Misunderstood, but Not Alone

I’ve been feeling really “messed up” lately. Those feelings of not being good enough, of saying and doing the wrong things, of absorbing the negative feelings of the people around me, of being misunderstood. That last one has been especially frustrating.

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I’m trying online counseling.  I only started a few weeks ago, and I’m not sure how it’s going.  She sent me a ton of worksheets about unhealthy thought patterns, which of course caused my brain to over-think and over-analyze and be overly-defensive of itself.  The topic that has been most frustrating has been the encouragement to try online dating again.  After acknowledging that I may be traumatized by past experiences, she added, “Suppose your front door hit your hand, and caused a lot of pain; will you refuse to go through it again?”

Yeah, I’d go through the door again.  But what if slamming my hand in it happens repeatedly?  It would then be logical to be cautious about using that door.  I’d go through the back door, or climb through a window, or just stay inside as long as possible.  Or try to replace the door or figure out why the hell I keep slamming my hand in it.

A rocking chair blocking one of the doors I could totally use instead of the front door.

I also explained that I live in a rural area, and most of the online matches have lived hours away.

Then yesterday I mentioned this conversation to a co-worker, who immediately jumped into solutionizing-mode and was all, “Yes, you should get back on the horse!  Get out and have more experiences, to learn what you really don’t want, blah blah blah. . . ”

I wish I could get them to understand that this is HARD.  Meeting new people is not FUN for me.  Online dating is not some magic bullet, where if I just sign up and put myself out there again, great guys will line up wanting to get to know me.  That’s not how it works.  I really appreciated the timing of Mayim’s video this week:

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It’s been a rough week, internally at least.  Sleep-deprived, anxiety-ridden, and depressed, I tried to post something positive on social media.  And then there was a situation where I was told I’d hurt someone’s feelings, which I never want to do.  I reached out to the person and apologized, and I think everything is ok, but that kind of thing is exhausting.

I keep forgetting how draining social media is, and that I need to take another break from it.  Getting an Apple Watch has helped me a little – I can take a walk and still track my distance and listen to music without having a device in my pocket that I will be pulling out to check the feeds.  I need to be filling my time and soul with better things, even if that means sitting still and looking at the trees.  I am trying to be better about reaching out to people directly, instead of just scrolling on Facebook when I’m feeling lonely.

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So this morning, as I was sitting in my comfy chair and drinking my coffee, I glanced over at the stack of books on the radiator beside me.  And I reached for Samantha Craft’s Everyday Aspergers, which is a collection of her blog posts.  My bookmark was on the page for “Ten Traits (Females with Aspergers)”  – you can read it here.

Re-reading a description that matched so much of my experience was comforting.  I continued reading the next several pages, smiling at thoughts that sounded like my own, empathizing with struggles that were different in specifics but familiar to me in this fallen world.  It reminded me that I am not alone in the way I experience the world.  I’m not alone in the ways I struggle.  I’m not alone in being frequently misunderstood. I’m not alone in being confused by neurotypical people.  I’m not alone.

How the Light Gets In

There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.

That Leonard Cohen lyric was quoted twice in books I read recently, related to perfectionism.  The second time around, it made me think of a piece I made in my ceramics class in college.

The assignment was to be a “self portrait” of sorts.  Something that represented us in a deeper way than looking like us or just being something we liked.

Naturally, I started with a Jars-of-Clay-style jar, based on the self-titled CD photo.  It turned out really great, so I was tempted to save it and make a different one to use for this project, for reasons that will be obvious in a moment.  But I also knew that using the one I cared about would be more meaningful to me.

And then I damaged the jar.

Because I felt broken.

I felt wounded.

I felt torn.

I used a boring brown as the main color, then blue (because I like it).  I used green on the inside to represent the healing God was working in me.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in

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So, it’s been months since I started this post’s draft, and I don’t remember what all I wanted to say.  (I think I was waiting to read more of a book about perfectionism, so I could reference that.)  So I’ll just take it in a different direction.

