Voice

I can remember the feeling, turning 18 and not having the slightest inkling of what I wanted to do with my life. Life was routine, childhood at its best. My comprehension of the world shaped by a high school job and the terror of completed college applications moving too fast pushed my life beyond a tiny town and life experience bound by parental curfew. The map to my future themed “find success” knew only a pattern of prescriptive ABC. No questions, no fears just plodding along, experimenting within reason, looking to find a something simple no dreams of passion.

Round and round with majors that might fit, education or writing, psych or physical ed, was there nothing to be good at, no where to fit in? Advertising the selling of others glory, too souless, maybe marketing yet…teaching kept calling, what about movement or dance? I flipped a coin and kept going, maybe rehab fit in.

Observation, there’s a story, I’ll see what it means, what does a PT do, what does it take to be a physical therapist? I walked into a gym with equipment I knew I hated to sit on let alone move, how could I possibly tell others to try these horribly boring static machines. Give me two reps, now four, sorry I’m lying, just pushing you past your own hold back. Not for me, this life labeled in letters called PT, physical therapy it can’t be. Seeing my distaste the therapist redirected saying “There’s speech down the hall, maybe you’ll like it much better, just down that way you’ll find the kids corner”.

Watching through a window I saw a young girl my age, or wee bit older, touching blocks as she talked to tactility break a syllable into three separate taps, segmenting a word targeting articulation. That sounds fun and not boring, even a bit melodic. Speech appealed to me musically with a tempo and a beat, teaching kids how to talk somehow lit a spark. Sure I’ve got this I’m tempted to see, there’s more I can watch, sign me up for the day. I think I know what I’ll be.

Stepping into a room with another therapist, she briefly explained that the next child was “autistic”, ok I nodded, no idea what that means, I’m just happy to be here quietly observing. I sat by myself watching this dark haired boy struggle to sit still and attend to his lesson. He seemed agitated, disturbed and distracted, pacing and lunging toward the clinic window, lifting the blinds every few seconds driven by impulse. It put me on edge not knowing why he was so difficult to direct, fleeting round the room participation on his terms.

My legs crossed tight with my palms pressed together I watched not realizing I was suppressing my own tension. Suddenly he turned and noticed my presence, in a blink he lunged in my direction. He pulled my legs apart from eachother to make a lap for himself to climb upon. Without a flinch he pressed his face smack up to mine our foreheads kissing, blue eye to blue eye, he stared into mine as I held my breath completely uncertain. What is he doing, I’m afraid to breath, I don’t think he’d hurt me, but what is happening? And just as fast as it happened, a blink he was gone. Shooting off of my lap, opening the door eloping in full glory, down the hall to wherever he sought, with a frantic therapist in tow. When she returned she spoke with wided eyed awe about what she saw “I told his mom what he did and neither of us know what just happened, he’s never done that. He doesn’t like touching and doesn’t make eye contact, I can’t believe that he did that, I didn’t see it coming.”

17 years ago I had no idea what autism was, or what special needs meant. When I changed my major to communicative disorders it didn’t occur to me that I was chosing to work with those who were defined as “disordered”, the thought became real when a professor said “you’ll be working with clients with various disorders: Autism, Down syndrome, 22q11 deletion, Williams, Turner, Noonan and Apert syndromes” what names are these, I had no idea, call it sheltered or naive or simply lacking in opportunities to interact with people who were touched by these labels. What was I doing, what ship did I board? Never could I be comfortable or qualified to help people I didn’t know a single thing about!

17 years later, in this profession for 12, I still feel most times that I’m buried in doubt. How can I help this child, this family at all!? I’m outside my depth, I know nothing at all!

In these years of being an SLP, I’ve learned a great many things, strategies and programs, tools and trades from PT’s and OT’s to BCBA’s. From supervisors, jobs and different bosses, from lectures and seminars and experiencing losses. The language of this way, no that way, no your way is fine, but mine is better argumentments that only factor dissention and break meaning apart.

At this point in my journey I’ve realized one thing, “I see you” is really what gives the most meaning. No matter the label, the struggle, the depth of the journey with a family a client or within myself as the therapist, respecting the voices and showing up present each day, saying “I hear you”, “we’ve got this” and “let’s find a way” is the most prescriptive change maker that gets us through each day.

It’s easy now to look back on that boy who climbed on my lap staring into my eyes and say with joking ease that was the moment I found my way. That it was a foreshadowed scene paving the way in helping me find my gift to say “I see you” to the ones that always look away. But that’s a way to fill a void with rosey hindsight when on that day I mostly felt shook up and seperated from the depths of myself. Worrying about misjudging my professional self, learning to trust my gut I find I’m still filled with doubt. In time I’ve learned to look objectively at myself and my skills enough to see a gift that’s been crafted out of years of facing that fear. I have a gift of seeing a kid, through the windows of, let’s call it a delay, and finding a way to teach them to play.

Come out, come out it’s time to play. I’m annoying you now and I won’t go away. Somehow intrigue will win in time and I’m patient in waiting until you show up to play with me for a round. You’ll lead and I will follow, pushing here and there, taking turns in this dance, spinning round in exchanges until your voice rings out. I long to hear the things you’ll say, not my agenda or my words repeated, just the things you may see or think about in the dark, what’s on your mind? What perspective will you share today? Perhaps it’s not long and drawn out thoughts full of philosophical complexities, perhaps it’s just…Pizza! Oh yumm that’s good, wait oh-no it’s not, eww yuck! Hey look what happened you spit it out! That was funny we laughed a lot, we shared a moment now tell me about it!

This simple exchange, complex or not, the greatest gift that I’ve got isn’t a passion or a job or success or the lot, but a collection of moments not easily forgot. Moments needing boxes of tissues doled out when fear takes a toll when a label rolls out. The fear of parents never hearing their child talk, to pondering life forever never not, to the moments of joy when a word pops out, or when parents beg for mute, be quiet or stop! Moments of stress, chaos and the kids with too much energy to mop up. The falling, the hurting the behaviors destroying, time to care takes its toll with marriages unfolding.

So much to carry I can’t bare it all the only thing I’ve learned that matters at all, is that sharing the burden just means listening to it all, no platitudes no solutions or words of resolve. Just the sitting still listening to the voices of all saying “this is my life” and the realization that we share it all. Our voices collide with fears and falls, the breakthroughs, the pitfalls, the highs and the lows.

Days are hard, progress feels slow, most days it’s a job, not a deeply felt passion. But I’ll take it all for a moment of awakening, the expression of knowing that my voice too sometimes is what’s heard, when a kiddo spontaneously says “Jackie” without a demand or a prompt. It’s the deepest exchange being known to them, I am alive in their story just as they are alive in mine.