​Okay, let’s back up a little bit. What is self-diagnosis?

​There’s several ways to go about doing it. Some are good, some are bad, some are downright unhealthy. I’m sure we’ve all at least heard of the experience of going to Web MD and diagnosing ourselves with pneumonia, Ebola, and six forms of cancer. But the correct method of self-diagnosis is a balanced process of self-examination, self-identification, and applying a label that while sticky, is not necessarily 100% accurate. 

“But Carly,” you might say. “Why not just go to a doctor and find out for sure what’s wrong with you there?”

​There’s a variety of reasons for this, ranging from unsupportive family situations to lack of financial resources. But the number one reason is simply this:

• When did you or anyone you know last go to a mental healthcare professional for a checkup?
  
• When does anyone see a mental healthcare professional if they or someone else hasn’t diagnosed them even with just the idea that “something is wrong?”

Self-diagnosis is a vital intermediate step in getting treated for mental health issues, because nobody treats their mental health unless they already think something about it isn’t right. 

​This unfortunately is not as easy as it sounds, especially not for children and teenagers. Being a teenager is hard. People assume you’re already volatile and emotional. They assume that you’re attention seeking. And they assume that you are wrong, that the older you are the wiser you get, automatically. In some instances all these things can prove true.

​Any of you that can remember being or have raised a teen will know that. But at the same time, these factors make it exceedingly hard to be taken seriously when you need help. “I have depression,” or “I have an anxiety disorder” are things that are easy to brush off when spoken from the undiagnosed mouth of a child. 

What makes it extra difficult is that even if the teen does manage to get someone to take them to a doctor - naturally it’s not as though they can take themselves - they are often not taken seriously there either. I have been diagnosed professionally since I was seven years old, and even as a grown woman I still encounter mental health professionals who assume they know more about my diagnoses than I do.

​I’ve been asked point-blank to my face, with my file in the man’s lap, “Why do you THINK you have Tourette’s syndrome?” I did not keep the doctor for very long. How much more difficult is this for a child who hasn’t been seriously listened to by anyone along the way? 

​When I was in third grade, I remember coming to my mother and telling her that I couldn’t see the board at the front of the class. As it turns out, I needed glasses.

I looked at myself and said “this is wrong,” and my mother listened.

At no point did the process devolve into:

• shame (”why are you doing this”)
• accusations (”you just want attention”)
• belittling (”you don’t even know what you’re talking about”). 

​I went to the people in my life who were supposed to help me, and they did, without question. It was self-diagnosis in third grade.

​I hope one day help for mental illnesses can be as respected and as easily acquired. ​

I have both friends and family with adopted children, and I understand that these precious wee ones are loved with the same fierceness as I love my own biological children.  But my friend raising her adopted child with paranoid schizophrenia mentioned recently that she does not have accusatory Mommy guilt. Sometimes Guilt attaches like a leech in hidden fleshy places, draining away parental confidence by injecting lies of personal culpability for the suffering of our progeny. That’s difficult enough. 

But then there are those who make assumptions about our mental health, and accuse us as parents raising biological children with hidden disabilities. For instance, I was enjoying a new friend a few years ago, a godly woman whom I respected. I am a professional level intercessor, meaning I get paid to pray for individuals and corporations, a job I immensely enjoy. God began giving me “downloads” daily to pray for my friend, a new experience outside of my employment. Although those who know me well, love me and consider me stable and emotionally healthy, she assumed I was obsessive compulsive by my attentive faithful intercession. Our relationship quickly crashed and burned. 

Not only was I misunderstood, but I was misunderstood in such a way as to emphasize in a searing way the pain my daughter feels routinely. My imaginary mental health issue made me an “unsuitable” friend for a “mature” Christian woman. God help us. They will know we are Christians by our love, remember? 

I’m trying to teach my children to rise above the stigma and reject the shame offered by society. In retrospect, perhaps it’s not such a bad thing to be considered guilty by association if it gives me the opportunity to stand by my children in solidarity. 