Last year, I got to see Switchfoot and Lifehouse in Baltimore.  I’ve been a huge Lifehouse fan for years.  I used to listen to Switchfoot’s music a lot, but then lost interest.  We weren’t really excited to see them play, but we were so pleasantly surprised!  We loved their set, and I acquired some excellent new concert memories, including this moment:

A few seconds of eye contact and a clasped hand to create a moment of real connection

I also captured this shot of the two lead singers, which they then shared on their Instagram accounts:

Anyway, looking at this post draft, I couldn’t help but think of Switchfoot’s song “Where The Light Shines Through.”

You can read the story behind the album and song here.

Cause your scars shine like dark stars
Yeah, your wounds are where the light shines through
So let’s go there, to that place where
We sing these broken prayers where the light shines through–
The wound is where the light shines through
Yeah, the wound is where the light shines through

Jars of Clay has a song with a similar theme, “Faith Enough.”  It talks about being “strong in the broken places.”  (It was based on a quote from a Hemingway book I remember hating in high school.)

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 I took a writing class my freshman year of college.  It was memorable for a lot of reasons.  One actually ties back into the original theme of perfectionism – I was praised as a good writer in high school, and I cared deeply about my grades, so getting less than 90% on my papers in this class was very difficult.  He was very critical. It wasn’t until the last day of class when we were filling out the surveys (when the prof left the room) that we talked about grades, and found out that only one person in the class had broken 90% on a paper.  Suddenly my high 80’s weren’t so devastating, and I do know that the class made me a better writer.

Anyway, the reason I thought of that class was the theme of a classmate’s paper.  She argued against the adage “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”  I don’t think I read the paper itself, but I’ve often wondered about the assertion.  I’ve certainly felt at times that wounds have left me feeling weaker.  I don’t always feel strong in the broken places.

Oh no, not again

One of my favorite lines in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is about the bowl of petunias falling through the sky. It’s only thought as it fell was, “Oh no, not again.”

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I signed up again for online dating a few months ago. Mostly it’s just been discouraging and depressing. Yesterday I had a much more negative experience than usual, though.

I was tired. I didn’t sleep well at all the night before, and I have been troubled all week by what’s going on right now in America. My emotional resources were running low.

There was a guy on the website who had exchanged several of the multiple choice questions with me. . . the ones ranging from relevant to a dating relationship (“What do you prefer doing on a Saturday night?”) to silly hypotheticals that would maybe be good open-ended conversation starters, but don’t go very far as a multi-choice question (“If you had a time machine that could travel into the past, what era would you visit?”).

After a bunch of those, I sent a typed message, saying that recent events were weighing heavy on my heart, and asking his opinion of a political leader. (I had actually sent a similar question to another guy the previous day.)

After lunch, I got a notification that he responded, so I took a look. Immediately, I got that cold, stomach-dropping feeling.

I had done it again.

I said the wrong thing.
I upset someone.
I broke some rule I didn’t know existed.
I failed at human interaction.
I pushed someone away before they had a chance to get to know me and understand me.

He had answered my question, but followed it with a second paragraph, which took a reprimanding tone – “I also feel the question was completely inappropriate for the context of what this service is used for . . .”

I tried to explain why I asked the question.  Part of his response to that included, “There is a time and a place to ask that type of question.”

Needless to say, he decided we aren’t a good match.

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Before I had responded to the other guy that morning, I got this “EnneaThought for the Day” from The Enneagram Institute. I thought it was really appropriate for the topic I was going to be addressing.

Once I read the offended guy’s messages, I texted my sibling about it, who responded, “Dude. That’s a totally legit question to ask.” That made me feel better, like maybe I don’t TOTALLY suck at this human interaction thing.  And like the EnneaThought reminded me, my personal convictions are important, especially in regards to the dignity of my fellow humans.  But the latest online dating interactions have left me feeling drained and somewhat defeated.  It’s just hard to imagine that there’s actually a guy out there who can deal with my unique combination of quirks and brokenness and strengths and awkwardness.

