The Aspie Life

On Being A Person Out of Sync and Out of Time

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 24 Mar 2014 03:14:00 +0000

Choice (Photo credit: elycefeliz)

I am at an age where I often find myself reevaluating the course my life is taken. A time when you compare your life to that of those around you and sometimes feel it’s come up lacking. When I look at the trajectory others’ lives have taken, I find myself wondering if I should have made different choices. Such thoughts can be seductive, but when they begin to sway me, I have to remind myself of something — I have never been a person in sync with my peers, and the times that I tried to be have never turned out very well.

Starting from a young age, when I was said to be “emotionally immature” in comparison to my peers, I have never fit into the same timelines as everyone else. And even that early label didn’t capture the full reality of my situation. For me, it’s never been a simple as “more mature” or “less mature,” really it’s been just “different.” Unfortunately, this doesn’t fit into the framework of the common narrative. We try to sort and classify everyone into neat little buckets comparative to a so-called “normal” timeline. So, growing up, depending on what aspects of my personality and development an adult saw, I could be classified very differently and very different situations.

It’s hard to classify how much of this variation is due to the ways in which I was socialized, versus how much of it is due to neurology. In some ways it’s very hard to sort one out from the other. In some instances, it was a combination of the two. For example, due to my neurology I struggled quite a bit in relating to children my own age, and that had very specific consequences. One of those consequences was that I sought out connection and socialization where I could — with adults. They had the maturity and patience to deal with my differences constructively. This affected me in many different ways, from the values I embraced to my taste in literature, music, and television. Socially, this set me apart from my peers and often made them brand me a “little adult,” or in kid speak, “weird.”

Other times, it was more clear-cut. By nature, I was a very routine and rules-based child. What other kids fought against, I embraced, and even enforced myself. To this day, my mother still tells fond stories about how “easy” I was at bedtime when I was a young child. In contrast to my elder brother, who would go, go, go until he passed out mid-play, when bedtime came I would put myself to bed whether she was prompting me or not. In fact, instead of having to push me to go to bed, the social situation was often flipped. She would have to rush to finish her tasks and activities, lest she miss her chance to tuck me in and kiss me goodnight. It still amuses her, and is one of those stories that adults could look at and see maturity. I was self-regulating and self-soothing. “Low maintenance.” Ironically, it was in the same period that my peers teased me mercilessly, calling me “baby” and making fun of my interests, which were, in their opinion, vastly too young for my age.

Their perception, perhaps, would have been more in line with my father’s experiences with me during the same period of time. My stepfather, in many ways, was similar to me in his love of structure and schedule, thus creating a certain structure to my days there with him and my mother. My father, on the other hand, was much more spontaneous and seemed to struggle a bit with structure. My room at my mother’s was organized, if sometimes sparse. I didn’t always have a room at my father’s, my living situation seemed to change at least once a year. When I did have a room, it was sometimes shared with other children which I didn’t know well (we frequently had roommates to defray costs), and when I had one alone it was always chaotic. Mornings at his home frequently started with a mad dash — to find clothes, shoes, or other necessities. The stress of this constant change and instability, as welcome and fun as it could sometimes be, would eventually lead me to massive meltdowns...during which my father would accuse me of “having a tantrum as if I were two.” So, what was I? A little adult or a too-big toddler? Neither. I was just me. I was a kid who might be caught reading Dickens while listening to Sesame Street. Not easy to fit into anyone’s paradigm.

I’ve always felt out-of-sync developmentally in complex ways, but my differences didn’t end there. I’ve spent much of my life feeling out of sync with my own time as well. I came to adore books like Frances Hodgson Burnett’s A Little Princess, Lucy Maude Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables, and Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women. Their environments and characters comforted me. In Little Women, I recognized myself in the shyness of Beth and in the brashness and energy of Jo. Like Jo and Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables, I felt driven to write. But the character of Sara Crewe from A Little Princess was a touchstone for me, over and over again through the years — in fact, you could probably trace my initial nom-de-internet, aspieprincess, to that early connection. While others looked at “being a princess” as something inborn — something in the blood, she defined it as something in our behavior. Being kind to others, acting selflessly, being a comfort to others, being strong under pressure, and secure in your own self-worth no matter what anyone else said. A princess didn’t let unkindness overcome her. A princess didn’t allow herself to be broken by circumstances. This I needed at some of the worst times of my life.

My connection with Sara didn’t end there — it began in the very first pages in the book, when she was described. “She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her father, who held her in his arm, as she stared out of the window at the passing people with a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes. She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small face. It would have been an old look for a child of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven. The fact was, however, that she was always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not herself remember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up people and the world they belonged to. She felt as if she had lived a long, long time.” So did I.

Sara, it seemed, was “queer” like me, in many of the same ways. When I think of this description, I often think of the way my mother often christened me an “old soul,” or more painfully, of the moments when my “odd speeches” left me feeling exposed and embarrassed. I remember, for example, one Thanksgiving when I was probably about seven or eight. My parents had reunited, and we had moved into a new house with a large open concept living room/dining room. Neither of my parents had much family nearby — but my mother wanted to put on a celebration anyway, so she invited a group of friends over to share Thanksgiving dinner with us. As I was the only child present, I was given a seat at the head of the table, a gesture to make me feel special, and not so alone. Sitting at the head of the table, I felt that I should be doing something to greet our guests and thank them for doing joining us. So, I spoke up. When I finished, everyone at the table began laughing. I was crushed. I was trying to say something nice, and they were laughing at me.

I was confused, and said so, with tears rapidly looming. My mother came to my side to explain. What I had said, she told me, was unusual for a little girl. Little children didn’t generally greet their parents’ friends by using the phrase “Ladies and gentlemen,” or refer to their home as their “humble abode.” It was old-fashioned and very formal. “We were laughing because we were surprised, and it was charming,” she said. I wasn’t completely sure this was the full truth — deep down inside, I still felt a blackness that said somehow, someway, I’d done something wrong. I couldn’t be sure that they were laughing with me, rather than at me. I feared being seen as ridiculous. Reading a book about a girl who made odd, old-fashioned speeches made me feel less conspicuous, and not alone. Maybe if Sara wasn’t ridiculous, neither was I.