A safe gathering place of friends who understand

I was startled by my daughter’s comment. I reflected on the parents I have met raising children with Down’s syndrome. Not once has the word “selfish” ever occurred to me in describing those parents. But I also can only remember those parents telling me excitedly about milestones their child had achieved, or difficulties their child was facing. Perhaps these parents were “me focused” when they started their journeys, but now, their devotion and commitment were enviable character traits that causes casual onlookers like myself to drop to our knees admitting we are not worthy in comparison.

Out of curiosity, I had my 23 year old daughter with hidden disabilities read the post and share with me her insights. “I think this mother is selfish,” was my daughter’s first observation. “She thinks raising this child is about her, but it isn’t.” I saw pain in her expression.

At first, navigating the unrighteous judgments leveled against us as parents raising children with hidden disabilities (including accusations of selfishness) can knock us off balance. We are still fighting our own internal vows about child raising, what medicinal intervention, nutrition and accountability will look like in our homes. Our own blame-based behavior models may still be intact, not fully grasping the impact neurology has upon our challenging child. But once we topple those idols in our minds, we enter the maturation fast lane. It’s no longer about us, our ideals, or the impression our parenting (or even our advocacy efforts) make on another. 

Our focus shifts to our child whose struggles may impact them for a lifetime.

• What language choices empower my child the best? 
• How can I shield my child from unrighteous judgements? 
• How can we, as parents, use our own transparency, honestly and vulnerability to both protect and advocate for our child? 
• How can we obtain the best interventions in spite of our limitations? 
  

The day will come when our children grow up and read everything we wrote about how difficult it was to raise them. They already fight self loathing and feelings of worthlessness; after all, according to the other voices in their lives, they do not measure up.

I believe her intent was to offer empathy to other struggling parents who are indeed impacted by raising children who present profound challenges to entire families who struggle to cope with the demands. The fact that in her own need, she is willing to invest in the lives of other parents tells me she is focused on others, in addition to her children, and not on herself.

But additionally, I will take my daughter’s comment to heart, remembering that I am here to teach my children that they are worth every ounce of effort expended on their behalves. It’s not about me, no matter how much raising my children with hidden disabilities impacts me. 

A safe gathering place of friends who understand

I serve a God who heals. Some of my friends are the kind of people who travel internationally to proclaim God's word and experience first hand miraculous signs and wonders, dramatic healings that defy science and glorify God. I know God heals, yet my child who has now reached adulthood is still at home, struggling with anxiety and depression to the point of being disabled in some seasons. Yet she is a delight to my heart, and a huge help to me at home. We press in for healing, utilizing medical intervention as well as prayer, but in the meantime we trust God is good, all the time. He walks us through the valley of the shadow of death, not around it. 

We miss the passage in Hebrews about the heroes of faith that says some women received their loved ones back, while others were sawed in two! Granted, the context of the passage refers to persecution for faith, but the truth can be generalized. Those families cried out for deliverance too, just like me. There are those crying out to God for an outcome as good as mine. There are those crying out to God for an outcome as good as yours. Perspective is everything. In the midst of our most drama filled years, I would call my friend who adopted a sibling group of four with their propensities toward addictions, counseling needs and brain chemistry challenges. I used to tell her I called her to gain perspective, but that she needed to call a Thai tsunami victim to do the same! No matter what our battle, He is there to walk each of us through. One thing I know, neither life nor death, rage attacks, humiliations, incarcerations, surgeries, or school expulsions can separate us from the love of God.

Psalm 23:4, Hebrews 11:35-40, Romans 8:38-39

Toppling the Idol of Ideal
Raising Children with Special Needs

The stats are changing. It’s no longer just the rare family who has the autistic child we read about in some magazine article or see on television. Behavioral issues in our children have catapulted out of the realm of child raising and psychology and into the realm of neurobiology and psychiatry. Whether resultant from neurotoxins in the environment, dietary criminals or some other etiology, more and more families are receiving diagnoses of ADHD, autism, or other legitimate neuro-psychiatric disorders.

