You're not the boss of me

It's been a long while since my last post. In the constant plate-spinning of our family life, my attention has been elsewhere. Cactus's plate has been spinning nicely, with school exams going much better than expected and a settled routine of trigger-avoiding measures at home. With one of her brothers' plates wobbling dangerously out of control this month, I've had to look away and leave her to it. But the elephant is still stubbornly in the room.

One of the recurring topics in the Miso Parents' Facebook group I belong to is defiance. Of course, all teenagers push the limits of adult authority to breaking point, but for our kids there's something more going on. Some of them have an additional diagnosis of Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA) or Oppositional Defiance Disorder (ODD), and those that don't have this label still display a lot of the same behaviours. I'm convinced that, diagnosis or not, in this whole mess of faulty wiring the fuses for Misophonia and compliance/defiance are right next to each other.

We've learned that when Cactus is anxious (which is most of the time to be honest) any kind of instruction or demand is triggering. "Put your shoes on, come on it's time time to leave" is totally unreasonable. "Could you do me a favour and hang up your coat and bag?" is dangerously provocative. "Please can you bring me your washing, it's laundry day" is an absolute declaration of war. However politely and calmly the request is made, it's still me who is making it. And as her main trigger person I seem to cause something as jarring and painful to the Miso Monster as any noise or movement.

But in a house with three teenage schoolchildren, mornings are like herding cats at the best of times. It's a daily battle to get them all up, into the car and delivered to school on time. Reminders must be issued, people must be hurried, but even when I'm speaking to one of the boys in front of her, the demand is heard and processed as if I was screaming it directly in her face.

I'm becoming adept at the verbal gymnastics required to get things done. The suggestions, the wondering-out-loud, the almost subliminal hinting. I might even copyright the concept of 'homeopathic instruction', using almost imperceptible amounts of influence to get things moving in the right direction. And if all else fails, I get her dad to tell her! He doesn't seem to trigger the same response, and his firm no-nonsense bluntness is the antithesis of my overthinking and pussyfooting.

And with that, it's time to start the whole morning routine over again. I'm off upstairs to begin the cycle of passive persuasion that will hopefully get her out of the door and into school vaguely on time without a major diplomatic incident. Pass me my kid gloves, and wish me luck...