My affinity for 19th and early 20th century characters and literature only grew over the years, and expanded into other areas. Visiting historical landmarks from the era began to feel like going home. A visit to a local museum to see the works of Degas, Monet, and Renoir was an event that resonated in my soul. An escape into another world. I began to find myself drawn increasingly to anything that reminded me remotely of these times. Lamps in the shape of antique hurricane lamps. My mother’s antique cameo necklace. A blouse with puffed sleeves, with all of the detail of a tailored Edwardian style. By the time I was a freshman in high school my association had evolved to a focus primarily on the late Victorian and early Edwardian period. A visit to my Grandmother’s the previous year had crystallized this, in part. By chance, she’d chosen to clean out her basement just the night before, and she’d found some things she really didn’t know what to do with — a couple of books published between 1900 and 1911, and a reproduction of the 1900 Sears catalog. I was taken. That evening, I gazed longingly at the catalog pages in the lantern light which flooded my little cubbyhole in the pop up camper in the field behind her house. If only I could still order the products in the pages…

English: Pen and ink drawing of the Gibson Girl by illustrator Sarah Kaplan (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My infatuation went to such an extent, that had I had easy access to the clothing of the time, I may have even dared to wear it to school. But you couldn’t get Edwardian garb at the local mall, so I settled for what I could get, incorporating details as I could get them. I began to let my hair grow extra long, something that led to conflict with my mother. Not knowing the full scope of my Edwardian fascination, the only reason she could come up with for putting up with the aggravation of hair as long as mine was to impress boys. She wanted more than that for me. Little did she know my real reason — I wanted to look like a Gibson Girl. What teenage boy would be drawn to a girl who shared her fashion sense with her great grandmother’s peers? It turned out to be a moot point, however, as I’ve never actually been able to manage the style (although ironically, the 21st century technology of the internet has brought me closer to 1900s style than ever before).

I’ve never fully understood this affinity, which still dogs me all these years later. In my more fanciful moments, I’ve imagined that it was perhaps a product of a past life — one in which I was happy and treated well. That perhaps that the lingering draw of the fashions and customs of the time are some subconscious attempt to recapture that happiness. Or perhaps it’s just a romanticized yearning for escape, which is why it coexists with my liking for science fiction. Given my strong interest in social justice, at times it troubles me to be drawn so to a period of time in which so much evil was done to so many. I can’t ignore the full picture of what life was like in the time. I regularly remind myself that literary imaginings are far from the actual reality. And I find myself wondering, if I did live during that time, would I have seen the evils for what they were? Or would I be blinded to them, by the mores of the time? I wonder, too, what future generations will think of us.

While it’s easy for me to compare my life with others’ and question myself...the fact that I can’t ignore is that I have always been different. What made me happy has always been different than what made others happy. The reality is that the choices that led others to the lives they lead likely wouldn’t have fit well with my likes in this world. To make that fit, I would have had to change myself, who I am — and is that what I really want? There are many in this world that seem to assume that in order to have a successful relationship or connection with someone else you have to be “compatible,” often a euphemism for “likes all the same things I like and has all the same values that I do.” What does that mean for someone like me? My life has always been duality and difference, and the complexities that have always been in play in my development, my personality, and my likes and dislikes have always carried through every area of my life. I feel in constant contradiction within myself. If we are only meant to be friends or lovers with those whose lives and likes are the same as yours, then I’m not likely to be lucky. I don’t align with any group seamlessly, and never have. I am incongruity incarnate. It’s isolating, but I have to learn to live with it. I have no other choice. The question is, can others learn to understand it? Love it? Even embrace it?

I can only hope.

For updates you can follow me on Facebook or Twitter. Feedback? E-mail me.

My book, Living Independently on the Autism Spectrum, is currently available at most major retailers, including Books-A-Million, Chapters/Indigo (Canada), Barnes and Noble, and Amazon. To learn more about it, visit my web site: www.lynnesoraya.com.

Vulnerability, Life Experience, and the Responsibilities of Blogging

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 15 Dec 2013 02:06:00 +0000

Writing about myself is scary. Vulnerable. There are days when I wonder why I do it. But, I started doing so here on this blog eight years ago with the hope that it would help others. I like to think it does. When I get letters that tell me that it has, it makes it very worth it -- yet there are times in between I still question.

There are still challenges. It can be hard to know what to share and what not to share, and so many conflicting reasons for doing so or not doing so. I felt it most recently in my Psychology Today series on trauma. Trauma is a topic that I very much believe needs to be discussed, and there are so many facets to it. But it's also a "hot button" topic, and involves discussing things that are taboo.

I don't know if I've gotten as far as I need to be in the realm of being comfortable in taking on taboo topics...which is part of why I started out the series in discussing my own difficulties in that area. I hoped that just opening the discussion might help, but the whole thing left me raw.

What's been particularly difficult for me in writing about these difficult topics is that the most of the things that have been most traumatic to me are things that I have yet to write about. Some I've hinted at. Others I've not mentioned at all. So, in discussing this, I find myself using the one example that I have worked my way to feeling comfortable discussing -- my first accident. Yet that's not my most traumatic memory. Not by a long shot.

What's interesting about the phenomenon of blogging is how far and fast your influence can grow. So many people begin blogs thinking of it as a glorified diary. Yet with the miracle of the internet, you find that what you post publicly finds it way into places you'd never expect. I've seen that bite more than one uncautious blogger, when their words got them into hot water. When I began this blog, I had no idea I'd be eventually blogging for Psychology Today. I certainly never thought it would lead to a book.

Now what does that mean? How does that increased exposure change my responsibility? What is my responsibility? To whom? I initially began this blog to tell my story, my reality as I've known it, and hoped that this would help others. But now I find myself facing issues of wider import. What if my experience serves to undergird a common stereotype of those on the spectrum? Does that mean that I should not share it?

Then comes the complications of what my life is and has been. My life is more than just autism. The experiences that have shaped me involved countless other things, and the reality is that some of those have had a much more pivotal role in shaping my life. Many of the experiences that have most shaped me are in a completely different arena. Yet, autism is a part of me, so does that mean that, if effect, it was a part of those things too?

