Finding Strengths in Executive Function Stories
Not so different after all: a parent's perspective on executive function.
“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”
You may recognize these famous words from the great Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy.
While this line appears at the beginning of his novel Anna Karenina, having a child with executive function challenges (perhaps one with the helpful/not helpful diagnosis of ADHD) does not imply your family narrative is an epic tragedy like “Anna.” But no doubt you have experienced some bumps, if not potholes, in your journey as a parent of a young person who struggles with executive function. Your loving, rambunctious athlete, your creative, talented artist—your hopes and dreams in one compelling package have challenges with memory, flexible thinking, self-control, and attention.
Eagle Hill School’s assistant head of school for student life defines executive function challenges more elegantly: “In the past fifty years, many attempts have been made to define Executive Functioning (EF). The definitions start with the pre-frontal cortex’s development (or lack of development) and cast a wide net of tasks that EF controls. The three main components of EF that are universally accepted are working memory, the ability to hold information in mind and use it to solve problems or perform tasks; cognitive flexibility, the ability to think about something in multiple ways; and inhibitory control, the ability to resist impulses and distractions and choose appropriate behaviors.”
For many of us who have a child with executive function challenges, we have some stories about these very behaviors in common. As different as our children are from each other and however disparate our backgrounds are, strikingly similar narratives emerge when you get parents together.
As different as our children are from each other and however disparate our backgrounds are, strikingly similar narratives emerge when you get parents together.
And to be clear, having a child in your family with executive function challenges doesn’t mean your family was or is unhappy, but we can likely draw from a standard set of stories. We are a family of sorts, aren’t we? And much more alike than you might think.
For my own daughter, wildly creative and talented, the differences came early, as did my knee-jerk response to fix, cover, and mask it ALL. (Warning--nobody should ever chase down their child’s school bus in a bathrobe, ill-fitting glasses bouncing down one’s cheeks to hand over a forgotten cello.) But in many ways, having a child with a diagnosis such as inattentive ADHD—for my daughter, an “official” diagnosis came from the pediatric center at a major hospital at the behest of her school, is a family dilemma.
I still remember feeling a little sting to hear that my daughter’s younger sister was routinely acting as a support system, retrieving her abandoned lunch sack or stopping by her big sister’s classroom to get forgotten homework. Many of you remember that there was always a spilled drink at dinners out or parent-teacher conferences that began effusively in praise before the pregnant pause of but…
We have concerns.
She doesn’t seem to be paying attention in class.
She may be reading far above grade level, but she’s not reading what was asked.
Transitions. Gym, recess, specials—it takes a lot to keep her on task.
WE THINK THERE IS SOMETHING MORE GOING ON HERE.
Which is really never a surprise. But still. Many of you remember that quiet ride home after the parent-teacher conference. Your dazzling loved child. Reduced to a cluster of symptoms.
If you are part of this family, you might have also logged extensive hours in the emergency room in those early years. You know those display beds in department stores with beckoning bedding? Trust me, when your nine-year-old spontaneously flops down on one belly first, there’s usually a hard sheet of plywood underneath. The reason for the popcorn kernel inserted into her nostril? “Spontaneity” again. The fractured elbow the result of an improvised dance move? Sigh.
Looking closely at my daughter’s beautiful face, now a college graduate, you can still see the plastic surgery scar from when she confidently walked into a pool locker face first or face-planted into the gravel on the playground. Sometimes, I wondered if our family was flagged somewhere at children’s services.
If you know, you know.
Collectively, at Eagle Hill School this year, we read a fantastic book called The Self-Driven Child and had the pleasure of hearing author Ned Johnson address our families at our fall family weekend. One anecdote that resonated with many of us (I remember a collective sigh of understanding in our Abby Theatre) was a study the author referenced involving mice to test what I am grossly simplifying as learned helplessness.
The anecdote the author presented in an animated fashion ended with quivering, puzzled mice looking to the sky, waiting for some larger force to sweep in and help them. To strengthen their problem-solving skills, the mice were allowed to fail safely. As the kids say, they were the ones you’d want on your team after a zombie apocalypse.
Had I, with my routine deliveries to my daughter’s elementary school of forgotten lunches, gym shoes, and permission slips, passing the chorus bus with sheet music to stage an intervention in a musical hall lobby, Do you have underwear packed for Nature’s Classroom—hey kid—why is page 2 out of 4 mysteriously blank in this handout—had all my attentions, interventions, all my helping…had I raised a shivering mouse?
Recently, a visiting family asked me an excellent question. Impressed with the level of support and intentional design of the school day and dorm life at Eagle Hill School, the mother posed this:
“Is this level of attention, prompts, and encouragement for a student with executive function sustainable?”
My honest answer?
No.
Because, in the end, it isn’t. College life, even with accommodations and academic support, won’t. Independent living, that first apartment, and job—life won’t provide what Eagle Hill School does.
It’s not enough to tell a student what to do. The real work is teaching a student what to do for themselves.
It’s not enough to tell a student what to do. The real work is teaching a student what to do for themselves. To provide that space to develop lifelong study habits, social life and work balance, time management, and self-satisfaction with that self-management.
I asked Dr. Stone to describe some of Eagle Hill School’s work, particularly in our boarding school life. What do we do that supports our students but teaches them to help themselves?
“Dorm parents, like teachers, assess a student’s skill in these areas and develop a plan to help that student with everything from organizing their room to managing homework to resolving a social issue. Since no two students are alike, dorm parents intentionally develop their plans for each student on their floor.
At any given time, students and dorm parents might be working on sorting laundry, figuring out when to shower, setting multiple alarms to wake up on time, allotting a specific time to their math homework, or cleaning their rooms. Students build essential skills and work towards managing multiple tasks simultaneously.
Students build essential skills and work towards managing multiple tasks simultaneously.
Working in admission at Eagle Hill School is a privilege on many levels. But none as poignant as being able to meet families and share that kinship and similar stories. We need to know that there is hope when we don’t always feel it, and as sentimental as it sounds, we are not alone and perhaps not so different. Not to mention that a unique education such as Eagle Hill’s might lead to a happy ending.