My daughter went to occupational therapy today for the first time.
Why, you ask?
‘I laugh at the antics described here,’ you mutter, ‘what on earth made you do that,?’ you think,’ tut tut tut, another jam-jar label unnecessarily stuck on her head,’ you might be mumbling, although perhaps that last one is the faint echo of ‘past’ in my head. The one which said ‘all these bloody categories, a load of cobblers, designed to box kids into cookie cutter shapes and sizes!’
Yes. I said that when occupational therapy was first mentioned. I bristled at the word ‘therapy’ and my daughter. It rubbed the wrong way, even though I believe the word to be a vital part of our language and culture. But slowly, very slowly, I came to realize that perhaps she needed a few extra tools in her toolbox, I came to realize that this beautiful young wild horse needed to learn to canter and not always gallop, to nuzzle and not necessarily needle…her strength, her sheer physical strength, her love of ‘g’ force-type pressure, her desire to be hugged and squeezed yet equally her desire to burst free, her astonishment at sudden loud noises followed by hands over her ears (a loud toilet flush is enough), her in ability to slip into ‘cruise’ mode…they were signs of a light feather dusting her with some special glitter, yet still I struggled with my own role.
I wasn’t doing a good enough job. I yelled too much. I didn’t yell enough. I didn’t run her enough or spend enough time with her (in the meantime, my work matters screamed a similar mantra, their deadlines groaning as I shoved stuff over the line just in time), I didn’t DO enough with her, I didn’t give her the concession of being 4 and I just didn’t let her away with the odd, small burst and blip of rudeness thus I was too harsh, I should lighten up a little, I should be more cheerful, I should be better. Yeah. That’s it. I-should-be-BETTER, because this was all about what I wasn’t doing, right?
I had explained to her that we would be going to a special gym-like place where she could climb and bounce around and where they would help give her ‘tools’ for when she got frustrated, fidgety or over-tactile. She was excited. I had been very very clear that I did not want the place to resemble a hospital or doctor’s office, and whilst it didn’t really, there was enough generic signage and strip-lighting to suggest a medical facility.
“Is this a doctor’s appointment Daddy?” she asked me, and I sighed and just said no, not really, but it’s a place where you will, via the gym stuff, be given tools to help you when you feel constricted. A half-truth. Not a total lie. Thank God. I don’t lie to my children. Ever. Good thing really as I couldn’t lie to this one even if I wanted to. She’s too smart. She’d figure it out. And I saw her wheels turn at what I was saying before they reached a satisfactory stop. She was fine with the answer. Inside I wanted to cry. I looked at her, fearless and lively, happy and energetic yet aware that there was, well, ’something’ different here, just something, not a big something but a something nonetheless. And I realized that yes, there IS something a little different about her. Not a big something but a little something…but that little something becomes an enormous something when you try to think it’s nothing. When you try to think it’s age or phases or your own plodding inadequacy. And inside you’re still not entirely convinced it isn’t any of those, because this is only the first appointment and you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, so maybe, just maybe, you’ve given in, acquiesced to the labeling, to the categorizing, to the boxes they love to put gifted people into. I have spent my life living outside those boxes; am I, through my own incompetence, my own laziness, placing one of my children directly into one?
As I sat in the large room, adorned with gym stuff, a climbing wall, swings and toys, I filled out a questionnaire that reminded me of one I once filled as a youth in Amsterdam. That time I was high on quality weed and buzzed on Grolsch lager, and the focus of my answers was a Scientology pamphlet (weed will do that, push you to answer 501 stupid questions and then abruptly leave for a toastie) but for this moment the nature of the questions was nearly as bizarre. Smells, tactile feelings, emotional reactions…I mean, she’s 4. How much of her covering her ears for loud noises and anxiety at the thought of being locked in a bathroom is down to her simply being 4?