The reality of my life is that I rarely fit into anyone's box. I'm the person who's both hard of hearing and sound sensitive. I'm a person who defaults to thinking very black and white, yet sometimes gets paralyzed because I see too much of all sides. The role model who sometimes feels like anything but. I'm the person who argues against parental blame, yet has to acknowledge how some parental missteps have scarred me, deeply.

There are lot of people in the community who are angry. There are a lot who don't want to forgive the things people have done to them. I see that, and I struggle with it every day. There are so many things in my life that I want to forgive, yet struggle to do. Is forgiveness right, or wrong? In forgiving, am I a doormat, or am I something else? Are those who stand up for the right to righteous anger, and eschew forgiveness the ones who are really stronger? Are they right, or is it Gandhi, who wrote: "The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong."

If Gandhi has it right, I'm definitely struggling to be strong.

I've worked a lot to feel comfortable with disclosure, yet some areas I still can't talk about. Some which I can, I really struggle with wondering if I should. I have tried so hard to focus on what people did well in my life, I've found it really difficult to talk about the areas in which they didn't. Yet, those experiences have shaped me just as much as the positive experiences.

I've been extremely blessed with many of the people in my life, and I feel that there is a lot to learn from what they did with me. But some of them made very big mistakes. Is it a mistake to talk about those mistakes, if those mistakes are viewed to overshadow what they've done right?

Is there a time when we should just tell our truth, and let the chips fall where they may? I don't know -- but there's a quote from Anne Lamott that I just can't shake: “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better."

What do you think?

For updates you can follow me on Facebook or Twitter. Feedback? E-mail me.

Why I Don't Like Parenthood

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 09 Nov 2013 04:26:00 +0000

A few years ago, when the NBC show Parenthood diagnosed one of its characters, Max Braverman, the resulting rush of interest in the condition pushed terms like "assburgers syndrome" to the top of the search charts, something I wrote about on my Psychology Today blog. In that post, I talked about the mixed blessing it can be when TV tries to take on autism.

In the years since, the show has gained a lot of popularity among many of the autism parents I know, and I've really struggled with it. I hear from so many parents that they enjoy it, and identify with the characters. Meanwhile, I find it actually painful to watch. So, in most cases I've simply kept silent about it, not wanting to be a killjoy about something so many people find comforting.

Recently, the subject came up again on the Facebook page of The Thinking Person's Guide to Autism, prompted by a post over at Salon.com entitled "TV's Most Unflinching Portrayal of Asperger's Goes Even Deeper." After some several years now of mulling things over, I decided to finally make my commentary on the show. I also read a lot of what the other commenters had to say.

Based on their comments, I began to wonder if, in fact, I should try watching it again. Maybe I'd missed something. So I hopped over to Hulu, and found myself plodding through a bunch of clips there. Almost immediately, I came across one that embodied many of the things that bugs me about the show -- in less than two minutes (embedded below.)

Why does it bug me? Let me break it down. Here you have Max, a kid with Asperger's, surrounded by his entire family, approaching a house with a big staircase and lots of "haunted house" style sounds and decorations. He sees it, and says: "None of the other parents are going up. I'm...I'm going alone."

This is where my discomfort begins, because it tells me something loud and clear: He's clearly internalized others' judgments of him. He's afraid of what others will think of him, if he can't do "like everyone else." As in, go up there alone. If he can't be what the world chooses to call "normal."

But it also tells me something else. He wants to try. He wants to be independent. And he thinks he can do it. He wouldn't try it otherwise. Those who've experienced meltdown don't take it lightly. At a time in his life when many of us on the spectrum are not really good at explaining such things as emotion, he doesn't put it that way. He doesn't give his parents context for his actions. But he's communicating it in his own way -- through action.

So what do you do when your kid says to you is about to try something hard, and they express that they think that they can do it? Do you give them words of encouragement? Say, "You can do this!" Or, "You'll do great!" I'd think so...but that's not what Max gets.

What's the first thing Max gets to hear? "This is NOT a good idea." Followed with. "This is a terrible idea... horrible idea!" Do they think he can't hear? I'd bet he hears every word -- especially if, like many of us, he has hyperacusis. So what message is he taking from this?

MY MOM THINKS I'M GONNA FAIL.

How is that helping him? But what's worse to me is how "failing" is defined. The crux of the problem is made amply clear: Will he have a meltdown or won't he? In other words, will he behave as autistic people often do in such a situation, or will he "act normal"?

Little doubt is left by the writers what the desirable outcome is meant to be. The question is, what message does it sent to Max? And what are the ramifications?

Not only is Max facing a situation that could likely trigger a meltdown, a situation that's scary in and of itself, but he's now facing a pressure to hide any reaction he might have. The objective shifts from challenging himself and stretching his own capabilities to "faking normal" so that everyone else will be OK. Because it's not just his parents watching, but his ENTIRE FAMILY.

If he has a meltdown, will he ever be allowed to try again? Or will it be seen as evidence? Evidence of incompetence? Evidence that his mother was right? How hard will it be to push for independence after that? How many times will he be reminded? "Oh, honey, remember the last time you tried...."

If he's anything like me, stress amplifies sensory issues and plays a strong part in prompting meltdowns. Do you think all these undercurrents would be creating stress? I sure think so. So, the horrible irony of the situation is that all of the angst over whether he will have a meltdown is actually setting him up for one. But if he does, who suffers?

Him.

When he manages to get through it without a meltdown, his joy is palpable. Not only did he do it, but he got something really cool as well! But the family is so focused on the will-he-or-won't-he, that they don't immediately respond. It takes them a beat to even respond to his jubilation. I can't help but wonder if that sends him a message too...what would it be? How would he take it?

But the most troubling part to me, is the very end. He's successfully avoided a meltdown. He's avoided "acting autistic." Pleased, his Grandfather pronounces, "He's a Braverman!" The message behind that, to me, is extremely caustic.

When he doesn't act autistic, he's rewarded. "He's a Braverman." He's "one of us."

