teething, and on Thursday had been playing with Luca, but she took it too far, and nipped and scratched at him unexpectedly. He couldn’t anticipate it, which meant he couldn’t prepare for it. He also couldn’t understand that she was playing, and not trying to cause hurt, as all he felt was the actual pain from it.
When the bus doors opened on Friday afternoon, and Jack got off the bus, Luca’s eyes fixated on our puppy who I had brought down the end of the driveway to greet them, and he froze - refusing to exit.
I watched as the cars began to pile up in line, waiting for the bus to remove their stop signs. Strangers who have often honked horns, and vocally expressed their impatient before, continued to join the elongated traffic line.
My anxiety was rising, realizing Luca was not going to get off with out help, so I swept our puppy up in my right arm, and used my left hand to reach into the bus to guide him off.
Once I got him off the bus, I turned to the right to put the puppy down, and I felt Luca’s fingers escape from my grasp. In under 3 seconds, my boy let go of my hand, and jetted into the main road.
Our bus driver, both in the afternoon and the morning, is educated, attuned, and always watching. She hadn’t taken the stop signs down, as she always waits until we are safely a few feet down our driveway and headed in the opposite direction of the traffic.
As Luca’s name escaped my lips in the most desperate of screams, his feet did not stop, so I willed my own to find his pace and stop him.
Tears rolling down my cheeks, I picked up his wriggling and escaping body, and tucked him like a football underneath my arm, my right hand still firmly holding the puppy’s leash, and I dragged them both safely another twenty feet down our driveway.
Once far enough away from the now moving traffic, I let Luca back to his feet, which fiercely moved as soon as they found the ground, towards the direction of our home.
That afternoon, once the boys, I, and both our dogs were settled back safely in the house, I received a call from our amazing bus driver, letting me know she’d plan on coming by the house shortly, to take photos and video of our driveway to use to convince her boss that we could accommodate the small bus’s ability to turn around at the end of, which would allow our boys to be picked up right at our door step.
She did, in fact, come by an hour or so later. She took the photos and the videos, and sent them to her boss. She advocated for our children over the phone with him, refusing to take no for an answer.
This morning, their yellow chariot found its way down our driveway, and my wife and I waited with the twins safely tucked back near our garage doors.
This morning, when our tired Luca (who hasn’t slept well all weekend, still completely anxiety ridden) got on the bus, we could take a few extra minutes to reassure him he was safe and ok while he was strapped in.
This morning, when we waved goodbye as they drove safely down our long driveway toward the street, the tears flowed as quickly as they had on Friday afternoon, but this time in relief, and gratitude.
This morning, we are extra grateful for the incredible humans who play such an important role in our children’s academic success, but often go without acknowledgement or attribution.
Should you ever experience a child on the spectrum in fight or flight mode, I beg you to believe whatever their behavior shows you. If you see them dart toward danger, ignore the instinct that you think yelling their name, or stop/freeze etc, will be enough to stop them. If they move, you move, period. It’s a simple and unbelievable as that.
I cannot imagine what could have happened on Friday afternoon if someone other than a human like Ms. N. had been driving, who didn’t know the severity of Luca’s fear, and believed the danger to be real until safely down our driveway.
Ms. N, Ms. K, and Ms. D. - you are our heroes. We are truly indebted. Thank you.
To all the incredible humans who go above and beyond to love children who cross their paths for whatever reason, as if they were their own, you deserve every acknowledgement out there.
To all the parents raising littles that experience fight or flight like we are, I pray your feet are swift, and safety is in your favor, like it has been for ours. We see you. You are not alone. Xo