Benjy and Performance Anxiety

At home, Benjy is a great clown -- when he's happy. He's an accomplished mimic. A creative performer. There are several characters he trots out on occasion -- the "G'Day Lady" chap (sorry, he's too bizarre to describe here), and the hungry, squeaky rodent, to name just two.

But performance -- academic, musical, athletic, etc -- and the expectations that go along with it, are a heavy, heavy burden to him. Homework was part of the amalgam of stressors that landed Ben in the hospital and then a special needs school, where -- at least for now -- there is no homework, and no tests. Any time Ben senses that some other person expects something from him, he crumbles.

When we realized he was a talented violinist, when his teacher was astonished every week by his progress, the speed and facility with which he learned new pieces and new, increasingly difficult techniques, he fell apart. Practicing became a burden. He spent half his lessons curled up on the couch, or watching YouTube videos of Gil Shaham or Anne-Sophie Mutter playing whatever piece he was working on, instead of playing it himself. His teacher learned that she had to walk on eggshells if she wanted to avoid precipitating a breakdown.

Now he has entirely given up the violin, much to our dismay. Today I will be returning his rented instrument to the music store. I kept holding off, just in case he would pick it up again, but those days are over.

There is nothing Ben has tried that he's been able to follow through on. Violin, video game programming class, soccer, basketball. So far he's still fencing, and three times out of four it's going okay, but I imagine when he starts feeling the weight of expectation, from his coach, from us, from his peers, he will drop out. Maybe I'm wrong -- I hope I am -- but history would seem to back me up.

The latest thing we are going to try is a Bar Mitzvah. We have a while -- until fall 2013 -- but already I am worried. This will NOT be a standard Bar Mitzvah -- anyone who's been to one understands the magnitude of learning and performing that's involved. It will be an afternoon service just with our family, maybe a close friend or two, and Benjy will carry the Torah and recite two short prayers -- the Sh'ma, and the Torah blessing. Saskia and I can teach him these -- no need for a year of tutoring like Saskia had. That would break him.

When our Rabbi told us that a celebration of Benjy, in the form of a Bar Mitzvah, was still within reach, I cried. I am not a deeply religious person. My God is simply the strength, courage, compassion, creativity -- the potential for good -- within myself. But somehow a Bar Mitzvah for Ben feels important to me -- just as a Bat Mitzvah for Saskia did. When Saskia had her day in November of 2010 we were so deeply moved. Of course, she is a very different person than Ben.She studied for a year and offered a beautiful and heartfelt "performance" -- tons of Hebrew chanting, a lively and thoughtful exegesis of her Torah portion (the one about competition between siblings, Jacob and Esau). She was a star, as she is in so many avenues of life. We just watched her onstage in the musical Oklahoma. She is a talented singer and actress -- absolutely fearless.

For Ben, there is rarely fearlessness. But sometimes he surprises us. He'll reach out to an older kid, make a connection. He'll plunge into a new situation, willing to give it a try even if it ultimately does not work out. It's just that damn performance anxiety that's keeping him down. I try so hard not to worry about the future. You've heard me say it before, corny as it is -- One Day At a Time. But how will he ever make it in life if he cannot perform, cannot handle expectations?

I'm trying hard to figure that one out. It may take me a year, or twenty.

Score!

Yesterday Benjy competed in his first fencing tournament -- and won 3rd place!

                                                         (Not Benjy)

It was heartwarming to see him successful. He'd had some struggles at fencing recently, feeling down about himself, feeling like a perennial loser. But yesterday he won four out of four bouts, and then finally lost his first bout in the elimination round, coming in 3rd. He was on the verge of despondency at the thought of not winning a medal (the medal itself seemed more important than first, second or third place. It was kind of like the Scarecrow's "Testimonial," or a college diploma -- abstract (but concrete) proof of his worth. He needed it in order to feel okay about himself). But then a medal materialized and he left happy.

"I LOVE this," he told me when we left the fencing club.

*Beam.*

Fencing!

Benjy has found a cool new sport: fencing. It's a good thing, because my boy's sport history is a tortured one indeed.

First there were the general playground and PE games in which every kid has the "pleasure" of participating. Ugh. Those did not go well.

Then there was basketball. He dribbled armpit high and desperately wanted someone to pass him the ball. No one did.

Then there was soccer. Starting soccer at the age of 11 in a competitive town when you've never played before, is, in hindsight, a wretched idea. Whose idea was that, anyway? (I think it was Ben's, actually. But why oh why did I say yes?)

Now there is fencing, and so far so good. He liked it from day one. And seems to have something of an aptitude. No, he's not the best in the class. He's not even number three. But he is focused and disciplined, and he demonstrates some precision.

What he does not exhibit is aggressiveness. We are encouraging him to get in there before the other guy (or girl) gets in there. To be proactive and not reactive. Assertive and not apologetic. To be a little less nice. For Ben -- hell, for all of us Delaunays -- that is really, really hard.

And there have been some interactions with another boy, someone I think Ben had hoped might become a friend, that have been difficult. Which is compounded by the fact that this other boy is usually Ben's partner, and is probably a better fencer. And he jabs REALLY HARD. Apparently those little buttons on the end of the foils don't help all that much.

Well, okay, I guess they prevent death. So that's a good thing. They just don't prevent pain and bruising -- physical or emotional.

So fencing has entered our lives, and that's a good thing. If I can protect Ben from emotional hurt while encouraging his participation in this amazing sport I will.

And maybe I will even learn to let go and worry less. Accept that I can't always protect him from sadness or unkindness, that he has to deal with those things on his own.

Ben's lesson is to be more assertive, with and without the foil. Mine is to JUST LET GO a little bit.

I know a lot of you readers live this same challenge. Tell me about it and remind me I'm not alone? Thanks.