But there's a disturbing flip side to that statement. What would he be if he had acted autistic? Would he still be a Braverman? Or would he be "other"?

This is exactly the dynamic that teaches kids to fear acting autistic. To hide their pain, stress, and fear so that they can be "one of us," not "one of them." It's a dynamic I've experienced my share of, and that I'm still learning to unlearn. It's something that creates a lot of pain in the lives of autistic people. Yet, it's laced throughout the show, almost completely uncritically.

That's why I don't like Parenthood.

For updates you can follow me on Facebook or Twitter. Feedback? E-mail me.

My book, Living Independently on the Autism Spectrum, is currently available at most major retailers, including Books-A-Million, Chapters/Indigo (Canada), Barnes and Noble, and Amazon.

To learn more about the book, visit my web site: www.lynnesoraya.com.

And Now For Something Completely Different.....

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 04:42:00 +0000

As a grown adult, don't ask me how I wound up watching this clip on YouTube.

Anyway, the point is that I did.... (yes, I admit it)...and I couldn't help but laugh. Does anyone ever feel that they relate to life like these guys do? I sure do, at times.

I mean - they're adrift in a confusing world, earnest in learning about it, but unequipt. They sure put a lot of effort in communicating with the "earthling" - and they seem to take a lot of joy in "discovering" its "language." But how well do they actually succeed in the realm of true communication?

Beyond the allegorical meaning I find in it for my own life, I also have to admire the talent of puppeteers who could manage to capture anyone's attention with this, even for a few moments... I mean, who thought that a bag with eyes could emote?

Ok, yes, maybe I am taking this a little too seriously. But, hey, it's all in fun. Sometimes it truly is the little things that amuse me...

Musings on Facing a New Year

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 04:36:00 +0000

Well, it's been an interesting year.   It's been my first full year of blogging for Psychology Today...which has truly been stellar.

It's a year which I started out a social media newbie... I can't really say I'm an expert now, but I've developed a presence on Facebook and Twitter.   I've made a few stumbles along the way, but I'm proud that I've gotten as far as I have.  My readers have generally been kind and forgiving of my missteps (thank you!).

I've had some interesting experiences...gotten to have some interesting dialogues.    Some good, some not so good.   It's been a frustrating, but rewarding, year.

Sometimes it's hard for me, to come to the end of the year...it implies a change which is not usually pleasant for me. But here we are. I wonder what the new year will bring.  For the first time, I find myself thinking that the coming year could be really different than the previous....

I have no idea what to expect...not sure whether it will be good or bad.    I really hope it will be good.

But, as I count my blessings - I have to say that chief among them has been my readers. So, I owe you all a great measure of thanks. Your comments, support, and readership have been the single most fulfilling and motivating influences in my life for the past year.

I hope that your year has gone well, and that you will have a great 2010.  And I hope that in the coming year, I can give to all of you, what you have given to me.

Thank You, and Happy New Year!

New from PT: At The Wedding

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 05:50:00 +0000

Lately, thanks to some great discussions on Facebook groups, and Aspie Teacher's recent post, "Why Can't They Understand That I'm A Girl," I've been thinking a lot about how Asperger's effects gender expression. In my new post for PT, I wrote about my experiences in the "girl world" of beauty - and how, despite having a desire to succeed, I always felt like an outsider, due to my social limitations.

How much of gender is socialization, and how much is inborn? And how does Asperger's change the socialization of gender? How many of us feel subtly out of sync with others of our gender? And how much of that feeling in only perception...born by the insecurity of being unable to read others' reactions to us?

At The Wedding

I made the final touches, and put down the makeup brush. From over my shoulder, someone handed the bride a mirror. Gulping down a knot of anxiety as she examined my handiwork, I found myself thinking: After a lifetime of feeling like an outsider in the "girl" world, how did I wind up here?
Read More

Controversy in the Autistic Community

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 03:35:00 +0000

John Elder Robison recently wrote a great post on his Psychology Today blog about the controversies in the autism community. He asks, "Why Can't We All Get Along?" The post seemed to generate some very good discussion.

One particular comment interested me...it brought up the question of whether we all mean the same thing when we talk about a "cure." See my response here.

John also posted a follow up exploring what acceptance really means. Does being accepted mean that you can behave however you want, and society has to just accept you? See what he has to say here.

What do you think? Where are the boundaries between self-acceptance and bad behavior? What does a "cure" mean? Should we pursue it, or no? Are a cure and acceptance mutually exclusive? And why can't we all just get along?

The Benefits and Shortcomings of Associative Thought

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 02:06:00 +0000

I just wrote a post for Psychology Today about the unusual side effects of my particular brand of associative & visual thought. I'd love to get some feedback from my aspie friends. What are your experiences with associative thought? Do you think in pictures, or in words? Do you think either method of thought provides specific advantages?

What are your thoughts?

Is Harry Really Hairy?

In a recent book, and accompanying article, autistic savant Daniel Tammet explored the connections between associative thought and creativity. Inspired by his thoughts, I found myself exploring all the ways associative thinking manifests in my life. As I explored, I realized something that I hadn't expected - that the roots of many of my social issues lie at the intersection of visual and associative thought. Read More

Gardening, Asperger Style: Learning When Not To Follow The Rules

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Wed, 06 May 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Well, it's spring again and the gardening bug has definitely bitten me. While the weather is still too unpredictable where I live to plant, that didn't stop me from stopping by a local nursery to dream. While making my great plans for the season ahead - I found myself reflecting on the origins of my interest in gardening, and my disastrous early attempts. I wondered...how much of it was typical, and how much of it was Asperger's?

http://blogs.psychologytoday.com/blog/aspergers-diary/200905/gardening-asperger-style-learning-when-not-follow-the-rules

Six Months....

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 22:51:00 +0000

Well, it's been more than six months now that I've been blogging for Psychology Today. I have to say, it's been a lot of fun. Sharing the site with eminent researchers, psychologists, psychiatrists, and writers has been very interesting.

The greatest opportunity has been to actually communicate with some of those whose research is shaping the current view of Asperger's and Autism. Take, for example, my latest post Joe and the Mega-Sized Smoothie: Language and Asperger's, which is a response to Edouard Machery's recent work Intentional Action and Asperger Syndrome. The subsequent discussion has been extremely interesting.

