It was April of my seventh-grade year, and the rain had caused our recess to take place indoors. My friend, let’s call her “Kay”, and I sat on the bright blue bleachers that adorn my school’s gym and were skimming through a book she just got. We spent at most 5 minutes in this tranquil state before interruption. A mousy little kid snatched it out of Kay’s hands, ripping the cover in the process. The kid, let’s name him “Sam,” was hellbent on being an asshole to me and every one of my associates. He was quite short however, and was afflicted by “Napoleonic syndrome” which is why he’s so consistent with the absolute hell he reigned on me between the ages of 12 and 14. Anyways, Kay got mad, real mad. Though she’d often lash out verbally due to her Asperger’s, she was always a peaceful person. But Kay was fed up. Fed up of all the taunting, threats, insults, and how those made her feel. And as Sam held the torn book up like a trophy, she charged him. She didn’t hit him right away, Kay let Sam have a moment of regret which never came. To this day I don’t know exactly what Sam said in that moment, but it made Kay angry enough to punch him. The blow wasn’t hard, and landed right on his stomach. He didn’t keel over in pain until minutes later, when he promised Kay that she’d get in trouble for what she did. Kay was taken to the principal’s office, and later that day she was packing up her desk. She had a history of behavioral incidences in school, though none were physical, so the school sent her to stay in a psychiatric facility for a few weeks, and made her complete the rest of her eighth-grade year at home, because Kay’s Asperger’s was apparently a threat to our little private school. Sam wasn’t even talked to.

Weeks passed, and I finally went to see Kay at her house. Kay testified that she was put into a facility with a girl who stabbed someone with a knife, and other serious cases. The school had roped her in with these violent children because they refused to actually help her, and instead, focused on maintaining their reputation and pleasing suburban parents. See, Sam’s parents gave a lot of money to the school, so he usually got off scot-free for such behavior when he was caught. Sam was sneaky, and knew exactly how to get the reactions he wanted from people, especially me. I had difficulty controlling my emotions, and outbursts as a result of Sam began to land me in the principal’s office at least once a week. I remember being told to shrug off the constant tormenting from Sam and his friends, and that Sam just has a crush on me. If he really did like me, then why would he tear down my every attribute, and make me hate every single thing about myself.

My school then secretly targeted me in order to sweep their bullying problem under the rug. They would claim that the best way to protect me from Sam was to eat lunch alone in the office, while Sam got to socialize with his friends and eat lunch wherever he pleased. I was isolated, for it was already known that I had ADHD. They saw my ADHD as a problem, and the cause for Sam’s behavior, but they never blamed him and he didn’t stop until after our eighth-grade graduation.

It is a known fact that children with developmental and learning disabilities are more likely to be targeted at school, yet how bullying is addressed in the classroom does not sufficiently protect neurodivergent children. See, most major bullying laws are incredibly complex, and force all examinations of bullying to be done on factors like behavioral history, which includes past history with discipline, emotional outbursts, psychologist input, and basic behavioral issues. See, most schools, especially private schools, themselves never report bullying incidences to any sort of authority as 1. it takes a lot of effort to even do so and 2. they don’t want to tarnish their reputation. But they still examine bullying situations with these characteristics, which often leads to neurodivergent children being labelled as the aggressors, or those who are more likely to respond to said bullying. Also, neurodivergent children are more emotionally sensitive, thus they may view what the school believes is “just teasing,” as something incredibly hurtful.

Therefore, schools should take a wholly neutral stance on any bullying situations until they understand both sides of the incident. It is also important to disregard one’s neurodivergence in figuring out who is the victim and who is the aggressor, and employ proper practices in order to efficiently and kindly show support to both sides, while disciplining the aggressor according to clear guidelines. It’s also important to instruct teachers on how to respond to bullying, especially when a neurodivergent student is involved in order to get a better understanding of the situation. Finally, all students should be educated on proper behavior, and presented with clear rules from the school.

