The choice point at the heart of PDA parenting

For parents of children with pathological demand avoidance (PDA), there is a choice point hiding inside every interaction. Activate or accommodate.

Here is what that decision looked like today before I had even finished my morning coffee.

* * *

This morning, like all mornings, I stumbled down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, feed the dog, and wake up my body with multiple cups of coffee. 

I popped in one earbud to listen to a good business podcast, leaving the other ear attuned to the needs of the boys.

Lately I've been feeling the need for some dopamine (in the form of a podcast) to fuel my tedious morning tasks.

As soon as I finally had a moment to sip my coffee, I heard William screaming from upstairs: "I need food!"

It had been approximately two minutes since I delivered him his SSRI in a small cup of Sprite with a bowl of cherries (that I'd sliced the pits from).

I decided to heat up a slice of pizza for his second round of breakfast, walked up the stairs, and delivered it to his bed where he was watching his iPad.

"I said FOOD!" he screamed.

Now, at this point, I know what you are thinking — and I thought all the same things:

• Pizza is food.
• I can't believe he is screaming at me for doing the exact thing he asked for.
• This is ridiculous. I have to teach him not to behave like this.

But here is where the rubber meets the road with a PDAer recovering from burnout — or if you are truly trying to change the relationship between you and your child or teen.

I was faced with a choice point that parents like us face over and over and over, and that most people don't understand.

Do I activate or accommodate my child in this moment?

No gray space, no yellow zone. Just a decision.

Even a gentle correction like "Pizza is food, honey" — in the name of teaching — would activate his subconscious perception of threat. 

That would put a drop in the bucket of his cumulative nervous system activation, and work against the long-term goal: widening his window of tolerance so he can access life.

Instead of saying any of those thoughts racing through my head, I took a Sacred Pause and said:

"Oh, I'm sorry bud, what kind of food did you want?"

"Pig testicles."

Another choice point: Do I bristle at the terminology, or do I laugh — and remind myself that correcting what I delivered and calling raspberry sorbet "pig testicles" are both forms of equalizing behavior?

What is equalizing?

Equalizing is what I consider the behavioral expression of PDA as a disability.

The child controls, corrects, or subverts a safe person as a way of being "above" them.

This offsets the subconscious perception that others — teachers, parents, siblings, friends — are "above" them, which reads as danger.

Not all equalizing is created equal.

I do not choose to accommodate when William or Cooper equalize against each other in an aggressive or dangerous way.

But correcting the food delivery?

Calling sorbet "pig testicles"?

It's not worth the cost of correction to his nervous system — and PDAers don't learn from their survival brain anyway, which is where equalizing is driven from.

So I took the pizza with a smile, popped my earbud back in, walked back down my creaky stairs, and got William two lovely pink scoops of sorbet.

Was it fun? No, it wasn't. It took self restraint, and checking my own desire to speak my truth, before I'd even had my coffee.

But it's a nuance that makes a difference for so many parents who join our live program saying they've "already tried everything" and "lowered all demands."

They've also made countless sorbet deliveries, but if they did so while trying to teach or correct, they were still building activation in their child's nervous system.

And once they make the shift - from lowering demands to fully accommodating the PDA nervous system with autonomy and equality - they see more progress.