While I disagree with the preliminary conclusions made in Mr. Machery's study, I'm highly gratified that a researcher is open-minded, willing and interested enough to explore these differences. To quote, one of my favorites, Ghandi, "Honest disagreement is often a good sign of progress."

My New Blog

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 01:34:00 +0000

It's funny how things happen, a few months back I received an e-mail from an editor at Psychology Today. She had read some of what I had written here, and liked it. So, in short, I have a new blog "Asperger's Diary", on Psychology Today's new blog site. It's my hope that through this new blog, I can help drive some mainstream awareness and understanding regarding issues related to Asperger's Syndrome, so please check it out. I welcome your feedback & comments - I want to make it the best it can be.

I'm still keeping a presence here for my aspie friends. When I first began blogging here, I had no idea how many of my experiences would resonate so strongly with other aspies, or what a community I was entering into. So, thanks for your readership keep sharing your stories. The more we share, the less alone we feel, and the more we connect.

Best regards to all my friends out there...

The Aspie Princess (aspieprincess at worldnet.att.net)

Differences and Similarities - "Flavors" of AS

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 01:13:00 +0000

I have mentioned before how interesting it is to me to see the different "flavors" of AS. After reading Temple Grandin's book, Developing Talents, I've moved on to Daniel Tammet's book Born on a Blue Day. On the back is a quote from Temple Grandin, talking about how "fascinating" it is to read about a the mind of a mathematical savant whose mind is "both similar to and different from my visual brain." I have to say that I agree.

While my visual brain is nowhere near the pinpoint accuracy of Temple's, I would say that my way of relating to the world is similar to hers. I have always related to the world in a visual way - and really, until lately I didn't realize that others did not do the same.

Just as Temple describes in her many articles and books, I see things in "photo-realistic images." As a child, this made me a crack-whiz at spelling, because as long is I studied the words long enough (and/or intently enough), my brain would form a "snap shot" of the word which was stored in my memory for quick retrieval. Then, when asked to spell the word, all I needed to do was pull up the "snap shot" and read it back, just as if I were reading it from the page.

Reading about Daniel's experiences is very interesting to me. The way he experiences the world is similar in some ways, others not. While he also relates the world in a visual way, it seems that it is in a more symbolic way. Letters and numbers have their own colors and textures, with their own "feel" as well. While it sounds very unusual to me, I actually have heard something similar before.

My possibly aspie co-worker, which I mentioned in Aspies, Aspies Everywhere and Groups (The Horror!), described something very similar to me and another friend. He writes quite a bit in his role at work, and we all got to talking about writing in general (specifically, how shocking it is that in a corporate environment, how many highly educated people can't seem to do it well). Eventually that led to talking about school.

It turned out that all three of us at the table had excelled in spelling in school, all for different reasons. Me, for the reason I mentioned above. My NT friend had an entirely different way of managing it (which generally involved sounding things out). Our PAC (potentially aspie co-worker), talked about how he could tell how a word was spelled by how it appeared in his mind. He described certain letters appearing in his mind in a certain color, so he would always know the spelling of the word by the sequence of colors that appeared in that word as represented in his mind.

Daniel Tammett describes a slightly more nuanced and complicated phenomenon. For him, the letters don't remain the same color if consolidated into a word. He describes:
"I can even make the color of a word change by mentally adding initial letters of the word to turn the word into another: at is a red word, but add the letter H to get hat and it becomes a white word."

Daniel Tammet and my PAC both share this manner of relating to the world that is different, I also find that there are similarities as well. For example, one of Daniel's savant talents (which I've seen impressively demonstrated on TV) is an incredible facility for foreign languages.

While I'm nowhere near as talented as he is, this is also an area which I excelled. It has always stricken me as strange, given that language is an often highlighted area of difficulty for many people on the autistic spectrum. But for people like me, and Daniel Tammett - it comes uncommonly quickly and easily.

I find myself wondering - what is it in our individual makeup that causes these differences? Why is it that my PAC and Daniel Tammet have this unique way of seeing letters and words, but I don't? And why do I find it easy to pick up foreign language, but others on the spectrum struggle with language altogether? What are the similarities and differences that make this possible?

Neither of these ways of being are necessarily NT, but are very different from each other. As much so as some of the accounts of people on the spectrum that I've read who don't think visually at all. What is the commonality that causes such a range of symptoms? Is it all about what area of the brain is wired differently? And, at what point does a different way of being aspie transform into being something completely different altogether?

It's The Little Things

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 04:03:00 +0000

It's funny how little things can make you happy beyond all reason. I think this is likely true of the general population, but I think especially true in the aspie life. Our innate intensity makes amplifies our reactions.

It sounds really odd - but I've spent the last few weeks floating on a cloud because I finally got a library card! (How geeky is that!)

I won't go into details, but for many years, due to either a glitch, or a really preposterous policy (I'm not sure which), I was not allowed to get a library card at my local library without paying a gargantuan sum. I think it was really something like gerrymandering...I didn't live within the lines they drew as "officially" in district...whatever....

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I decided to take another run at it and poof! Suddenly all barriers were removed! I felt like a kid in a candy store. After several years of only being able to skim books that I was interested in the bookstore, and add them to my continuous list of "books I want," suddenly I can read any book I want without spending a dime.

My long list of asperger books that I wanted to check out, couldn't find in any bookstore, and that I would have had to order online, now is available to me whenever I want it, at a few clicks of a mouse. Of course, my local library doesn't stock many of them directly, but say hello to the interlibrary loan!

I am, of course, on total aspie obsession mode. My husband keeps joking with me that I should just get myself a bed and live there...

It's like being freed after living so many years straitjacketed by lack of access. (My, my, how dramatic can I get!)

It's been so long - the technology has completely passed me by. Renewing books online, downloading e-books, online research libraries and card catalogs from all affiliated libraries....WOO HOO!! It's Star Trek time!