Is the church late in constructive response? We may be unintentionally too quick to offer counseling or deliverance with no real grasp that neurology is not necessarily a spiritual problem and definitely not a parenting problem; it’s brain chemistry. This leaves Christian Moms and Dads potentially susceptible to the myriad of uninformed voices, voices that decry the pharmaceutical industry as evil drug pushers for profit, and voices blaming lack of quality parenting for most if not all behavioral challenges. 

It’s not sympathy that’s needed, but rather hearing from somebody who “gets it”, somebody who can discuss practical issues like fighting despair, judgment, and educational challenges, deciding about medications, labeling our children, IEP’s and 504 behavior plans. Perhaps most importantly, what is needed is not only assurance that our children will be alright, but that we will survive intact spiritually while grappling with why me, why us, and why my baby? If you are that parent, You will enter into a new season, a season of discovery that launches you from a battle-weary position dodging the fiery darts of the enemy, to a position of protection reclining in the strong tower of God’s abiding presence. 

When my son was in the first grade, his classmates were mostly accepting and his teacher understanding. Yet my son’s vocal and motor tics caused him to find ways to compensate. What does even a young adult do to compensate when accidentally making an aberrant noise in a room full of peers? Some blush, some wish they could go hide in a hole, while others make light by offering a joke about barking spiders or feigning their neighbor’s guilt. I think one has to be at least thirty before possessing the poise and grace to just say “Excuse me” without a second thought! And that’s for just one infraction, not infractions that happen repeatedly, every single day of their lives. 

My son’s school psychologist came to observe in the classroom and witnessed clowning behaviors. The psychologist’s assessment included the judgment that my son was an attention seeker. Really? Exactly the opposite was the truth. Comic behaviors in the midst of tics are to conceal the tics, because the more controlled gross and fine motor movements become for an aging child, the more obvious unwanted movements become. And what’s worse, sometimes the tics themselves can be humiliating. For a painfully prolonged several weeks, my son had a complex motor tic slamming his fist into his groin in a knock out punch. He neither enjoyed this or thought it was funny. He was mortified, humiliated and in pain. He could blush, go hide in a hole, or make light of it, all the while dying a thousand deaths as a school psychologist further assassinates intentions labeling my son as attention seeking. 

These mischaracterizations tempt us as parents to go Mama Bear on our children’s overseers. A level head with aim for advocacy is wiser. I pretend that we are all on the same team, and all believe in my son as much as I do. Visualization is a powerful tool. Loyalties are created through offering grace when communicating how observers are getting it all wrong, terribly wrong, by using face saving heedfulness. There are times this takes as much self discipline as we used when our obstetrician told us “Don’t push!” and we wanted HIM to die a thousand deaths. This is our battle to fight, and when battle lines are drawn, the more warriors you retain on your side of the chalk line, the better. 

First pediatrician: Our pediatrician fancied himself capable of diagnosing and treating brain chemistry. He prescribed my preschooler Adderall for ADHD symptoms. On this medication, she body slammed a plate glass window in a fit of rage because she could not choose between two pencils in a cavern gift shop. We were accustomed to her rages, but there was something characteristically different as she sustained a five hour tantrum (much to the amusement of the guards) on the floor of the Air and Space Museum in Washington DC. My call to her doctor yielded instructions to double her medication. I fired him instead. He later abandoned his wife, children and medical practice, running off with a Russian pen pal.  

At a loss and completely ignorant, my husband and I began to devour literature on ADHD. Our wonderfully brilliant child could barely function! When tested for Kindergarten readiness, I was told my precious baby, already reading fluently and casually doing division in her head, cried, disengaged, and curled up in a ball “acting autistic”. Rather than gaining admittance into the private school of our choice, my daughter received a psychiatric referral! Without a clean bill of health, our child was unwelcome.

First psychologist: He was Jewish, which was funny considering what happened next: my child chose to draw for him the Christian plan of salvation with satan basking in the burning flames of hell, complete with the cross of Christ bridging the gap between earth and God’s throne in heaven, illustrating the substitutionary redemptive death of the Messiah. He asked us how long we had been sexually molesting her. (????) That wasn’t a very positive first visit. We were not devastated; we were rightly outraged. He did not bother to get to know us to determine our character. Instead, he determined that the structure we put in place after reading on ADHD was actually the causative agent for our daughter’s maladies. She received the coveted “clean bill of health”. Life proved differently.

