08/12/2026
See those bowls stacked in the picture? Add one more and put them on a cupboard shelf. Now imagine your neurodivergent loved one was trying to slide the stack of bowls out to remove one, and the whole stack comes crashing to the tile floor, but not without hitting the granite countertop first. Pieces of sharp stoneware and glaze shards everywhere. And this all within earshot of your parents and grandparents.
Mom (Chelsea) gasps in horror, but not because of the loud crash and the big mess (which are already a sensory nightmare for her son), but because she sees he’s standing in bare feet in the midst of a hundred hazards.
He’s shocked, embarrassed, and desperately wants to escape. He also wants to minimize the elder generations’ big reactions, because he has no capacity to manage them.
Now is not the time for scolding or questions. (It never is with an adult, really.) Now is the time for soothing and safety.
Mom has shoes on, picks up the large pieces and tosses them in the trash, and makes sure he gets to a safe place in the kitchen before fetching the broom and dustpan. Dad gets the vacuum. All the while, we’re saying, “It’s okay, buddy. It was an accident. We just need to make sure you’re OK.”
But what he hears, whether it’s his own brain telling him or he’s remembering other similar instances and the feedback he’s gotten, is more like:
“What’s wrong with you?”
“You’re clumsy.”
“Be more careful!”
And he still doesn’t have the bowl he wanted. Or the cup he needed to take his medicine. Or his medicine. And he still just wants to escape. So his big feelings just come out like anger as he talks to mom.
Keeping that tone of voice reassuring and calming is the only thing that’s keeping him from going over the edge of dysregulation. This is how we co-regulate.