I've already ripped my way (figuratively, of course) through several books that I have been dying to read for years. One was Temple Grandin's book Developing Talents, which I found very encouraging to read. While it was written with a thrust towards someone much younger and less established in career than I am, I still enjoyed it. I wonder what my life would have been like had I had a diagnosis and access to such a book when I was first venturing into the world of work.

I'm a great fan of Temple Grandin, having read both of her first two books Emergence, and Thinking in Pictures, and, of course, Oliver Sacks' description of her in An Anthropologist on Mars.

Interestingly, it's the little things that resonate in these first person accounts. My first inkling that I might be on the autistic spectrum was when I saw Rain Man for the first time. It was the little things that the autistic character, Raymond, did that jumped out at me. How he seized upon a radio jingle and repeated it, over and over - "97X BAM! The future of rock and roll! 97X BAM! The future of rock and roll." How he hummed along with the distinctive noise that a car makes when crossing from regular road to a suspension bridge, while staring, fascinated, at the shapes the bridge towers make against the sky as you speed past them. Rocked me to my toes - because it was that clear moment of recognition. I did that. I am that.

In Temple Grandin's books, she talks about a childhood fixation with an amusement park ride called The Rotor. One of these machines that spins so quickly the centrifugal force sticks you to the wall. Yup. Did that. Or when she talked about developing her squeeze machine - I flashed back to being a four or five year old, climbing between the mattress and box spring of my bed to take my naps, or wiggling myself into the cleft between the wall and the bed. The soothing feeling of the pressure against my body. Yup. Me.

You could put the two of us next to each other, and I'm sure from the big picture we be as different as can be. But in the little things, we're the same. And suddenly, those little things seem big.

Loneliness

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Sat, 29 Dec 2007 23:36:00 +0000

Loneliness has been a constant companion in my life. I laugh when I read the news articles which try to say that people with Asperger's "have no desire for human companionship." I can't speak for all - it may be true of some, but it has certainly not been true for me. It can feel like a curse - having the acute desire for human interaction, togetherness, but constantly struggling to make it happen.

The holiday season has always been especially difficult for me. There are many expectations created by the stories and depictions in the popular media of the "joyous" holiday season. For me, it's often been difficult to reconcile these expectations with my actual reality.

This is the time for the parties that you're not invited to. Or if you are invited - you feel like an outsider as everyone else mixes and mingles when you find yourself tongue tied in a corner. It's a time for family celebrations, which don't measure up to the idealized "Currier & Ives" pictures people have in their minds.

It's the time of year when you have to wrap your mind around how to maneuver your way around the social dilemmas that give even socially gifted people trouble.

Through this holiday season, I've been thinking about this a lot. How many people are out there suffering, because they feel that Christmas should be like the movies? Or because they feel even more acutely the desire to "fit in," and feel even more acutely their failure to do so? Or simply feel more alone, when everyone is feeling togetherness, and you're at home alone...

I was rooting around in some of my old papers this afternoon, and I found a journal entry I wrote in my teens, which I think echoes what many people with AS feel, perhaps more intensely this time of year.

"I get so very sad, yet no one around seems to understand. I really wish I had someone. The only way I have to explain it is through my writing or through my stories, and that is hard to express. I know any one who has known me for any amount of time gets tired of my stories. I don't know. It's so lonely to spend my life jumping back and forth from here to there.

I never have had a chance to have a normal life...Why do I have to be so different?

I spend all my life trying to find someone who will understand, but because of my life, I wind up having to give them a tutorial about how I act and why. I know it sounds pompous and stupid, but what else have I to do?

I find no one else like me in my life. I have nothing in common with anyone...I feel trapped in a world that judges me at every turn and yet never bothers to try to help or understand.

My whole life has been spend trying to figure other people out. I've always felt left out. I'm a watcher because that's all I really know how to be - all I really can be. People say I'm stuck up and a snob. I don't like to think that I am.

I love people. I'd love to be with them, but my life is so different, my motivations so strange. I feel I have to compromise some of myself to get along with anyone else...So I am left with two options - to live always compromising parts of myself, never getting to be myself, or to live my life lonely and alone.

Even though I know have gifts, there are times when I'd do anything to give up those gifts just so can be a normal person...People tell me that they can't talk to me because it takes too much energy, but does that mean that I will be forced to spend the rest of my life being a hermit? Will there ever be anyone who is willing to work to be with me? Will anyone climb the mountain?"

Back when I wrote this, I had no idea why I was different. I just knew that I was. I thought I was alone in feeling this way. In the last five years, I've come to learn that I'm not. Through the miracle of the internet, I've learned that there are many more of you out there.

So, if any one of you is feeling alone tonight, remember that perception isn't always reality. When I thought I was alone in the world, I wasn't. When I thought that no one else would ever understand or feel the way I did, I was wrong. It was just a question of finding the other people like me.

The idealized depictions of Christmas aren't the reality for most, if not all, so don't think that you're the odd ball because your holiday is different. We all have our disappointments in life -but we can find our way. We can find our own crowd, and our own way of celebrating - that's fine.

And even if you have to celebrate alone -that's OK. Love yourself to know that a celebration alone can be just as valuable as one with others - it's all in how you handle it. If living with Asperger's teaches us anything, it teaches us how to live with ourselves. For some of us, our only friends are ourselves. You can focus on being alone, or you can make the most of what you do have - you.

You can go out and watch people. You can stay home and watch Star Trek. You can write, or listen to music that makes you happy. Or you can find a small, trusted group - that understand you and overlook your eccentricities.

In any event, the holidays don't have to be sad. Don't be lonely. There are others of us out there. There are others who understand. If you're lonely, my thoughts and prayers are with you, as are the thoughts and prayers of many others out there. You are not alone.

I'm praying that each and every one of you have a wonderful holiday season, alone or together.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and Happy Holidays!

Coping: The Need for Routine

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Tue, 27 Nov 2007 02:30:00 +0000

I'm nearsighted, and slightly hard of hearing. Once in school, I remember removing my glasses while doing silent work at my desk. My teacher called me forward to talk to her, and I realized my comprehension was not was it should be. I hadn't realized until that point how much I had come unconciously rely on reading lips to compensate for my hearing.