I am happy to report that after these misadventures, we actually received valuable help. My point however, is this: TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS. Get educated, eyeing preconceived ideas, even your own, with suspicion. Use health professionals to augment what you are learning, to partner with you as you discover what is best for your own children. Reject what doesn’t fit. Nobody loves or knows your baby like you do. 

No matter how much you have observed, you can not diagnose another. 

But you certainly can spot symptoms from a mile away once sensitized through exposure to those close to you with similar maladies. In the beginning, I couldn’t see my own child’s tics. Now I spot anyone’s tics from a mile away. Autistic idiosyncrasies are not always apparent to the untrained eye. Yet those who recognize the patterns suspect almost immediately. Manic symptoms follow a predictable trajectory, as do many mental health clues.  

Recently I counseled with a friend about bipolar symptoms, and what to do as an observer of another family’s challenges. As a woman my own age with various life experiences, she gets it. Here’s the risk you, my friend, or I face. We might offend someone if we indicate to them there may be a mental health issue and not just behavioral oddities. But here is the greater risk. Most people have no clue about mental health issues.  With no clue, there is no seeking of treatment. When one of mine was still little, there were classic symptoms that should have YELLED obsessive compulsive disorder to me, to teachers, and to health professionals. Collective ignorance created a gap of three years before diagnosis and intervention. 

Speak out what you see, sensitively and non judgmentally. If you have already made relational deposits in the bank of another, your instincts should be trusted. The counsel should never include a diagnosis, even if that diagnosis is obvious to you. Unless you are a licensed psychiatrist reading this blog, you can not, may not and should not diagnose another person with a mental illness. But tipping them off to get evaluated by a mental health professional just may save a life. 

The church has bought into a lie. It’s a distinctly Western lie, one that’s intricately intwined into our benefits based Christian faith. We protest loudly when we suffer the harsh realities of life, realities like our own mortality, or the mortality of those we love, or flesh based laws of inheritance, or we become victims of an unjust and corrupt system. Our pleas before our living God can become like fetishes we rub for favor, with no real submission to the God we claim to serve.

What is our response when our child is born with differences that reflect poorly on us, our genetics, or our parenting? It’s one thing to adopt a child with brain chemistry or developmental problems, but it is quite another to physically birth one, or even several. What is our response beyond the horrific dark abyss of grief when we lose a child? What did we actually mean when we surrendered our child to God in the first place? What we meant was never surrender, but actually protection unto perfection. Anything less is perceived as a breach of promise, and a crisis of faith ensues.  

On a flight this week, I sat next to a Chinese college student with Christian heritage. She marveled that her grandfather was a believer throughout the Revolution, wondering why he did not lose his faith. I suspect that during that season was when a truer faith was born, a mature faith with abandoned need to control, a faith that lacked the demand for an explanation. The result of fire in our lives is solely dependent upon our own constitution, not the source of that fire as being from heaven or hell.  The same fire that consumes stubble, purifies gold. 

I respect the fortitude of a widowed 90 year old man who, as a result of his moral convictions, choses sexual inactivity. However, if I met a young man in his twenties who managed to keep himself pure based entirely on his decency, I would be far more impressed.  Why? The young man's self control is more of a challenge. 

There are those with brain chemistry challenges who manage to hold their lives together. Are they getting the extra respect that should be afforded them? If someone were to say to you, "I'm bipolar" or "I suffer from chronic depression" and their lives are not in chaos, would you only hear their diagnosis, or would you actually be impressed by the strength of their character?  

Our children with differences may actually be trying multiple times harder than their peers or siblings, only to be subjected to repetitive corrections for not quite reaching the set level of expectation. They watch others who may expend very little effort receive accolades. They cry FOUL with attitude in the midst of their demoralization. Like the Na'vi line from Avatar, we must "see" our children. Respect the effort and progress, not just the standard when doling out praise.