When we speak of moments of crisis in a person's life, we think of painful events or periods of difficulty brought on by a particular problem.
Generally the person in crisis is aware that they are not doing well and, if they are not too badly off, they are able to ask for help or at least manifest discomfort and willingly allow themselves to be helped.
And yet we also speak of crisis as natural, almost physiological stages — a breaking of a consolidated state of equilibrium: so the child is in crisis over the birth of a little sibling, he is no longer alone, no longer the youngest in the house; so the adolescent does not recognize himself in the mirror or in the eyes of others, and we smile, almost reassured by the fact that an ungrateful but necessary period of crisis has arrived.
Faced with a person we love whom we see suffering, we usually oscillate between the desire to spare them a crisis and the hope that this crisis will lead to growth and maturation. Accompanying the person in crisis is all we can do: to stay close, to support them, knowing that we cannot substitute ourselves for them and that we cannot definitively take their pain upon ourselves. The mature adult who stays close to those who suffer is one who takes on the responsibility of being present, without yielding to the desire for omnipotence of taking all the other's distress upon oneself, of substituting oneself for the one who is in crisis.
When the person in crisis feels understood and welcomed, one can propose a plan that helps to integrate the crisis, to transform it into a source of positive energy. For every person, with or without mental handicap, crisis means weakness, fear of being abandoned, of being alone, of being worth less.
The difference between "handicap and normality" lies only in the fact that the person with a mental handicap and their parents often live a condition of triple weakness in the face of "crisis":
- it is as though the doubt of counting for less were constantly hovering;
- the lesser capacity to filter and rationalize feelings, and thus to defend oneself, makes one ever more vulnerable;
- difficulties in communication can prevent the expression of suffering.
Let us take the birth of a little sibling: it is bothersome for all children, but a sibling who is not only younger than me but also healthier than me is a double threat.
The parent who wants to remove this suffering entirely from the older child will make serious errors: they will jeopardize the newborn's security, and will give the firstborn an unrealistic sense of omnipotence. The parent must act for the good of BOTH children, accepting the crisis. The parent must also understand the "surplus" of crisis in the firstborn and must therefore make efforts to recognize, first in themselves, their own doubts, their anguish, their fears, so as not to transmit them to the children. But they must love the younger as much as the older, and protect the younger even more because he is more fragile. They must re-accept both children after the breaking of an equilibrium, after an event that is one of joy but which at the same time brings a pain and many questions back to the surface.
Every child who grows up explores new environments and meets new people without realizing that they might not be accepted; indeed, the basic trust that characterizes a child who has been properly cared for and loved by their mother helps them to explore with confidence what they do not know. This does not change the fact that every novelty is a risk, and that if one is very different from others the risk is higher. Thus the first day of school, which requires many children to overcome a small or large crisis, becomes for the child with a handicap a high-risk crisis situation and exposes the parents as well to a separation that raises questions similar to, but more intense, profound, and anguished than, those one has for a normal child. Will he manage? Will the others be attentive enough? Will he be able to do without me? Will they love him? Will he be able to make himself understood? Will they understand him? In this case the parent must have trust in the child with a handicap just as in the one without a handicap, and must also have greater trust in the adults who surround him. They must, however, help these adults to be worthy of that trust and to also give trust to their child. Difficult certainly, tiring without doubt!!
Faced with a person we love whom we see suffering, we usually oscillate between the desire to spare them the crisis and the hope that the crisis will lead to growth and maturation.
Faced with a person we love whom we see suffering, we usually oscillate between the desire to spare them the crisis and the hope that the crisis will lead to growth and maturation.Moreover, if this complex of equilibria breaks down and the adults prove to be unreliable, the crisis is tremendous, it hurts terribly: the child loses trust, the parent understands that crises for this child can become a very hard struggle, and if the parent concentrates all their energies on the struggle, they will have less for deep listening to their child, and for the latter the crisis will be more painful.
In general, as we have said, the moments of crisis of people with a handicap have the same origin as ours: a fundamental need for security and acceptance is undermined. But people with a mental handicap often have greater sensitivity and a lesser capacity for rationalization. So if someone pushes me on the bus I think they are ill-mannered and perhaps I tell them so, whereas a woman of my age with Down syndrome may feel threatened in her physical or psychological integrity, she may think many things that hurt her: that she was too much in the way, that she is not pretty enough, that she was not even seen. And she suffers... And the next time, if the crisis triggered is not reabsorbed with the help of someone who reassures her, she will be even more vulnerable, more exposed to crisis. If the woman with a more severe handicap goes about accompanied by someone, that someone, especially if a parent, might have feelings similar to mine and thus play down the episode, or on the contrary feelings that put them into a crisis analogous to that of the woman with Down syndrome.
Certainly the great crises are different: a brother gets married, a sister has a baby, a friend moves to another city, mother falls ill, someone dies. These are crises that bring one face to face with something definitive, in the sense of no return. I will NEVER have a baby, I will NEVER see my father again. The NEVER is all the more painful in that it corresponds to a need for ALWAYS.
A need of everyone and for always that in that case seems inevitably denied forever.
The NEVER must not, however, become the seal of a substantial difference. For this reason, accompanying great crises cannot be resolved by telling lies. It is necessary to know how to tell the truth — in the sense of knowing how to highlight that part of truth which does good, while showing nonetheless that one fully understands the dismay at the painful part of truth.
Accompanying the person in crisis is all we can do: to stay close, to support them, knowing that we cannot substitute ourselves for them and take their pain upon ourselves.
Accompanying the person in crisis is all we can do: to stay close, to support them, knowing that we cannot substitute ourselves for them and take their pain upon ourselves.It hurts to think of not having a baby, but the truth that does good is that you become an uncle or aunt; it hurts that a friend travels for work while I always work in the same place, but the truth that does good is that you will write a postcard to a friend or receive one and perhaps go to visit him; it hurts not to dress as a bride but the truth that does good is that you will go to a lovely wedding celebration; it hurts that your brother leaves home with his wife but the truth that does good is that you will be invited to "your brother and sister-in-law's new home"; it hurts not to see your father anymore but the truth that does good is that your father loved you tremendously and that something of him continues to live through the fact that you exist.
And in the end this exercise is useful for all of us!!!
Moments of crisis for people with a handicap require:
- more attentive listening because the distress is not always expressed;
- the search for truths that do good because, at times, the person in a state of fragility more easily sees those that hurt;
- imagination to devise a plan that is born from the crisis and helps to overcome it.
Someone will say that at this point the parent or reference adult might enter into crisis, and that someone is right, but being an adult means knowing that one needs help and learning to ask for it in order then to help those who depend on me.
To conclude, a simple invitation: if on the bus we step on someone's foot we apologize and that is the end of it, but if that person has a mental handicap we must add something more caring and reassuring at the same time. A "everything is fine," a "I am so sorry I did not see you," "how clumsy of me," a smile — perhaps we will become kinder to everyone, but above all we will begin to identify potential crises thanks to greater empathy and to seek ways to face crises from a more active perspective, as something that concerns and challenges us in any case.
If we enter into this outlook, our tone of voice will change with a blind child when the lights go out, and we will pick up a newborn who has been left an orphan differently: we will no longer think, even in these two cases, "they won't notice anyway." We will know instead that changes in the environment around us, whether of an affective or climatic nature, involve everyone, and that even those who "do not understand" perceive crises and need greater closeness.
Anna Aluffi Pentini (educational psychologist), 2004