From time to time, I get the same type of wake up call in my daily life, when I realize what other coping mechanisms I've developed without even realizing it. One that's come to my attention recently is my usage of routines to keep control over my life.

I read again and again in parent accounts about children with autism being distressed by disruptions in routine. In Hollywood, this was also depicted in the movie Rainman ( I get my boxer shorts at K-Mart in Cincinnati...Gotta get my boxer shorts at K-Mart.). I didn't really realize how true this was of me until recently. While I am not so rigidly controlled by my routines (I can get my underwear from anywhere - and even can get different brands/styles!!!), from time to time I am startled by how disruptions in my routine throw me off balance, as "semi-normal" as I like to think myself at times.

I find that I rely on routines to get through specific tasks. I do the same tasks the same way each time. When I vary, it screws me up.

As a child, my parents drummed into me that you lock your car door when you leave a car. It became such an ingrained habit, that I found I could not break myself of it. When I first began to drive, it caused me major headaches. I was not used to being the person with the keys, so until I was able to modify my routine to include removing the keys from the ignition, and putting them in my purse, I repeatedly locked my keys in the car. To the point that I felt stupid. I'd be out at a gas station, store, or whatever, and someone would have to come out and rescue me with a spare key.

Fortunately, I've long since tackled that issue, but there are still times when I frighten myself. I've learned that I cannot leave the kitchen if anything is cooking - no matter how short a time I think it will be. My tunnel vision will soon move to whatever is of most interest wherever that may be, then I turn around and find that I've completely forgotten the water boiling, or the food cooking on the stove. More than once I've let water boil out on the stove, thanks to the grace of God, I have not set anything on fire, or severely damaged anything.

Members of my family that are not like me don't quite understand why I am like this. Why I must remain glued to a specific task until completion...They ask, can't you do other things while you're doing laundry? Why do you always turn on the turn signal when you turn (even when you're in a deserted parking lot or on private property with no one around)? Why do you automatically lock the door, when you may only be going into the yard? It's like Rainman's "the light says 'Don't Walk.'" I just have to follow that routine - sometimes to the point that it doesn't make sense, because it's not easy for me to make exceptions. If I start making exceptions, I'm afraid I'll forget to do it when it's most important. It makes me feel moronic, but it's a reality of how I live.

Get me sleepy, it's even worse. When I am not fully awake, I rely on routines even more. Problem is that at this point they are on autopilot. The smallest disruption can throw me off.

The funny thing is how this can drive even further coping behaviors. Some people suggests some people with Aspergers border on OCD, or have co-morbid OCD. For me, in reality, I think it's coping mechanisms that ape OCD.

For example, I'm tired, not quite awake. I go through my "Leaving the House" routine on autopilot. I forget my "snapshot" or "checking" step (when I stop and take a mental "snapshot" to verify that the door is closed before putting the car in gear, and on the way down the road). I get halfway down the road, and I don't have my mental snapshot of the closed door to ensure me that my routine was completed successfully. Almost always it has, but there is always the chance that something threw me off, and I skipped a step. So now I have a niggling doubt - did I close the door?

So now, what do I do? Do I trust my routine (as I can't trust my memory)? Or do I turn around and "check"? Then come the other steps that I find the doubts about...did I shut off the water, or unplug the heating pad or shutoff the appliances....? How often do I check?

There have been times when this "checking" compulsion became troublesome. When each day when I left the house, some niggling doubt would raise its head, requiring me to go back and "check." And each day, I was leaving for work more than once, because in order to feel secure, I had to go back and "check" to make sure that my routine had been succesful. It began to curtail my life.

So, lately, I've disciplined myself to say no to the impulse to check. Sometimes it's painful - but I make sure that I slow down to be more mindful to the process and I trust that.

Fortunately, I'm able to limit this to my home for the most part. At work, I have developed tools to help keep me on track. As I have an office job, I don't have to wander far. I make extensive use of Outlook Calendar and all its reminder tools, and it does well for me. I find myself wishing for something similar in my home life. If I had a "brain aid" such as this, that I could wear on me as I walk around the house, that I could set to remind myself of things, I think it would be a great help.

On all these technology shows, I see the features showing the future networked house, with to do lists and other tools worked into the house itself, with screens everywhere to interact. Oooh, don't I dream of that house. Until then, I find myself trolling "assistive technology" sites to see what options are available that are better than what I already have. I can just hear it now - Majel Barret's voice - "Laundry complete - transfer to dryer now!"

Adults/Women With Asperger's - The Good and Bad

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Sat, 25 Aug 2007 03:08:00 +0000

For those of us who have made it to adulthood, it can be very difficult to find valuable information on Asperger's and autism. Even more so for women - which is why I was glad to come across this article in Psychology today. Although I have an issue with the title (The Girl With a Boy's Brain) , which refers to Simon Baron Cohen's theory that autism is essentially an "extreme male brain," the article does a very good job of profiling a woman with AS.

As a female with AS myself, I do NOT consider myself masculine in any sense, and I don't think that the description of the young woman in the article does either. While we may be more likely to systematize, I don't feel that necessarily makes us "male."

As a child, I had plenty of interest in playing princess, looking pretty, and all the "girl" things... I enjoyed playing with my tea sets and dolls - but in a less than typical way. Too often, it seems like people want to put people in a box - if you don't fall into the "girl" box, then you must fit into the "boy" box.

I think many women with AS fall somewhere in between. Like many other girls with AS, I was drawn to people, but I related to them in an unusual way. I would either make friends with children much older or much younger, or I would have more friends of the opposite sex than was typical. All this was a way of coping with my limitations - older kids were more mature, and typically more capable of patience (especially the girls who sometimes had tendencies to "mother" younger girls), or younger kids who were more equal in terms of emotional/social development. Having boys as friends was also easier than girls, because boys are more straight forward than girls - they say what they mean, and mean what they say. There was less in the way of "playground politics" with the male set.

