Our discussion at Sunday School yesterday veered slightly off topic onto whether children who die go to heaven, then on to exactly what is the age of accountability. My classmates brought up children with mental handicaps as having an extended period of time before they could be accountable for their actions. Of course none of them are living with children with developmental delays, but their point was well-made.

Yet, as I pondered this I was once again reminded that anything taken to an extreme is bound to fail. I read a comment to my The Caused Disorders blog, where the reader agreed with my sarcastic "Can’t the rest of these poor tortured souls with all these disorders just pull themselves up by their boot straps???" But she went on to attribute that thought process to Nancy over on the RAD blog. I beg to differ.

There are two things I know for sure. First is that Nancy needs no defending. Second is that Amy, the subject Nancy is most often criticized over, is past the age of accountability for making the decision to change. I have witnessed this family first-hand, kept Amy in my home for respite, and known them for quite a while. There are some major differences between Amy and my LuLu. First off, Amy is not violent, destructive or self-injurious. On the surface (and definitely in the case of providing respite) she is a much easier person to live with (wouldn’t you agree Nancy?) Her disability is much less evident, much more invisible, and much more insidious. But the other major difference is that LuLu has made the choice to heal.

I clearly remember this choice for LuLu. It occurred about 2 ˝ years ago, at a time when new behaviors (i.e. disorders) were emerging for LuLu. I think her “decision” to heal had been developing all along, but I clearly remember that even as things seemed to be getting worse behaviorally (symptoms) there was a shift in her attitude - a softening in her shell. Her attachment to me had migrated from total rejection, to clingy smothering, to a more solid relationship. Yet her destructive, explosive behaviors continued. But behind the behaviors was(is) a genuine remorse. This was different than before, and allowed me to see more clearly the difference between what she “can’t” control and what she “won’t” control. Although, I'd be the first to admit that her threatening antagonistic behaviors still make me react.

I know that Nancy’s blogged on this many times as well. Deciding what is a “can’t” behavior and what is a “won’t” behavior is nearly impossible with these kids. Still we must try to ascertain this as much as possible. Why? If we mistake a “can’t” for a “won’t” then we are too harsh, reinforcing their negative self-image. If we mistake a “won’t” for a “can’t” then we’re too enabling and disabling. And this reinforces their negative self-image, too.

I know that sometimes we give comparative illustrations of our developmentally and emotionally disabled children to blind children or those in wheelchairs. Truth is we don’t expect blind children to see or wheelchair-bound to walk. And we tell the world that our children are just as disabled as these children whose disabilities are so much more visible. But blind children still have to learn how to live in society somehow. What if a blind child refused to learn Braille, use the guide dog that was provided and rejected all therapies designed to teach her how to compensate for her disability? What would we think then? Would we not hold her accountable for her “won’t” even while recognizing how much more difficult her life is than a sighted persons?

The line is murkier for kids with invisible disabilities. But as parents of these children, we wade in this murky water daily. And we’re cursed if we do and cursed if we don’t. We can give our child every intervention, therapy or medication known to man, but that doesn’t insure healing. It’s once a child “chooses” to work toward their own healing, to become accountable, that real change can occur.

And for those who never do? Well I admire those like Nancy who can be honest about their disappointment and pain, yet still hold on to the flicker of hope that someday the countless hours and efforts poured in will take root.


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