Memorial Day Weekend is a holiday many look forward to as a day off from a job, a time to connect with family and friends, or the weekend when summer rituals pull us into the present. This might be planting a garden, opening up the cabin, putting a boat in the water, or for many parents, finalizing summer programming for kids who are finishing a school year. 

In the past, I have scoured the summer program offerings for local nature camps, art camps, sport activity camps, volunteer opportunities, and whatever I could find to provide structure and age-appropriate enrichment for my kids. Two summers ago, by the end of the summer I received a message loud and clear: it’s too much. 

Last summer we collectively agreed that any week-long activity or camp needed to be followed by a week of sitting on the couch eating snacks and playing video games, reading, or loudly complaining of boredom. The boredom complaints ended abruptly when I produced a list of chores, and suggestions for projects or neighborhood adventures.

This year I am trying to do summer differently. My kids have gotten old enough to manage themselves somewhat during the days when I am working, which is mostly from home, and I’m grateful for that. This summer they have two weeks of planned structured activities, and I am dreaming up a scheme to help them learn to hear their inner voice. I know they have one. I hear their internal dialog muttered or spoken during showers, in the car, or on walks. My hope is to introduce a practice that invites their imagination to take center stage, without the input of videos, games, music, or movies. 

I have no idea how this will go. 

I asked last weekend what would be the number of hours in a week they would be willing to let me decide the activity. After some deliberation, they decided two hours. Two of the 168 hours in a week they are willing to surrender their decision-making autonomy to my choice of venture. This is funny to me, because I have a plan. 

Two hours is 120 minutes, which I will use in 20-minute segments over the course of six days. The first ten minutes will be to sit, comfortably wherever they like, and not talk or read or have a phone or other device near. Not for drawing or working a Rubik’s cube, just sitting. I imagine they might hate it, but I’m curious enough to try it. 

The second ten minutes I will read to them. I have some passages and poetry I have been saving for when they are my captive audience, and I’ll choose six ten-minute bites to share with them, allowing for fidgets or drawing or eating a snack. 

I will tell them how bravery is not always charging ahead even if it seems dangerous, and courage is not always doing something that you’re afraid to do. Bravery and courage allow us to listen to our inner voice, even when the loudest voices around us are telling us something different. We can’t listen for our inner knowing unless we know how. This is listening we do with our bodies. This knowing is something that has been conditioned out of so many of us, the voice inside that says “this doesn’t feel good,” “I don’t trust you,” or “this isn’t for me.” We are told, “Just try it!” “You can do it!” “So-and-so did it, so you should be able to” and the quiet voice inside is hushed. Not that everything we hear inside our heads is the truth. Lots of messages that rattle around upstairs are someone else’s stories or expectations. We have to get quiet to know what truths belong to us.

Occupational therapists (OTs) can tell you about the differences in sensory processing that can be challenging for neurodivergent individuals. An OT can tell you about how the five senses of hearing, taste, smell, touch, and sight are not the only senses, but that three additional senses are now recognized, including vestibular sense, proprioceptive sense, and interoceptive sense. These are ways of internal knowing: where the ground is, where all the connected body parts exist in space, and what is happening inside our bodies. All of our senses give us information, and learning to listen to ourselves is the first step to trusting our own knowing.

My summer experiment with my kids is a tiny exploration of how we listen to ourselves, because maybe this is something I need just as much. We’ll see how it goes.

Article by Sarah Monahan, MAC Midwest Director of SLP & OT Services