Relational Acrobatics
This week, Simone Biles withdrew from the team gymnastics final at the Tokyo Olympics. I took many lessons from her words and actions, but I want to focus on two: she explicitly spoke her truth, and she showed compassion for her teammates. Simone Biles has always made impossible-seeming acrobatics look easy; after Tuesday, it struck me that expressing our needs and showing compassion are as hard for most of us as a Yurchenko double pike vault. Yet these relational skills are integral to the formation of healthy connections with others, and must be mastered; the stakes, like the vaults, are high - and even higher when we are simultaneously forging friendships and modeling friendship formation for our children.
When we become parents, we often find ourselves navigating friendships with the parents of our children’s friends. While our children are young, and we are present at their activities, our parent-to-parent relationships operate on two levels: our own, and our children’s. These two levels can become intertwined in complicated, painful ways, as this example will illustrate.
She is four, and enchanted by all things ballet. I will call her Molly. She twirls around the studio before her class, radiant in her food-stained tutu, her scuffed ballet shoes and uneven tights. The other girls enter with their long blond hair in perfect buns, their svelte bodies in spotless leotards. Molly is apparently oblivious to her peers, until her friend arrives- a delightful girl I’ll call Beatrice, with dark bangs and a cheeky smile.
The moms are both British, and quickly form a bond. I will call Molly’s mom Olga, and Beatrice’s mom Allison. The two women chat about culture shock and politics, keeping their eyes on their girls even as they start to confide their secrets. They chuckle and roll their eyes as their daughters get in trouble for whispering and giggling together. Within weeks, they each take a turn hosting a play date, and meet up during Winter Break to enjoy a local performance of The Nutcracker. Best of all, Allison doesn’t notice any signs of autism in Molly.
Molly knows about the space bubble, the well-worn metaphor for giving people personal space. She learns about it every week in her social skills class. “I know, I know,” she tells Olga on this particular Ballet Monday. She jumps out of the car, and pulls her mother impatiently through the cramped lot. She runs into the studio, her barette askew and her excitement high. She heads straight for Beatrice and jumps on her, startling her and making her cry. The teacher tries to separate the girls as she starts class, but Molly is displaying the telltale signs that she is beyond the point of de-escalation. She squeals, unable to peel herself away.
“OK,” says Allison, barely under her breath, “that’s enough.” She swoops in and carries Beatrice out of the building. Olga is ashamed, pained, and furious at her daughter. “Why can’t you just be normal?” she wants to scream at her. She doesn’t look at the other moms as they chat about their upscale Charter School, and plan snacks for their weekend gatherings.
Allison and Beatrice come to ballet class less regularly after that. Allison tells Olga that Beatrice is “too tired” by 3:30 and “doesn’t like the stretches at the beginning of class.” A few weeks more, and they officially drop the class. The two families exchange a round of birthday party invitations, and then drift apart. Eventually, Allison texts Olga, and invites her to meet her for a drink and a movie. She is honest about Beatrice’s aversion to Molly’s failure to give her space, and admits that she now recognizes why Molly has an autism diagnosis. Despite the ache in her chest, Olga appreciates Allison’s honesty. She never quits working with Molly on the space bubble.
Allison performed at least a single pike. Her compassion for Olga prevented her from communicating when tensions were high, but when the time was right, she was direct and honest in confirming Olga’s suspicion that Molly’s inability to calm down and give Beatrice space derailed the girls’ friendship.
Why is the process of sharing honest feedback so hard for most of us? Why do we get the “twisties” - the sense of disorientation in mid-air that can be life threatening for gymnasts, and an impediment to healthy friendships?
A recent conversation with a friend gave me some answers. She described two scenarios, both involving her oldest child. When he was young, her son was easily upset by the intransigence of friends and peers who were on the autism spectrum. In both cases, my friend encountered in the parents, her friends, resistance to suggestions that their children may need to be evaluated. In one case, this led her to cut ties with the family; in the other, the children’s friendship only deepened when my friend’s son came to his own understanding, formative years in the making, of the reasons for the behaviors he found frustrating.
Following this conversation, I became stronger in my conviction that everyone involved in these interconnected relationships is responsible for their health and survival. Simone Biles made a decision based not only on her fears for herself, but also on her belief that the rest of the team would better succeed without her. Her “twisties” were everyone’s “twisties.” Her withdrawal was a call to her teammates to “step up,” rather than resent or blame her. Biles had been the team leader; all of a sudden, her admirers were on her level, and even being asked to surpass it. Similarly, friendships between children with different neurological orientations need not be hierarchical or tokenistic. Neurodiverse children and their parents would do well not to shy away from the balance beam at the center of the friendship arena: the fine line between their need to be accepted and understood, and their responsibility to consider the impact of their behaviors on others.
Inclusion is a team sport that features the two disciplines in which Simone Biles excelled this week: a well-timed, thoughtful declaration of our needs, and consistent recognition that our friends and teammates have needs too. Let’s all try to keep our bearings as we tumble through the air in search of a clean landing.