Social Moth

Performance reviews stress me out.  As a perfectionist, I’m constantly seeing ways I could be doing a better job, even though I often recognize that I am trying really hard.  Our organization uses an annual review system that includes setting goals with my supervisor, putting in notes before the mid-year check-in and the end-of-year review period, and meeting with the supervisor to discuss it all.  He also puts in notes related to my performance in different areas and my success at meeting the goals we set.  At the end of the year (in our case, June), he rates us on whether we met, exceeded, or did not meet expectations.

My boss is great.  We get along really well, he challenges/encourages me to continue growing, and he often tells me I’m doing a good job.  Nevertheless, anticipating any kind of criticism (even the gentle, constructive kind) is nerve-wracking.

When it was time for my review meeting, my boss said that he wasn’t going to do the whole formal routine in our meeting, because he feels like we talk about how I’m doing all the time.  He said I’m doing awesome, and that he’s giving me the “exceeds expectations” rating.  (This Hermione is fine with that, because there is no “outstanding” above it.)

He said that some of my peers are jealous of me, which was quite surprising to hear.  They think I get to do a lot of the “fun” stuff.  He said he asks me to do a lot of those more interesting things because he knows he can rely on me to do it well, and that I’ve earned it by doing other tasks well.  He also acknowledged that a lot of what I do isn’t fun or easy, but people don’t realize that it isn’t fun and easy, because I don’t let on.  He said that other people (like his boss) will say, “Oh, send her to that; she’s your social butterfly!”  Then he said something that I appreciated so much.

What they don’t realize is you’re actually a social moth.  You fly by quickly and they *think* you’re a butterfly, but really you’d rather be flying around at night when nobody is around.  (That’s pretty good, huh? I just made that up!)

The Clearwing Moth is commonly mistaken for a hummingbird. Unlike the Social Moth, which is commonly mistaken for a social butterfly.

I loved that.  Not only do I love that “social moth” fits me quite well, but I love that my manager understands that about me now.  He sees it, he acknowledges that things involving people are hard for me, and he continues putting me in situations where I will be stretched but also have support.  For example, when I had to present to our department’s leadership team about some “tech tips” he and I have been writing together, he sent me a chat after the presentation.  “Good job by the way, you kicked butt. 🙂 I know you don’t like speaking in groups, but the PowerPoint was great, your talking was great, just fantastic all the way around. I am very proud.”

His comments about what others have said also reminded me of how good I am now at “passing” when I’m at work.  What’s amusing to me is that he used to call me a “social butterfly,” too.  I clearly remember one conversation, when we were talking about high school and the performing arts.  I said my sister was the one up on stage starring in the musicals, loving the spotlight, not me.  He was surprised by that!  He said something about me being so outgoing.  I chuckled and said quietly, “That is the act.”

 

 

Video: Amazing Things Happen

I love this video so much!  It reminds me of My Message to the 4th Graders.  Enjoy and share 🙂

Mini-Review: M in the Middle

M.

When I reviewed the book M is for Autism, I said I wanted to hear more about this girl who calls herself “M.”  I lost my copy of the book, and when I went on Amazon to buy a new one I discovered the students and their teacher had written a sequel.  I was hand-flapping excited (though I tried to tone that down when I told Mom I ordered them).

Both books arrived yesterday, and I was so startled by M in the Middle‘s thicker size that for a moment I thought they sent the wrong book.  But no, it’s a longer novel.  I missed the colorful pages of M is for Autism, but they occasionally play with the fonts and type to help M communicate.

This is what happens when you have autistic girls write a novel about an autistic girl.

 

I re-read M is for Autism last night to prepare for the sequel.  I was a little surprised by *just* how short it is; I think that I was so engrossed in the scenes and M’s mind when I first read it that it felt “bigger.”  I loved it just as much the second time.

