Disneyland Family Vacation - The Things You Can't See

 We finally have My Sailor home from an exceptionally long deployment (you know, the usual... 8 and a half months into a 5 month deployment), so we are making the most of the family time and the kiddo's vaccination status, and taking a trip to Southern California to see my family, a few friends, and one of my favorite places ever, Disneyland Resort. 

Family vacations offer a time for family members to play together and bond over new and different experiences, foods, and interactions with others. Even during this pandemic life, there is still fun to be had relatively safely. 

This trip to Disneyland is different from any other Disney Park trip I've taken in my nearly 40 years of visiting the Parks. And it has nothing to do with masks or sanitization stations.

This time, we got a DAS pass. (Disability Access Service) pass.

I'll be honest. I fought this one a little bit. It's a sign that something is different for my kiddo. Something other than the Impossible Girl's stuttering, or Central Sleep Apnea, or ovarian cyst oddity.

 It's something else you don't see. Something we suspected might be an issue but something we don't see on such a severe level on a day to day basis. Vacations are exceptional, out of the ordinary experiences.

 So, here's why we got one for the Impossible Girl, the amazing help its been since, and the reality that we need more help than we realized. 

Here's an example - 

Imagine being 6 years old and really excited to go on a beautiful carousel! You saw it from a distance and your mom said you could go on it. The music fills the air. Other kids are riding it and having a great time. There is barely a line and your mom is happy to go on it with you!

 You pick a horse and get on, and then it happens. You clamp down on the handle bars in a white knuckled attempt to control the unwelcomed overwhelming wave of anxiety and fear. Your eyes grow wide and unblinking as you stare at the world around you.  You're barely reassured by your parent standing close by. Even as she snuggly buckles you in, you can't shake the encroaching quiet terror that is building. You know nothing bad will happen and that you are safe, but... your body takes nearly the entire ride to get the message your reasoning mind is sending. Your mom knows you're in a wild space right now, so she stands beside the horse should you need something - or should the anxiety turn to panic.

After about 15 seconds of spinning on the ride, the wave eases and you get brave enough to raise a hand and give the strangers watching the carousel a timid wave. 

That small gesture is a huge milestone for you.

As it comes to a stop, you get off the ride and are ecstatic that you faced your fear and made it through! You and your mom celebrate and grab a sweet treat, and chat about how courageous you were.  

Feeling empowered and brave, you head over to ride It's A Small World. There is a small line, but it's only about 15 minutes. Your family keeps you distracted as you wait your turn, and there is clearly nothing scary about this ride. You've seen it on Youtube a few times. 

 But then you sit in the boat. Your parents try to distract you, pointing out and animal topiaries and nameing them with you. Still, your body starts uncontrollably shivering. The anxiety and fear takes over again, but you're determined to work through it. Now you're stuck on the ride. You have to get through it. You snuggle into your parent sitting next to you, though the reassuance of her body does nothing to stop the shivering. Your mom asks if you're okay and you say, "I am feeling scared,". Your voice is so quiet she didn't hear you, so she leans in and asks again.  You answer with, "I am feeling anxious." She gets it and offers to hold your hand. 

She quietly starts with, "My hands are cold. Are your hands cold?" You shake your head no. Then she says, "I hear this song gets stuck in people's heads." You listen a little closer. 

"Do you see those dolls dancing? What's that one doing?"

You start to respond, relax and look around a bit, taking a breath to answer her. 

Eventually, it passes and you're able to enjoy the tail end of the ride. 

 Waiting in line is tough for many kids. Impatience to get to the good part is normal. Even a little fear and anxiety approaching a new ride is normal. But for The Impossible girl, it isn't just hard in those ways.  It feeds that anxiety monster. The confind space and anticipation doesn't grow into excitement. 

It grows into a monster. 

 By the time you get to the front (or even before), full on panic breaks out. Uncontrollably flight kicks in and she screams that she doesn't want to do it anymore. We scramble to an exit with a melting down kiddo in our arms. And then there is the disappointment and shame that kicks in after the attack is over that she couldn't overcome her fear and do it. What could be a positive childhood experience turns into a source of sadness and shame. 

Sometimes, hugging a small stuffed animal helps her.

Sometimes, it doesn't. 

We coach her through it with gentle voices when we can see it coming on - and we're getting better at seeing it coming. We engage her senses (grounding) "What can you see?" "Can you smell that?" "Do you want to hold my hand?" "Is my hand warm or cold?" etc.  Sometimes she can answer. Sometimes she can't. 

So this trip, after 1 attraction going horribly awry despite our best efforts (noise canceling headphones to make the world less loud and scary - she enjoys them when she's feeling anxious), etc. We took folks up on their recommedations and got a DAS pass.

It's not a 'skip the line' pass. We still wait the same amount of time people waiting in line are. 

It's a 'starve the monster' pass.

Since we can wait in a place where she is distracted instead, or we can take a break and come back later (which means we wait even LONGER than folks waiting in line), it gives her a fighting chance to work through her anxiety before it gets too big. 

Anxiety resets with every since attraction...

and sometimes even bathrooms (loud flushes are startling). 

It's hard for me to say, "Okay, we need extra help. Our experience isn't 'normal'." 

But once we asked for help and got it, our vacation became enjoyable again. 

I can't imagine what it feels like to constantly feel like you're going to tumble off an emotional cliff.

But it just makes this kid more amazing, as far as I am concerned.