I was tidying up recently and it struck me that my approach to organising colouring pencils or pens is a good metaphor for the contents of my head.
For the two non-dyspraxic members of our household, organisation reigns supreme. Coloured pens and pencils must be arranged neatly by type and in colour order, logically I imagine, to make reaching for the desired pen or pencil a quick, easy task. This organisation applies to everything in their lives. For example, when I first met my husband I was highly entertained that his CD collection (this was the 1990s), was neatly arranged in alphabetical order. I was amazed as it would never have occurred to me to do that in a million years! Meanwhile in contrast to this ordered world, the information held in my brain and that of our son can be compared with a random jumble of coloured pens and pencils, effortlessly mixed and with no order in sight. This can present its problems, especially academically. Recalling specific information and in an organised manner requires a considerable amount of mental effort and I've discovered that it is extremely difficult to explain this to someone with a ‘tidy’ mind! Having said all that, it’s not all bad news as dyspraxia certainly has its advantages too. I am happy surrounded what others might see as chaos and disarray. I actually like the way that I feel no need to impose order in my every day life. I feel no anxiety if I accidentally go out wearing mis-matched socks, will happily plant up my flower beds with non-linear random colour schemes, feel no need to put things in boxes (figuratively or literally) I don't yearn for an impeccably tidy house, realise that shiny shoes are seriously over-rated and creatively, I’m not restrained by absolutely any desire to colour within the lines.
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In addition to bright light and textures (especially that of clothing and food), as parents we have always been aware of our son being very sensitive to loud noise and generally having an unusually acute sense of hearing. This presented problems when he was younger, for example in attending any noisy events and the need to avoid firework displays. On one occasion aged 5, he was extremely distressed by all the noise and excitement generated by a houseful of his sister’s 3 year old friends. Screaming, he was taken out in the car which successfully calmed him down. Nowadays in his late teens, he no longer screams, but still isn’t particularly comfortable in a noisy crowd.
Sensitivity to loud noise hasn't been all bad, as it has also resulted in a child with a bright enquiring mind. We were delighted by the ever-present question of “what’s that funny noise?” as soon as our son learned to speak and was fascinated by the world around him. He would endlessly notice sounds to which we were oblivious, but clearly intrigued him. It has been interesting to note that as he has grown up and his interest in music has increased, our son has without realising, developed the coping strategy of using it as a way of blocking out unpleasant noise. Rather than complaining when I ask him to vacuum (a chore which I avoid as much as possible as I don’t like the noise), he will don his headphones and get on with the job. Likewise he actually enjoys mowing the lawn as long as he is plugged into his music. If only that approach could be applied to doing the ironing. I’m sure everyone is familiar with coming home exhausted, feeling as though your brain aches after a particularly taxing day. For those of us with dyspraxia, this can be an every day occurrence.
Ever since our son started school 12 years ago, it has been very noticeable that his level of tiredness at the end of a school day far outweighs that of any of his friends. When he was at primary school, whilst other boys would be keen on having friends round to play and get out into the garden (to kick a ball - imagine that!), he always returned home very tired and lethargic. With his senses bombarded in the classroom from all directions, it seemed hardly surprising. A busy day perched on an uncomfortable chair, bright light, the demands of concentration, a deliberately visually stimulating environment, background noise and chatter. That’s before PE entered the equation and the associated difficulties and demands of co-ordination and energy. Our son will be off to University later this year and I am ever-hopeful that an end to the 9am-3.30pm school day will provide him with a less challenging environment. We'll have to wait and see... I am the besotted owner of two very tame pet ducks, Peep and Tony and the more I think about them (which I do quite often), the more I see them as being like me. Dyspraxic ducks, now there’s a thought.
Graceful swans, cunning foxes, majestic eagles, nimble squirrels. Ducks on the other hand are clumsy. Peep and Tony waddle around in an ungainly, uncoordinated-looking manner barging their way through the undergrowth in the garden and tumbling over themselves in their enthusiasm to come greet me when I get home. Whilst I don’t demolish the garden rushing to empty the compost bin, if there’s a low branch I’ll bang my head on it, a tray of seedlings I’ll drop it or if there’s an obstacle on the lawn I’ll run over it. And then there’s the mess. Just as the ducks clumsily dive into their food leaving debris scattered around them, I have a similar problem with peas. During the winter months, Peep and Tony spend their entire time playing in muddy puddles, turning the ground around their pond into a quagmire and their bill’s are caked in mud. Whilst we generally avoid the mud, thanks to our unusual coordination, my son and I usually wear a little food or food-stain on our tops, have eternally dirty shoes and create a trail of clutter wherever we go. Then there's the drinks. By the time he reached secondary school the frequency with which my son spilled his drinks at dinnertime gradually reduced and is now on a par with mine. If anyone has a spillage, it’ll always be one of us, but the days of the regular mealtime tsunami are thankfully (hopefully) behind us. As are Peep and Tony. Everyone loves to wear clothing which is soft and comfortable, but some of us REALLY love to! Heightened sensitivity to sensory stimuli. This can vary from individual to individual and affect all or some of the senses. In my case, it is all of them and I certainly mostly feel it is a blessing rather than a curse.
