Storms and the Highly Sensitive Child

Please answer each question as best you can. Answer TRUE if it is true or at least moderately true of your child. Answer FALSE if it has not been very true of your child.

My child…

…complains about scratchy clothing, seams in socks, or labels against his or her skin.

…notices the slightest unusual odor.

…startles easily.

It’s an overcast May afternoon. School is out for the summer break and my kid’s been cooped up in the house all day. So in the couple hours before dinner, I take him down to a nearby playground to let him run around for a while. And in between taking his turn on the swings and going down the big twisty tube slides a bunch of times, the wind picks up and storm clouds begin to roll in. I’m starting to think maybe we should pack it up early when BOOM, the loudest thunderclap I’ve ever heard seems to shake the earth and my son, he panics like I’ve never seen him panic before.

Ordinary loud stuff like my radio being SUPER LOUD when I turn on the car (oops) usually just has him clap his hands over his ears and throw worried looks around. But now, he is stricken. He runs around in circles like he has no idea where to run to and is so scared that he can’t remember that I’m standing right next to him. His face… you don’t realize how unnatural it looks for a six year old to clench his molars and fret so hard his forehead wrinkles, but I’m seeing it in front of me and he screams that he wants to go home — again, not at me. In his state, every bit of comfort he knows has dissolved and he’s just screaming at the universe to pick him up and carry him away. So I do that, I get him back in his car seat and I talk to him. I’m right here, you’re okay, that was super loud and really scary, but I’m with you and we’re going home to mommy. You’re okay.

For the rest of the summer, he’s highly sensitive to the sight of clouds. Any talk of an outing, a hike, a trip to the pool, and that worried look crosses his face.

“Well, I don’t know what the weather is gonna be like,” he says, and he looks out his bedroom window at the sky, and he asks us to check our weather app, and then he checks HIS weather app on his tablet and finally, if all of that is clear, he gets ready to go out. Perfectly sunny days are dashed by even the fluffiest white clouds.

We know our son is a studious little kid, and we figure if he can learn about storms, that might take some of the power from them, so we get him books about weather. He reads and reads and learns to identify cirrus and nimbus clouds.

But it’s not over, because it’s summer in the south and storms HAPPEN like a motherfucker. We’re on a family trip to Washington DC — it’s the boy’s first time there and we’re running all over the Mall checking out dinosaur bones and rocket ships and all that cool shit and then the wind picks up, and the clouds roll in, and we’re hurrying along to the Metro and he starts melting down. We’re out on the streets, feeling the first drops of rain and our child is steadily freaking the fuck out. We’re trying to, y’know, parent — talking to him in calm, even tones, reassuring him that he’s okay yes there are clouds and it looks like rain, but we’re going to be underground in just a minute and look at all the Canadian flags on that building, do you know what kind of leaf that is on that flag? Do you see the flags? On the building? And he is inconsolable and crying in public and then — like OF COURSE — the worst possible thing happens. Giant thunderclap. He screams. At this point, fuck this “parenting” we’re trying to do. We pick him up and bolt into the Metro.

TRUE or FALSE, my child…

…learns better from gentle correction than strong punishment.

…considers if it is safe before climbing too high.

…prefers quiet play.

He did not come quietly. The boy was eight weeks early and had to be delivered by emergency C-section. It was scary. He was so tiny, not even three pounds. And he’s still a slight, skinny thing.

I worry that I will always treat him like that tiny helpless baby in the incubator — coddling, hovering. He’s a naturally sensitive and cautious kid, nervous even to slide down the pole at the playground or climb to the top of the monkey bars. He observes other kids before joining their play. Where other kids love splashing in puddles my son DOES NOT like getting stuff on his hands or on his face. He’s very tactile and aware, and it makes him very detail oriented and observant. He’s good at drawing. He reads voraciously.

Still, I worry whether I handle him too gingerly, or whether I’m just being the parent for the kid I have. I am not the rough-and-tumble football father.

TRUE or FALSE, my child…

…doesn’t do well with big changes.

I’m ten years old and I’m shaking. Flopped on the living room couch, I’m crying so hard that I start to hyperventilate. My dad sits with me, speaking in calm, reassuring tones, encouraging me to take deep breaths. I don’t remember why I’m crying, but we did just move to Georgia from Michigan the year before. Maybe someone said something mean to me at school or I just wanna go home…but I am home.

This is not the first or last time I’ve been so overwhelmed that my mind and body just give up. My father watches his son shake and sob like every bit of comfort he knows has dissolved and I can’t imagine what that was like for him. Except I kind of can.

He says “it’s okay. I was a sensitive kid too.” And I look at him — this six foot bearded Midwestern father of mine — and I’m not sure I believe him. But it’s reassuring enough that I remember it almost thirty years later. I’m nothing like the sons he had before me, but he became the parent he needed to be for the kid he had. And I don’t know if I made that easy. But I observed kids on the playground rather than joining them and I spent hours in my room reading and I was a sensitive little kid.

Fatherhood is looking into your past and seeing someone else’s future. Like a house you don’t live in anymore. Like storm clouds on the horizon.

This story contains excerpts from The Highly Sensitive Child: Helping Our Children Thrive When the World Overwhelms Them by Elaine Aron, which has honestly been so reassuring just by existing.