Protecting neurodivergent children starts by not profiling them by their disability, and instead disregard bias in order to effectively tackle bullying.

Source:

https://www.understood.org/articles/en/bullying-laws

 

 

I pulled my blonde hair out of my mom’s lap, it was morning in California, and a smoggy fog danced with the motel’s asphalt. I could hardly contain my excitement, for I couldn’t wait to unravel my parent’s surprise. My overwhelmed identical-looking mom sensed my urgency, and promptly readied us for a surprise bus trip. Minutes later, I exited through the bright green door, with parents at tow, and a bus with blaring words parked right in front. “Mom,” I eagerly exclaimed, “We’re going to Disney!” My parents were utterly shocked, as they didn’t know that I could read. Needless to say, I was a spoiled three-year-old that day. From that point on, I would spend countless hours on our old fabric couch reading anything I could get my hands on – from chapter books to ingredient bottles. Pre-school passed by in a flash, and kindergarten bared its teeth with a nasty glint. I was always a rowdy child, thus I would spend most of this energy serving out whatever punishment my teachers would dole. But my kindergarten teacher noticed something, my ability to read. Me and another student were then sent to take a reading comprehension test, he got a 100%, I got a 95%. We were certifiably gifted. But Rohan and I were very different, I had serious behavioral issues; even biting a kid (whom I still keep in contact with to this day) because he wanted to get on the tire swing when there was only three people allowed at a time! (My mom still has the note from when I got recess detention for biting him). Rohan was always a smart kid, always able to do the counting exercises without throwing all of the plastic pieces around the room in some childish Hulk rampage. Because we were both “gifted,” we were given extra attention in the classroom, like extra reading and math exercises (the latter of which I despised). Rohan would sit there patiently whilst I became frustrated that I couldn’t do what I want – whether that be reading the library books I had stuffed in my tiny bag – or building a block tower then destroying it. As annoying as it was, I was dangerously proud of my “gifted kid,” label and I would do anything to keep it. 1st grade rolled around, and the cycle of being chastised for reading Harry Potter instead of the school assigned readings, and for constantly doodling on all my assignments, began. Though I was always yelled at for these habits, I excelled in my academics, with my only weak spot being handwriting. I’m still overcome with these habits today, though thankfully my behavioral problems have greatly dimmed. Up until middle school, I wore my “gifted” mark with hubris, always believing I was the smartest, most talented person in the room. But I didn’t truly believe that, covering up my inability to socialize and inner insecurities with a façade of bossy confidence. I honestly felt alienated from my peers due to this “gifted” label. But there was something more.

Looking back, I felt like being called a “gifted kid,” was just my school’s way of telling me that I should’ve at least seen my mental problems coming. Overall, I felt like I was put into a different category than my peers with this label. I was ostracized from the kindergarten playroom to work on academic activities with my teacher. At the time, I didn’t realize I was missing out on so much, nor did I realize how much my teacher was missing out on. As I’ve mentioned and likely demonstrated, I have some interesting behavioral tics, which were much worse as a child. I can’t sit still, I have the attention span of a fly, I get upset if I can’t do what I want to do, I cry at anything, and am easily frustrated. These were all up to 100% back in those days, and when I would lash out, my kindergarten and 1st grade teachers would just tell me to quiet down, that I was a disruption, and not “lady-like.” I was never sent to the school psychologist for any of these incidences or behaviors, as my “gifted” status and gender didn’t align with those who were sent away for similar behaviors. This label concealed true neurodevelopmental difficulties, as my constant reading was dismissed because I was just so much more “intelligent” than my peers. This habit was never recognized as a shield I used to avoid uncomfortable situations like interacting with peers and teachers.