I was impressed by the consistency of the character and her voice between the two books.  Our main character and narrator is now in year 8 in England (7th grade, here in the States).  She got her autism diagnosis a year ago, and her wonderful therapist has been helping her understand herself and develop strategies for dealing with her often-crippling anxiety.

I do want to caution those of you who struggle(d) with anxiety.  The authors do an incredible job of provoking empathy for their anxious narrator.  Pretty much any time M was taking deep breaths or using another calming strategy, I found myself taking deep breaths along with her.  I read the book in one day – partly because it was so good, and partly because I didn’t want to drag out my time living in her anxious mind.

We get a fuller picture of M’s life in this longer book.  She deals with INCREDIBLY frustrating adults who do pretty much the opposite of what this poor girl needs, fueling her anxiety and pushing her towards mutism.  She encounters a few people who get her, show her kindness, and help her find her voice again.  She has “friends” who turn into horrible bullies and she has friends.  She has an obsessive crush on an older boy, and wonders if she can have a “normal” future.  She tries so hard to fit in.  She tries so hard to have friends.  She tries so hard to do the right things at school.  She tries so hard to combat her anxiety.  She tries so hard to connect with her family while recognizing she can’t do the things they want her to do to show that connection.  She tries. So. Damn. Hard.

While 13-year-old me didn’t have all the same struggles and experiences, I related to a lot of what she goes through.

Again, the authors share some truly insightful thoughts through M’s words.  Here are a few I made note of as I read.

About her mother (p. 113):

She was delighted when we got the diagnosis. She was reading books and web pages and talked about us going to meetings and then she just seemed to stop.  Like she stopped believing I had autism or maybe when the reality of it began to unfold it all became too difficult.  . . .

But I’ve been carrying it around with me my whole life.  This is my reality, and does she realise how difficult that is?

About trying to “crack the friendship code” (p. 115):

And even though the truth is I love being on my own, I feel a desire to fit in and have friends.  Like it’s part of my purpose on earth.  I’m hardwired to fit in!  . . . I want to be accepted by my fellow human beings, but it really is so much easier on my own, and I retreat back to my little pink room, back to the security of my bed and blanket and the comfort of Skylar, season 5, episode 7.

When her mother suggests she write down how she feels, to let her feelings “out into the world” (p. 169-170):

Is it like letting Bella out into the back garden?  I haven’t got a back door.  I can’t just open a door to me and let my feelings out into the world.  Is that what everyone else is doing? Am I surrounded by other people’s feelings that they’ve let out??  Do I pick them up as I pass someone in town or do other people’s anger or jealousy latch on to me as I walk down a corridor?  And is that why I get so anxious?  I’ve picked up all the dumped emotions everyone else has let out into the world and I have an extra quota of feelings?

While writing this, I recalled watching the video about the Limpsfield Grange School girls (where this book was written).  I just realized that one of the plot points (involving the crush’s photos) was inspired by a real experience of a girl at that school.

I strongly recommend this pair of books – for autistic girls to feel less alone, and for people who aren’t autistic girls to stretch their empathy muscles.  It’s an emotional ride, but they both end with glimmers of realistic hope.

My Message to the 4th Graders

This is a post I’ve been wanting to type up for over a year now.  In 2015, I was working with an autistic boy for the third year in a row.  I was a TSS (therapeutic support staff), which meant I spent a lot of time with him both at his school and his house, working on behavioral interventions and doing lots of documentation. (For a little more detail about my job as a TSS, see the post “Crisis of Faith.”)  He had a LOT of hours.  Over those three years I not only got to know him and his family and nurses well, but I came to know and love a lot of his classmates.

His classmates were, for the most part, awesome.  This was a kid who would have super-scary aggressive meltdowns, but after it was over his classmates would still invite him to play at recess or help him follow instructions in the classroom.