Let me consider touch. Microfleece, plush fabrics, angora, brushed cotton, M&S Heatgen long-sleeve tops and cashmere (or cashmere feel) - soft clothing is the order of the day! Making the wrong clothing choices has been advantageous for the local charity shops, but not for my purse. Ever found yourself impulse buying a top or underwear, lured by the style or colour only to find the months go by with them still sitting in the cupboard? I'm afraid the lacy pants invariably lose out to the soft sensible ones. It's funny really, but I like to think that clothes shopping is a great sensory experience from which I gain more enjoyment than anyone else. My fingers reach out on autopilot to feel the texture of every item which catches my eye and I sub-consciously eliminate anything whose texture does not meet with my exacting standards. I'll inevitably report back home about the gorgeous snuggly jumper/fluffy socks/velvet-soft top/super-soft tights which I virtuously resisted buying. It's not just me. For years, my son would not entertain the idea of wearing any trousers other than soft tracksuit bottoms, jeans for example, were always a big no-no and fluffy socks and soft jersey were a must. Now in his late teens, he has become more tolerant and (like me) will now wear denim, however still only particular pillow-cases and bedding will do. I've not even mentioned the extreme irritation of clothing labels... I guess we're just sensitive souls! Games. Netball. Wing defence. Unaware back in the 1980s that dyspraxia-related poor motor skills were the root cause of my inability to throw or catch with any reliability, I was always the last choice for any team sport.
I'm sure this is a scenario with which many of you will be familiar. Two team captains selected by the games teacher and each given the task of picking their team. The best players were immediately cherry-picked and as the waiting group of expectant students was whittled down one by one, I used to await my weekly destiny. Last to be picked and always assigned the position of wing defence and with groans and rolling eyes from the team captain, was hardly great for my self-esteem. It was understandable I agree, as I'm sure I wouldn't want a player with such poor ball skills that the rest of the team would be put at a competitive disadvantage. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe that dyspraxia was the reason why everyone was last to be picked, as of-course someone always had to be the bottom of the pile, but in my case, cack-handedness certainly didn't help! Thank goodness times have changed. Fast forward 30+ years and my experience of witnessing games within my children's schools and the local Scout group have been largely that the 1-2, 1-2 approach of team picking is now common practice. However, I did come across a parent volunteer who adopted the former approach and seeing the look on the face of the little girl standing alone at the end made my heart sink. When you google dyspraxia or Developmental Co-ordination Disorder (DCD), you are faced with article after article about extremely clumsy children unable to ride a bike. Articles about both adults and children with mild dyspraxia are few and far between.
My son was assessed to be mildly dyspraxic when he was 6 years old. He could ride a bike and tie his shoe laces, put had poor handwriting, was hyper-sensitive to light, sound and touch and could not throw nor catch a ball. As he went through the pre-school to school years, as parents we felt that something was a little different and couldn't quite put our fingers on it. These traits and more, were ones which I recognised in myself and as my son has grown into a confident and accomplished young man, I have increasingly identified the same issues which I had growing up. If only I knew then what I know now. If like me, your co-ordination is a little challenging, then breaststroke could be the answer. When I told my son's swimming instructor that he was dyspraxic, she simply replied "I know." She said that that it was easy for her to spot which of his pupils were dyspraxic or had co-ordination problems, based on their swimming technique.
I could never swim any stroke other than breaststroke. I believe that there was something in the symmetry of the action which made it an easy option for me. Swimming on my back led to a sink not swim situation and I cannot begin to imagine how anyone could coordinate the arms, legs and breathing of front crawl. Living with dyspraxia for me, is all about avoiding the activities which cause the most stress, and front crawl is one of them. My husband has tried to teach me and even in my mid forties, it is a mystery to me. dyspraxiafoundation.org.uk/dyspraxia-children/swimming-instructors-guide/ Throughout my school years, I was criticised for having untidy writing. I felt that it was always a justified comment, my illegible, spidery writing sprawling without the aid of lined paper, across the page at a jaunty angle. Justified, but not wholly fair. Nowadays, in my experience teachers are more likely to recognise this as a possible sign of dyspraxia, not a symptom of a lazy child with a slack attitude, lack of effort and no pride in their work.
As I have grown older, my writing ability has without doubt improved, although I will never achieve the beautiful copperplate writing of my dreams. The single factor which has made a difference for me is in identifying certain pens which make writing feel smooth and flowing. Biros are a BIG no-no! For me and my son, writing for any length of time leads to an achey crampy hand. My husband says that this is not unusual, maybe he is right, but for a child already resistant to putting pen to paper, a painful hand provides little incentive to persevere. Aged 29 during a visit to a physiotherapist I was asked to stand on one leg and failed hopelessly to balance. I was then asked to march on the spot and duly obliged, only to discover that my right arm and right leg were in synch, and not opposites. Baffled and amused, I returned home and did not really give it much further thought until 6 years later. As a glasses wearer myself, when my son was 6 years old, I took him for a routine eye test. The optometrist immediately identified his inability to track an object and to my surprise then asked him to stand up and march on the spot. Low and behold he marched in the same incorrect right-right, left-left synch as me! The optometrist was careful and determined not to give this curious co-ordination a label, but determined to research as much about it as possible, I concluded that we were dealing with Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD), also referred to as Dyspraxia. www.nhs.uk/conditions/Dyspraxia-(childhood)/Pages/Introduction.aspx Categories All |
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