Yesterday, my daughter, Lily, experienced a public meltdown. This isn’t unfamiliar territory for us. When emotions run high and communication isn’t always clear, meltdowns can occur. Typically, if we can swiftly relocate her from the overstimulating environment, she calms down almost immediately.
However, yesterday posed a unique challenge: getting her out of a public building known for its acoustics meant navigating down two flights of stairs due to a broken escalator and across a sky bridge. It was on that sky bridge where things took an unexpected turn.
I had hoped that a breath of fresh air would soothe her. Lily enjoys the sky bridge for its panoramic views. Instead, she stopped to sob uncontrollably. My husband, Mark, gently wrapped his arm around her waist and urged her to keep moving, even as she continued to cry.
At that moment, two security guards approached us. “We heard a woman screaming on the sky bridge,” they said.
What followed was a flurry of explanations: “Our daughter has special needs; she’s having a meltdown. We’re just trying to get her to our car; I promise she’s not in danger.” The guards quickly reassured us, apologizing for the misunderstanding and offering assistance. Within minutes, we were in our car, and Lily was starting to calm down. Just two minutes out of the parking garage, she was back to her usual self.
What struck me was that the guards initially perceived Lily as an adult. She stands 5 feet 3 inches tall, which is slightly taller than me. It highlighted a significant shift: we’re entering a new phase. Society has become more accepting of children with disabilities, especially when they’re well-behaved and dressed nicely. However, acceptance dwindles for adults with disabilities.
As my daughter transitions into adulthood with her challenges, she doesn’t exhibit obvious signs of disability. Observing her the other night at a restaurant, I realized she merely appeared a bit awkward, not disabled.
When I shared our experience on social media, friends suggested options like an ID or bracelet for her. While helpful, these wouldn’t visibly convey her needs to others. I could shout to bystanders, “Don’t worry! She has cognitive disabilities and struggles with transitions!” but that’s not practical in the heat of the moment.
Maybe a signal, like a flare gun or Bat-Signal, would alert people that while things may seem chaotic, it’s not a cause for alarm. Unfortunately, there’s no easy solution. The best approach I can think of is raising awareness, so more people understand what’s happening when Lily is having a tough time in public.
Becoming reclusive isn’t an option for us. Engaging with the world is essential, even if it means navigating these challenges.
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