Friends on a field trip

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In the middle of those years, I had another client, up at the middle school.  In his classroom, there was a boy I’ll call “Hunter.” On my very first day, I suspected that Hunter was on the spectrum, too.  (My gay sister has excellent gaydar. . . do we have an accepted made-up word yet for autism-radar?)  Hunter was the kind of kid who had a lot of trouble socially, and unlike my little client at the elementary school, it wasn’t obvious to his peers that he was struggling.  They just sensed Hunter was different, and got annoyed when he’d be bossy or a “know it all,” and socially ostracized him.  It was difficult for me to watch, especially since I was still in that first year of my self-diagnosis, and I was reflecting so much on my own childhood.

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Back to that first client’s class.  I had seen first sparks of middle-school-girl drama forming as these fourth graders headed towards adolescence.  I had seen how the older students were treating one another.  I had watched these little kids be so considerate of my client and the other “different” kids in their classroom, and felt the hope it gave me for the future.  I didn’t want them to lose that.

So, I did something that is entirely out of character for me, and volunteered myself for public speaking.  I must have been inspired by the guidance counselor’s weekly lessons that were supposed to teach the kids emotional intelligence skills (identifying and handling their emotions, showing empathy, stopping bullying, etc.).  She was occasionally busy and couldn’t come do the lesson, which meant the classroom teacher lost that hour of prep time she had been depending on.  One of those days, I suggested I could teach the kids about autism.  Mrs. C loved that idea, so I let the ideas run repeatedly through my head and wrote my main points out on note cards.  I kept those cards in my bag, and the next time the guidance counselor cancelled, I was ready.  Or, as ready as I ever am to talk in front of people.

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It’s been a long time since that day, so I won’t be able to remember it word-for-word, or remember the excellent comments that Mrs. C and the students shared during our discussion.  I wish I had taken notes on those, because the kids really interacted with me.  But here is what I’ve reconstructed from those note cards.

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At my house, we have a Wii, and we have a PlayStation 3.  If I put my MarioKart disc in the PlayStation, will it work?

“No!”

So, my PlayStation is broken?  Or the disc is broken?

“No.”

[I explained that the two game systems have different operating systems.  I tried also making the Windows/Mac comparison that I originally saw explaining this idea, but they weren’t as familiar with computer systems.]

A lot of you have seen me wear earplugs in the cafeteria.  Why do I do that?

“Because it’s too loud.”

But wait. . . if it’s “too loud,” why isn’t everyone wearing earplugs?

[discussion]

So, do you mean we each have our own “too loud”?  We can experience the same thing in different ways?

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In my psychology classes, we were warned that sometimes you learn about something and start diagnosing all of the people around you with that thing – don’t do that!

[I projected the DSM-5 diagnostic criteria for ASD on the board, and tried to give a quick 4th-grade-level explanation of each section, with examples]

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Where does autism come from?

I know that you guys have been learning about “traits” in your science class.

We know that autism can be inherited.  It runs in my family.

Our environment is also going to play a part in how people with autism develop, how bad some behaviors are, how they learn to cope.

Just like every kid.

Everyone has strengths and weaknesses.  Some of you are awesome at basketball, but not soccer.  Some of you are bad at memorizing multiplication facts, but awesome at geometry.  Some of you are awesome at understanding what others are feeling, and being kind when they need it.

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“Different operating system” does not equal “broken.”

That’s what I want you guys to understand about autism.

It doesn’t mean he’s sick.  It doesn’t mean she’s stupid.  It doesn’t mean he’s broken.

He or she has a different operating system than most people.  The way they experience the world can be different, and so they may react differently.

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You guys have been learning about empathy, and how it’s so important.

When you have a different operating system, it makes it harder to understand how another person is thinking and feeling.  Because if you were in their situation, you would not be thinking and feeling that way.

What are some of your favorite smells?

If you see me at a seafood restaurant, I’m going to look disgusted and unhappy.  You might not be able to figure out why – because to you, the place smells awesome and you can’t wait to eat.  But I hate the smell of seafood.

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In my kitchen at home, my mom has always had a little sign by our kitchen sink.  I see it every day.  It says, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a tough battle.”