Then comes the depression, also known as “Gifted Kid Burnout,” from long-term stress due to holding this treasured title. My behavioral traits also shined through when I experienced this fall in 6th grade. That’s when the bullying truly began. I was bullied most of my school days up until Junior year, from both students and teachers, but 6th grade was the worst. My new bullies would exploit my behavioral problems to get whatever attention they needed. After many incidents, I was mainly the one getting in trouble. The middle school administration was belittling, soaking up my large wounds with whisky and a Band-Aid. My grades were dropping, and only one teacher noticed. My soft-spoken middle-aged English teacher sent me to get evaluated at the psychologist’s office after I kept doodling on my failed vocabulary tests. Though I disliked her at the time, her initiative finally lead to finding out what the hell was wrong with me, and that was ADHD. At age 12, I was prescribed enough Focalin to make an elephant have a panic attack. I was still “gifted” though, but only in certain areas, like English, History, and Quiz Bowl. Those became the only classes I would try in, because I believed that I could only be talented in those certain areas. I never even touched math and science until my Sophomore year.

“Gifted Kid Syndrome” has affected me in many ways, I’ve had everything from sugar addictions, panic episodes, and eating disorders because of the clinically crushing depression of not being able to live up to those early childhood expectations. I still have a hubris from it, and I feel such crushing disappointment whenever I falter academically. As I’m writing this, I’ve been going through a seasonal depression episode, and have missed two classes today. The reason this piece is so long is because I’m procrastinating studying for my biology exam, so I can at least do something to better the stomach-full disappointment that’s seeping through my body.

The “Gifted Kid” category is why my mental difficulties went unnoticed and dangerously untreated, and my behaviors were brushed off. This stereotype is branded on many moderate-to-mildly neurodivergent kids as a way to not deal with their disabilities, especially if they’re girls. See, boys are allowed to horse around and get in trouble, and so are girls, but to a lesser degree. We’re supposed to be quiet sometimes (and I was too, either because I was reading or was too anxious to socialize), and my extreme focus to explosive energy switches were seen as meeting these “gifted” female expectations. I fed into these ideals, believing myself to be “normal” and “gifted,” until I was utterly crushed by my ADHD diagnosis. I felt like I had to succeed at all costs, and that I needed to fix this thing that was wrong with me. But I couldn’t get rid of it.

I’ve never truly been able to leave this “gifted” label behind, it continues to infect my worldview with this deadly adrenaline to succeed, only combatted by my indifference towards academics and seasonal depression. This wish to rid myself of my disabilities still overcomes me, and I only became aware of my Autistic traits this past year. I was too afraid to find out, but I guess some confidence took over me and allowed me to work up the courage to ask for help. I get my official Autism diagnosis in a little less than two weeks, and I know I’ll feel a deep, crushing shame when my disability’s printed in ink.

It’s been several years since I’ve seen Rohan, but since then, he’s gone onto win a top 10 spot at the National Geographic Bee, intern at prominent health and research companies, and attends MIT. Obviously he thrived under the “Gifted Kid” label, but this is all surface information. Of course, encouraging student success is necessary to help them reach their goals, but pushing a neurotypical idea of success and the ways to achieve it are incredibly damaging for neurodivergent kids, especially if their neurodivergency is unrecognized.

The only set solution for this “Gifted Kid” problem is to not rank children by pre-school intelligence, but still nurture them towards success. School systems should also introduce disability training, so teachers can recognize neurodvelopmental issues in young children from non-biased, science-based training. Having a disability is a constant struggle, but not knowing you have one is excruciating. I wish that I’d known I had Autism and ADHD from an early age, so I’d be better at combating the conditions of each, but there’s no second chances. By recognizing disability, students are better able to understand how to succeed in all aspects of the classroom via this insight into their own thinking and behaviors. School systems should also expand their psychology departments in order to provide education to teachers, parents, and students on how they can encourage and support the development of a neurodivergent student. Young kids shouldn’t be sectioned off by how well they can read, all children should be allowed to pursue advanced materials of their interests, and have access to teachers trained to accommodate their needs.

Source: https://www.davidsongifted.org/gifted-blog/burnout-in-gifted-children/