Recently, a good friend and I were chatting about the upcoming weekend. Her daughter, a first-grader, went to a birthday party another child in her class (with behavioral issues) attended. We’ll call him Howie. There had been incidents at school. Howie grabbed a child, and a teacher needed to intervene. Her daughter, along with other kids, was sent to the school nurse for being hit or pushed. When my friend asked her daughter for details, she said it was an accident and “he doesn’t know how to play.”
At a previous gathering, Howie was dropped off, and many parents found themselves running interference between unaccompanied Howie and the other kids. Is it bad parenting, a last-minute family emergency, or something else entirely?
I learned Howie has a full-time aide and is often sent to the “Angry Room” at school. At recess, he’s confined to the fenced-in outdoor areas, due to the possibility of him running off. It’s a wealthy school district and parents are talking. Teachers are encouraging parents whose children have been affected to perhaps, “let the principal know their concerns.”
I thought about Howie a lot after our call. I wanted to reach out to his mom. I texted my friend to consider extending a kind gesture to her if she saw her at the party.
As parents of neurodiverse kids, our children have been in the “Angry Room” at some point along their journey. As their parents, we have too. The Angry Room is a metaphorical, transitional place people go when the next steps are uncertain. You’re waiting—somewhat like in a holding cell, and things can get better or worse. We often don’t know which direction to go, who to turn to, or whether to trust our instincts. The last feeling is the worst because if you can’t trust yourself, how can you be trusted to lead the way for your child? It’s important to mention that no parents have these instincts at the start of their journey parenting a neurodivergent child.
The Angry Room is never a permanent solution. Hopefully, it’s a passageway to something better after careful consideration, guidance, and reflection of your child’s and family’s needs. For those of you currently in the Angry Room, I was there, and have visited several times over the past decade.
Here are the questions I’d like you to consider: What do you hope your child achieves this school year? Is your child attaining it? If not yet, are there steps in place to get there? What are the alternatives?
For those parents of neurotypical kids whose children are in the same class as Howie, consider these questions: Are you helping or hurting? What information would help you and your child better understand Howie? How can you increase a sense of belonging for Howie and his family?
If our children don’t belong, there are significant consequences. One of our jobs as parents is to find a place where they do. What’s at stake? Think about how you feel when you don’t belong, for long periods of time—isolation, anxiety, depression, low self-worth.
Keep in mind that so much of life is seasonal. Your child’s season, your season, and the key players involved in your child’s life are always changing. All this matters, more than you may initially think. And you shouldn’t have to do it alone. If you don’t know where to turn, take two steps: contact your state’s early intervention or special education services, and join a parent group that shares information and resources that you and your child can benefit from.
The goal is progress, to leave the Angry Room with sturdiness and acceptance by putting one foot in front of the other.
by Lisa Bonnema 
by Lauren Cootes 