I’ve been so impressed with you guys and the other kids in this grade who I’ve gotten to observe and know these three years.  You do so much to be kind and include other kids.  That is really special.  Not all kids are like that.  And I don’t want you to lose that.

Stay kind.

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When I was growing up, I had a really hard time reading other people, and they had a hard time understanding what I was thinking.  I’d feel happy but wouldn’t look it.  I didn’t make a lot of eye contact.  I was obsessed with dinosaurs, Ghostbusters, and Ninja Turtles.  I couldn’t color until all 96 crayons were in meticulous rainbow order.  Before I could read, my mom had to read my favorite TV show’s episode title when it came on the screen, or my day would be ruined.  She was really happy when I learned how to read!  I wore my socks inside-out because the seam bothered me, and I hated most clothing.  Some of these things got in the way of relationships, and made school hard.

Sound familiar?

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I’m 30.

I still wear some of my socks inside out.  I’m a lot better at understanding what other people are feeling.  I still like things to be organized.  I still have a hard time making new friends.

One reason I wanted to talk to you guys about this is that one day you will be 30.  You’ll meet people who have different operating systems.  Be kind.  Give them a chance.  They might make your life more interesting.

Cards I gave the class on my last day as a TSS.

An Autistic(?) Hero

The first thing I said to Dad as we left the movie theater was, “Wow, so he was autistic.”  Dad said he had been thinking the exact same thing.

My autism-radar started beeping when I saw his lack of eye contact talking to the dock officer about the contents of his case, but I acknowledged that it could be just because he was being deceptive.  But no, the difficulty with eye contact continued.  And there were the awkward social interactions, the special bond with animals, the admission that he didn’t really have friends at school, the awkward goodbye of the end.  That settled it.  Newt Scamander could be on the autism spectrum.

I was excited to have a Hufflepuff featured in film, because Pottermore (v. 1.0) sorted me into that house and, after the initial revulsion, I read the welcome letter and I embraced it wholeheartedly.  I was also excited to have a Harry Potter film that I wouldn’t ruin with constant comparisons to the book it was based on.  Having the Hufflepuff hero show up with autistic traits absolutely delighted me.

As soon as we got out to the car, I began Googling “Newt Scamander Aspergers.”  It was immediately apparent that I wasn’t the only one who picked up on his traits.  The absolute best post I’ve read about Newt was written by a mom who has an autistic son, a boy who is a lot like Mr. Scamander.  Instead of quoting it at length, I’ll point you to the original:

The True Magic of ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’, by Melanie R. Meadors

Like she said, whether or not Newt is “officially” or intentionally autistic really doesn’t matter.  What’s awesome is that a person with autistic traits is presented in a positive light, the traits aren’t something he has to “overcome” in the film, and he makes friends who accept him as he is.  I’m officially a fan of Newt Scamander, and I’m thankful to Rowling and the filmmakers for making a person like him a true hero.

Another piece about Newt that I really enjoyed was written by Emma Lord:

On Newt Scamander, Toxic Masculinity, & The Power Of Hufflepuff Heroes

Have you seen the film?  I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Lessons from Speech Class

This month I finished my last class for my associate degree in Information Sciences and Technology. It was a speech class.

More accurately, it was a class focused on the “Principles of communication, implemented through analysis and evaluation of messages, with some attention to formal speaking and group discussion.” Unlike the on-campus offering where you take turns giving short speeches in front of the class, this course focused more on analyzing messages. I chose CAS 100C instead of 100B, to avoid having to do group work.  (I’m so over group work. See image below)

This class was a LOT of writing, which translated into a LOT of time spent on it each week.  I’ve been called a “good writer,” but it takes time for me to write.  Especially when it involves the need to read (and sometimes find) scholarly articles that are to be cited in that week’s essay.  In addition to the weekly essays, we had to write and record two 6-8 minute speeches as our midterm and final.

