There was a new problem. How was ABA and school collaborating now that they would be functioning as separate entities? When, how, and why do we have to change Jake’s daily schedule? Was school the priority? Was ABA progress most important? How are we working together?

And we had another challenge. It was the side door. Jake only felt comfortable entering through this door. If we arrived even two minutes after the ten-minute window in the new plan, he would have to enter through the front door as a late arrival student. The mornings started to feel like a high-level math problem. One incorrect detail could make the entire morning buckle. Jake was rigid about his routine. Jake did not like the unexpected or change or overstimulation. Jake did not transition well. Jake has autism and anxiety, and sensory challenges. These qualities were simply engraved in his individuality and who he is to his core. We were feeling all the pressure mounting. The walls were collapsing. The well-laid plans started to sway in the unforgiving wind.  

We tried extremely hard to communicate. We attempted to talk it out. We emailed the right people and tried to iron out all the intricate details. We tried to hold on to the school momentum. We tried so hard. We even shifted ABA to before school hours to make it work. The main goal now was to keep Jake in school all day. We were given no other choice in this now process over the child issue. ABA was focused on helping Jake wake up early and to have a productive before school morning routine. ABA had nothing to do with school, yet ABA was entirely intertwined in school. Our heads were spinning. What were we doing?

Jake started to show signs of wear. Signs of overwhelm. He would try to be compliant with ABA in the morning, but his familiar face of masking would shift past uneasy. We were doing it all wrong full speed ahead without brakes. There was no safe way to control the speed.  

We sat in the car waiting for Jake, as ABA instructed. It was a Friday morning, and it was not getting any better. Jake was standing on the steps and screaming at the top of his lungs. ABA was sticking firm and just as the plan stated. Time stood still.

Jake was having a meltdown. The kind of meltdown we had worked so hard to calm by practicing our breaths, using our calming tools, going outside, hugs, co-regulation, and empathetic conversations. The meltdowns that caused Jake so much pain and trauma in the past. The meltdowns that took us all years to recover from. The meltdowns that broke Jake time and time before.

The progress had suddenly shifted back. I could feel the drop in my stomach pull back in the tightness of my throat. My husband looked at me and we just knew. In an instant, we both walked inside. There was no hesitation. My husband held a beyond shaking and trembling Jake in his arms. He asked Jake if he wanted to take a walk. Jake nodded yes. His face was streaked with tears. ABA was not happy about us coming in to “save” Jake, and I understood their why. This was not going to work. We were not happy about the forced school routine and what ABA was becoming. We had made the wrong decision. Moved away from our gut feelings. This was the sting of the cost. We just could not let Jake slip back into trauma to adjust to an environment that would never work.

We still tried that day despite our best gut instincts. We still made a bad decision to go. We still drove Jake to school after ABA left our home that day. There were no other options. What do we do? What will happen?

Jake buried his defeated face into the front seat of our car. We drove to school in sadness. I called the office as we pulled up to beg for his teacher’s help. “I know we missed the ten-minute window to enter the side door. Jake is not having a good day. We need help getting him into the building.” I said this in a desperate kind of voice. I felt like my words were tripping over themselves. And in a few short minutes, Jake’s teacher was outside with an assistant to help. Jake was frozen and would not get out of the car despite their best efforts. Many minutes passed.

He eventually collapsed forward on the hood of our car, refusing to move. He was laying down, unable to speak, just frozen. We talked, and reassured, and comforted him. We tried. The teacher and assistant did the same. Anyone with empathy would.  

 After countless minutes passed by, Jake finally moved as far as the curb. Fight, flight, and freeze is real when a nervous system is dysregulated. The answer is not always to push through. It is not just about building grit, exposure therapy, and other obvious solutions they like to preach. Nervous system disabilities are real.  

After an hour, Jake’s teacher convinced him to go inside. “Just until the bell rings,” she said. Jake finally whispered, “Will you be proud of me when I come out?” he questioned as tears streamed down his face. “Yes, we will cheer for you” I said in the most positive voice I could find. I could see Jake walking into the building ever so hesitantly. His face fell flat to the ground. What were we doing? I could not find a full air of breath.  

When Jake got home that day, he was struggling in a way we have known before and cannot ever forget. He was not the same. The light had switched. Jake was painfully quiet for days and seemed lost in his own thoughts. He was quick to react and quick to get upset. We felt his trauma in every way. Parents feel what their children feel. Parents know.  

We could not do this again. Jake could not do this again. We had to shift back to change directions. We had to prioritize Jake’s well-being. We never wanted this kind of trauma again. We wanted Jake to be his best self and to be happy. We wanted Jake to face reachable challenges, not tumble over his feet to end up in trauma and crisis.  

So, we did what we had to do.

We took a pause from Jake’s ABA services, which had lost its positive momentum. We threw away the “need to want to and must do” charts they made for him. We stopped focusing our energy on school. The plans were all officially on hold until the plans could be what was best for Jake. Period. We were burnt out from all the misunderstanding. We were done witnessing trauma and bringing trauma into our home. We dropped it hard. We dropped it all flat to the ground.

There was no Monday morning worry or stomach twists and turns. It felt right to take time to breathe, trust our gut, and take a needed pause. The direction had to be re-navigated. Re-invented.

At the same time, the trees started to bloom. Whites and pinks adorned them. They began falling all around the fresh new spring grass. Spring was softly in bloom everywhere.