My son had always tracked behind the benchmark when it came to speech since birth. I thought the culprit was the multi-lingual environment that he lived in. Eventually, through feedback from schools and assessments, we learned that our 2yo had been suffering from selective mutism.
He could stay mute for days on end. The illness didn’t discriminate. He would be held captive by it, be it a stranger or a family member trying to engage him in conversations.
He spent years in game, speech, group, and one-on-one therapies. Any treatment with the slightest relevance recommended to us, proven or experimental, we would endeavor to give it a try.
I used to be the most successful in getting my son to talk. I lost my superpower somehow at some point. After he had withheld his tongue one week for more than five days, I tried to plead with him, telling him how much it pained me to see him trapped inside his mind by himself.
He didn’t respond, as expected.
I worried, “what if he never recovers from this?”
“How will he live his life?”
The thought of all hopes that we had for our boy was quietly fleeting into a silent void sent tears spilling down my face.
***
But I’m not the type that would go down without a fight. I was determined to tackle this.
All I knew up to that point was there was no known cure. And our psychiatrist said my son’s case didn’t warrant any prescriptions. I realized that I need to get better educated on the subject, and I need support from people who shared the same experience.
The topic of selective mutism by itself was not well-researched. But I hung onto what little knowledge I found on the subject. To test my hypothesis or evaluate progress, I sometimes had to engineer scenarios to see how my son would react. My work had gotten to a point where I thought traveling would provide added benefits in his treatment or recovery even!
The trip was to California. We were fortunate to have friends that could host us for two weeks at their home. Even luckier was that they have a boy that is just a month older than mine. The two boys have dissimilar temperaments, but both shared a similar interest and appreciation in books and music. They got along well enough. Let me elaborate. By got along; I meant my son was interacting with the other boy via my husband and me.
Nonetheless, it was still an improvement in my book.
We took the kids to the playground often. Though we have playgrounds in Hong Kong, there are novelties about those in the States that appeal to my boy. Take the slides at their parks; for example, you need to have armed yourself with cardboard to slide down the grassy slope at the end of the steps.
My boy came tumbling down one time because he put his tiny body on a big piece of cardboard. It picked up too much speed for him to maneuver a proper landing. When everyone rushed to check on him, he pulled himself up and beamed at me with a confident smile. He must be proud of himself for attempting something so daring.
After the fall, my son quickly gathered his cardboard and headed up the steps again, trying to give it another go. Courage, quiet or loud, I was glad that the disease didn’t rob him of that quality.
***
We were blessed with friends who were generous with their time and company. Our families spent a lot of time together, allowing our kids to mingle. My son didn’t interact directly with any of our friends’ kids. Most of the time, he just mimicked what others did and how they played.
Even though my boy was still very much imprisoned by social anxiety, I could tell that he was having a good time. The time with friends in California seemed to have unlocked a portal into what could be possible.
In the months that followed, feedback from my son’s teachers and therapists were positive. He appeared to be more willing to try out new things, and his articulation had also improved.
The school paired my boy with another in his class who was precocious in language as learning partners. I could not be more grateful for that arrangement. That was a period when my son experienced improvements in leaps and bounds.
We went through a year of hitting all the right nails on the head. It felt so good that our efforts paid off, and we could finally see the trail of breadcrumbs to my son’s complete recovery. We put our heads down and pressed on, repeating all the winning tactics, tinkering here and there when necessary.
We finally emerged out of the hell of hush after a few years of play, pause, repeat. We kept repeating and re-adjusting until we were successful. The journey started with despair, went on with uncertainty and continual hard work. In the end, a confident, chatty little boy awaits.