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I was really fighting my perfectionism this semester.  No matter how many times I reminded myself that my grade didn’t matter, no matter how many managers at work (2) told me to chill out and “just pass,” no matter how many times my boss guaranteed the grade would have no impact on my job. . . . I just couldn’t not care.  I tried SO HARD to turn in work that wasn’t up to my personal standards, yet I still ended the class with an A.  The professor even asked if she could share some of my work with the rest of the class as good examples.

Before this class, I had started learning more about the Enneagram, and I was suspecting that I’m a type 1, the “Perfectionist.”  My excruciating struggle with my performance in this class made this pretty obvious.  I’m thinking about doing more investigation regarding Aspergers and the Enneagram.

One day early in the semester, my boss and I got out of the office for lunch.  He could tell I was struggling (perhaps the fact that I was on the brink of tears clued him in).  Bemused, he reminded me that I just have to pass.  I told him the story of the inspirational “Do your best at not doing your best” image on my phone.

He said, “I have one better than that.  Do your best at the things that matter.”

He then elaborated, talking about the need to evaluate my priorities, and to make sure I’m spending time and effort on the important things, like relationships.  Basically, if I’m getting a lower grade because I’m playing video games, that’s bad.  If I’m getting a lower grade because I’m focusing on doing well at work, and volunteering at church, and investing in relationships, there’s nothing wrong with that.  Even though I had a tough time following my manager’s advice, I’m extremely grateful that he gave it.

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A big revelation came after I received my final feedback for the class.

I had been super anxious about recording the two big speeches.  Like most people, I don’t enjoy public speaking.  But since I was recording this instead of presenting it to live people, that wasn’t the big reason for anxiety.  We were supposed to use an “extemporaneous” delivery for these speeches, having only words and short phrases on our note cards.  That really stressed me out.  Like most people on the spectrum, I can struggle with verbal communication.  I do much better when I have the time to carefully think out how I want to word something.  And when I have that time, I think I do it well.  I like making sure I get the words right to communicate effectively.  That is really hard to do “on the fly,” when I have a time limit in which to speak all of my main points, research, arguments, transitions, etc.

Our professor gave us a good strategy for how to deliver an extemporaneous speech.  We were to write out the full-sentence outline of the speech, then turn that into an outline of key words and phrases.  We could memorize the introduction, since it’s beneficial to have those introductory words “just right,” and it would give us more confidence for the rest of the speech.  But the rest was supposed to be based off of the short outline on our note cards.  She recommended we rehearse from the short outline, starting over again from the beginning any time we faltered and forgot details.  I tried this for the first speech, but as I rehearsed I found that I was really struggling with getting the words right, so I ended up writing way more on my note cards than I was “supposed” to.

For the second speech, I was reminding myself again that I just had to pass the class, which essentially meant I just had to turn in a speech.  Any speech.  Even a terrible speech.  I would still pass.  I had found enough sources to meet the assignment requirements, done a lot of thinking and synthesizing, sorted the ideas into main points, and had written up my full-sentence outline.  I simply didn’t have time to do the full-blown rehearsal to learn the speech, and I didn’t care if I got points docked for the delivery.  So I printed the entire outline on sheets of paper and cut them in half to be more note-card-sized.  That way, I could glance down and see EXACTLY how I wanted to say it.  (As I made edits to the content, I left the original outline file intact, so I could turn in something that was slightly different than what I said in the video, in case the professor compared them.  I’m sneaky like that.)

I recorded my speech two or three times and called it a night.  A few days later, I got the grade, along with this feedback:

“Really good extemporaneous and conversational delivery.”

Wait, what?  I had the whole thing written out!  I thought you said it would be obvious if we were reading from the page? I rehearsed, but in the end I was essentially reading it word-for-word from my printed outline.  How did I manage to fool you?

Then I realized: Oh.  Right.  I’m autistic.

Writing out words before I say them is a coping skill I developed long ago.  I need to call the mechanic to get a few issues looked at?  I’d better write it out.  I’m going to have a difficult conversation with a boyfriend?  I’d better write out some key points, because once the emotions hit I’m going to struggle to remember what I wanted to say and how to say it.