As I watched her working one on one with the occupational therapist, I could see how engaged she was. There were massages (I give her foot rubs so I knew she’d like the tactile sensation). There was the rock climbing (I’d seen her do this at a party before, I new she’d like it). There was stretching and pulling and hanging from a trapeze and rolling and swinging a big, giant boat swing (she loved them all) there were some motor skills things (she even liked those). It was just us three in this big big space, and whilst it felt odd to me, she was lost in the moment of it. And it was frankly very important that I, too, became lost in the moment of it. Because right there, right then, she was having a good time. And it was easy to see that after a few more sessions of this, her toolbox would hopefully gain some extra equipment.
“What are you looking to get from this?” the occupational therapist asked as we walked out to make next week’s appointment.
“I just want her to have those tools for those frustrating times, and I just want her to develop that extra gear in her gearbox which will allow her to slow down and cruise for a moment as opposed to always go at full speed…”I mused the last point, scrabbling for a bit more accuracy. “I just want her to have the tools and tutelage to use them early so as this doesn’t become a bigger issue when she’s older. Does that sound about right.”
“Oh yes,” she said, “We can certainly, certainly do that.”
My daughter went to occupational therapy today for the first time. She’ll go again next week, the week after too. And whilst I will make absolutely sure this remains confidential when it comes to school time (it’s nobody’s fucking business, not the labelers, not the conformists, not the cookie-cutters, not the neat package peoples) I feel a little less guilty, a little more open, a little more honest and a little more accepting of what occupational therapy really is. I will also learn from this process myself; learn that life is always bigger than any individual, and that I really am doing the very best I can…I think…
You’re doing it perfectly and being the perfect dad, Steff. My son is different also, remember
Not highly gifted, except in certain ways. And I hated it too.. I remember the feelings of total inadequacy and so forth as we plunged him into the visits and whatnot. But the labels, it doesn’t matter, they still don’t. What matters is that the children get what they need. My son did – he’s reading now, skipped a grade even and is earning decent grades, has some extra help in that department, and is less scared, more confident, more everything better, because I finally did what I had to do and what all parents have to do at some point, and reach out a little and say “How do I deal with THIS?”
So many hugs to you and yuor family, and I’m happy that she’s going to be all good, all ok.. and this will help. It’ll be fun for her, trust me, and maybe even, a little, make your life easier and happier also, which YOU need. Whatever tools we’re given, we should make use of!
And don’t you worry about “labels”. Let them put whatever label on her they want. It won’t matter. Because in the end, the RESULTS are what matter, and for us, the results have been nothing short of astounding. For you as well, they will be 
And no, it’s not due to ANY inadequacy on your part. Whatsoever. In fact by reaching out you proved what a great Dad you really are, and how much you care, and love her 
Now she’s going to have those tools in her toolbox, indeed! 
And you may be able, eventually, to relax with a nice cup of tea!! LOL! 
And remember my offer.. now you know about my son, you might know how indeed awesome my daughter is,.. and how well she deals with it all .. kind of rare in a kid, to know and be able to deal with gifted, different kids! So take us up on it if you ever feel it’s time for a break.
Hugs again to all of you! 
Steff
My son also had to go to OT. We had been waiting 4 years as there are not too many therapists in the UK, partly due to the prevailing archaic attitudes to such things. He had been diagnosed as having fine motor skills difficulties, which were preventing him from being able to write and draw to his full potential. We had spoken with lots of people in the “industry” ourselves and put him through the same kind of exercises they would have, and by the time he finally got his OT appointment he was no longer in need of OT (thankfully)!
While I have nothing but praise for the NHS in general, in areas such as OT it remains well behind the times in terms of the needs of the population. But, I suppose the same is true for anything which is not related to physical illness. As we move further into the 21st century, the NHS needs to become more aware, and focus a little more on prevention. It will then have less need to focus on cure.
I wish your daughter and you every success in her OT journey, and look forward to the occasional read of this journey. In the meantime I am off to acquire Snow Leopard and prepare for tomorrow’s visit of Birmingham to The Lane.
thanks mate
i only just saw this…one thing i find with this column is how many people actually go through the same stuff…it makes it a pleasure and a comfort to write…thanks again for sharing and hope to see you before xmas at the lane…and what a happy place it is these days!!!!!!!!!!
steff