The Island of Nunya

 

The Island of Nunya. What? Read on…it will all make sense.

Today is a big day. Today is a test. Because today is my son’s first day back in his school after five weeks. Baby steps today. He’s only there for half the day. But he’s there. And it scares me. Being in treatment for the last five weeks, it has become clear that school is a trigger for him. It can set him off into this oblivion of pain and fear, anxiety and hopelessness. So to send him back there, even though he’s been learning and seeking and exploring at therapy for the last five weeks…well it’s hard. Perhaps harder for me than it is for him.

Making this transition takes a lot of preparation. A lot of care. We discuss things like schedule and remind him of what the day is going to be like. We prepare him with details about what teachers and support staff will be there for him. We outline every change in the day, every transition between activities and classes. We remind him that safety, HIS safety, is the foremost concern we all have. We discuss the expectation for him to be where he is supposed to be, and when he is supposed to be there. Otherwise, we will all freak out, and worry that he’s left the school grounds again and has run away. Police will have to be called if that happens. We remind him of that. We go over the safe zones of the school. We talk about sharing with an adult if he feels his emotions are ramping up or spiraling out of control. If he feels rage or frustration, we remind him that he needs to rip paper. Just keep ripping paper. And we remind him of his safety plan and hand gesture, so that if he gets so unraveled to the point of being non verbal, he can still communicate with the teachers to warn them he is feeling sad, hopeless, concerned about self harm.

And most important of all, we remind him that he is loved, appreciated and brave.

We’ve known since last week this day would come. And you could see the excitement and anxiety building. He’s been all over the place in regard to coming back. Some days, he’s certain he’s ready, certain he is excited to see his friends. Some days, he wants no part of it, just wants to stay in treatment. And some days he’s just apathetic. Just can’t feel any particular feeling. I suspect this is a normal course of emotions when preparing to re-enter a building that has caused you harm, trauma, and stress. It’s hard really, for me to fully understand how he feels. He’s only eleven after all. Some days he is so very clear, very poignant in communicating his feelings. And others, well he’s silent or just filled with ‘I don’t knows’.

The beauty in a transition such as this is it is a gentle reentry. He’s at school this week for only 3 hours. Then I pick him up and bring him back to treatment where he can process his day, and work through emotions and anxiety that he may have. It is a test, it is part of the process to see if he’s truly ready. And if so, after a week or two of partial days, he’ll be discharged altogether and go back to school full time.

We have big weeks ahead of us. Lots of watching, waiting, listening. What is his body language like? How is he behaving? Is he adapting? What are his emotions like? I’m on guard. All night. All day. Tracking sleep. Tracking moods. Tracking appetite. Tracking activities. Tracking medication. Tracking, tracking, tracking. It’s all overwhelming, really. I try to just take it day by day. And often, I have to break it into even smaller pieces. Moment by moment. Because that’s how fast things can change around here.

So back to the Island of Nunya. The title of this post. Part of this preparation for reentry into school means discussing a plan with Noah for what he’s going to say to other students when he returns. To have a planned response so he doesn’t feel overwhelmed in the moment. The school mentioned that some kids say they were on vacation. I realize this is the best and most comfortable option for many who are not comfortable talking about it. But we are NOT going to say he was on vacation. For many reasons. First, he wasn’t on a damn vacation. In fact, he CHOSE to forego his spring break vacation to enter treatment. Second, it only perpetuates the stigma. At some point, we have to be brave and take ownership of not perpetuating this shame that gets attached to mental illness. Third, it is just an outright lie. He wasn’t on vacation. That isn’t accurate. But we also know he is eleven, talking to other eleven year olds. And thus we have to frame the explanation carefully.

My son’s therapist and I shared some suggestions with him on what he could say to friends…things like, ‘I was at another school that helps me work through my emotions’. Or, ‘I was working on how to not be so sad and angry’. Or, ‘I was just trying a new school’. But ultimately, we ensured he understood that it was his decision on how much he wanted to share with others.

He was uncertain which answer he was going to provide others when he got to school today.

Until this morning. As we were driving to school, and I asked him what his plan was, he said, “I’m going to tell them I was at the Island of Nunya.”

I was confused, “Narnia? Do you mean you’re going to tell them you were at the Island of Narnia?”

“Noooo Mom. The Island of Nunya. As in Nunya Business!” 

So there’s that I guess. That’s his plan. At least he has one.

The Island of Nunya.

It is all a lot to process. Shortly, I will leave and pick him up from his first partial day back at school. And I will pray and hope when I see his face for the first time as he walks down the hall to me, that he will have a smile on it. He will feel fulfilled and content and welcomed back. That he will feel he belongs and ready for another day.

It takes courage to fly…and I hope this kid…I hope he realizes just how much courage he has and just how likely it is that he will fly.