• For my non-autistic classmates, reading their speech would be obvious.  They wouldn’t sound conversational.

• For me, trying to speak off-the-cuff from an outline would leave me stumbling over words, pausing awkwardly mid-sentence, and anxious.  I wouldn’t sound conversational.

I was highly amused when I realized that for me to “pass” as an NT giving an extemporaneous speech, I had to use my coping skill of writing everything out.  I then had to fake being spontaneous and conversational in my delivery as I read, which of course is something I have unconsciously been practicing for years!

◊♦◊♦◊♦◊♦◊

To me, this was a good lesson in respecting who I am.  I have to remember that my brain, my struggles, and my skills are not typical.  The path I take to get to a goal will not always look like the path my peers take.  I also learned how fortunate I am to have people in my life, like the managers at work, who care enough about me to give me good advice and moral support when I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown.  Finally, I learned that I’m absolutely done with school for the foreseeable future!

 

Now that the homework is over, I have time for activities I truly enjoy, such as photography.

Mini Review: M Is for Autism

Recently I read Kathryn Erskine’s book Mockingbird, which is told from the perspective of a 10-year-old Aspie girl named Caitlin.  I still haven’t figured out how I feel about that book.  I’m always excited (and a little anxious) when I see a book featuring an autistic character, especially a girl.  But like I said, I don’t know how I feel about that one.  There were certainly moments where I thought, “Yes!  That’s exactly how it is!” but . . . well, I’ll let you be the judge.  It’s worth a read, though I warn you it is emotionally exhausting (she recently lost her brother in a school shooting).

When I was reading a few reviews of Mockingbird, hoping they would help me process my own thoughts and feelings, I saw something about another book, M is for Autism.  This book was written by a group of autistic girls and their creative writing tutor, because there aren’t enough books for teenage girls with autism.  That fact right there made me love the book even before I opened it.  When I did open it, I was surprised to see that it is full of color – not just the illustrations, but the pages themselves.  I LOVE that.  In fact, there’s a lot I love about this book.

Things I love about this book:

• It’s colorful!  Every page has color.
• M is a believable autistic character.  She has autistic traits without fulfilling EVERY stereotype, and has specific, unique quirks and interests.
• I was pleasantly surprised that the mother gets to narrate a few pages.  I appreciated getting to hear her perspective, and it is very realistic – a mother who truly loves and wants to help her daughter, but just gets so darn frustrated and doesn’t always understand her.
• Her therapist is wonderful. I wish I had her.
• “It’s not an illness.  It’s more a way of being. It’s your wonderful state of mind, the way you view the world. That’s not being ill.”
• It emphasizes that autism isn’t really the problem, anxiety is.
• It touches on topics like social confusion, teasing, stimming, coping strategies, sensory issues, diagnosis, labels, therapy, support, and the complexity of it all.
• This quote:

“I think you’re struggling too much. Everyone has a bad day, week, month even year but this is too much M. This is constant stress and anxiety. Life shouldn’t be too much of a struggle M.”

She’s right. Less of a struggle would be good. Life is a struggle when you’re trying to be normal.

 

The book made me smile, but it also made me hurt for my own 13-year-old self.
My only complaint is that it’s short – you can read it in a single sitting.  That isn’t a criticism of the book; I think it is long enough to fulfill its purpose.  That’s just a personal desire to read more about M and her journey 🙂
If you’d like to learn more about the writing of the book, here’s an article: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/health/what-is-it-like-to-be-a-girl-with-autism/

 

After writing this, I think I’ve figured out one of my thoughts about Mockingbird.  Mockingbird feels like it was written by an NT for NTs – to help them better understand autistic kids, sure, but it’s for NTs.  M is for Autism is absolutely 100% for autistic girls.  It can help NTs better understand autistic kids, but that is for the sake of the autistic kids.