As with the girl described in the article, I have always been very "feminine" - I enjoy wearing pretty dresses, makeup, and so forth. At one point, I dreamed of being a model. However, I can identify with the description given in the article -

"A clothing maven, she's fashionably put together in chunky jewelry and a black minidress with billowing sleeves. But she'd rather stay home with those cardboard pieces than dress up for a night out. She's pretty—slender and pale, with innocently round eyes and long brown hair—and yet she's never had a boyfriend. Though smart enough to have earned herself a spot in a top neuroscience program, she often gets lost in her own neighborhood. "

This was me for a lot of years.

Everything described in the article is dead on for me, except the part about "manufacturing emotions." I have never had that issue - while I can disconnect emotions at weird times, usually my emotions are on overdrive. I've always felt too much. I love deeply and hard. I long for connection. I feel failure deeply and keenly. This makes it particularly hard, as my disabilities often cause problems with this. Often times, I find myself obsessing over something, and compulsively talking. I know that it's causing issues, but I feel compelled to do it. I'm not even sure why. As it's said in the article -"There are so many situations where I'm talking to somebody and I can tell they've lost interest," she says. "A lot of times I'm not sure what I did."

I, too, have always "consistently had at least one close confidante" - although often this became way too intense. The problem with "one close confidante" - is that when that person fails you, gets sick of you, or hurts you, you have no one else. As a kid, this happened to me more than once with my "best friend" at the time. Humans are humans, and they make mistakes, have bad judgement, and simply just do stuff to hurt other humans. It's just in our nature.

This was the biggest hurdle for me - I would fall into deep depressions when my latest friendship would end. I would feel desolate and alone. I would get angry. I would rage. Why couldn't I keep a relationship? Why couldn't people like me/love me? Why did I struggle so? Why did I try so hard, only to be rejected?

As for a love of animals, this is certainly true of me and my family. My stepfather was obsessed with his pet cats. We always had a full menagerie, and it would seem sometime he loved them more than the people in his life. This worked, though, because my mother was just as into animals.

When I was young, my parents bought me a dog. I adored this dog - and before long, I was obsessed with the fear that I would lose her and she would die. I would lay in bed at night, praying over and and over again, that she would never die or that if she did, we would die at the same time and be buried next to each other. My father and I took her everywhere, and I didn't believe I could ever live without her...

When my father told me he was going to give her to some friends of the family who had been watching her for us, I freaked. Even though I had not seen her for months, I could not bear the idea that she would not be "with me" even if not physically. She had to be my dog - so my parents found a way for her to live with one of them, so she would always be around.

Miraculously, she lived into my adulthood - in excellent health. The vets were mystified. Then, one day, she just wasn't herself, and by the afternoon, she had dropped dead. I was absolutely torn apart - I sat for hours listening to "buddy" songs on the stereo, and crying because my best friend was gone.

Anyway, I'm wandering a bit. It's good to see such a straight-forward profile of a successful aspie woman. In contrast - I was very disappointed in USAToday's recent article on adults with Asperger's - view my response on the ASD Blog. Has anybody else read this article?

Lessons from Gandhi

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Fri, 27 Jul 2007 03:08:00 +0000

From the time I was young, one of my biggest source of shame has been my difficulty at times with verbal communications. While at some times, words come easily (and sometimes ceaselessly, as others have told me), other times my brain simply stops. I know what I want to say, but am unable to get my mouth to form the words. At these times, I either freeze or find myself repeating the same word over and over and over again, as if to gain the momentum I need to get over the wall that had has suddenly appeared between my brain and my mouth.

In fact, on of my earliest memories is of my mother making by jump out of my skin by grabbing my arms, looking me in the face and saying, "Spit it out!" I was completely humiliated by this, but I simply couldn't help it. I just couldn't make my mouth work. And stress seemed to make it worse. Today, I've gotten very good at gestures. Frequently at work someone runs by quick and says something to me that requires a quick response. Knowing I won't be able to form the answer in time, I find myself using the "thumbs up" sign a lot. Or nodding. It works. I don't think even my family knows how frequently this is used because of necessity, rather than choice.

Contributing to all this are my difficulties with the rules of social discourse/conversation. Even when my impediment is not acting up, I often find myself lagging behind others in conversations. By the time I formulate what I want to say, the conversation moves on to something else.

As I get older, I find I have more fun that gets tossed into the mix. Now, sometimes, I find that I can get the words out, but the words I think I'm saying and words that come out are completely different. Sometimes it's as glaring as saying "basket" for "steak." Other times it's more subtle. I don't always know that I've done it until someone else tells me. I've ordered at restaurants, had the wrong thing come back, and when I question the order, I am told that that is what I did order. The other day, I told someone that I had had "Life Magazine" for breakfast!

Anyway, when I was younger, I was deeply embarrassed by all of this, by how much I struggled to get the right words out. I used to tell myself I was stupid. But nowadays, I realize it's just part of being me, and I just have to learn to go with it, laugh with it.

For many years, I have been a great admirer of Gandhi - in fact, since I saw Richard Attenborough's award winning movie about his life. Watching the story of how he single mindedly pursued truth was inspiring to me. A single man, brings down such a mighty empire, simply by refusing to give in to what he knows is unjust, no matter what it costs him (and it cost him a lot).

I found a lot of commonality in his story. His razor sharp focus on what interested him. His absolute resoluteness in his beliefs. His constant seeking of truth.

As it is with all of my pet interests, seeing this movie drove me to read everything I could find on the Mahatma. What I was quite shocked upon finding, was that the Mahatma had some very similar problems as I had. In his autobiography, he wrote, "...when I paid a social call, the presence of half a dozen or more people would strike me dumb...It was impossible for me to speak impromptu. I hesitated whenever I had to face strange audiences and avoided making a speech whenever I could. Even today I do not think I could or would even be inclined to keep a meeting of friends engaged in idle talk."

I found this extremely comforting. If a man, who has become a world icon, who spoke in front of millions, who accomplished what Gandhi did, struggled the same as me - what did that say about what I could do?

Further on in the autobiography he wrote, "I must say that, beyond occasionally exposing me to laugher, my constitutional shyness has been no disadvantage whatsoever. In fact I can see that, on the contrary, it has been all to my advantage. My hesitancy in speech, which was once an annoyance, is now a pleasure. Its greatest benefit has been that it has taught me the economy of words...a thoughtless word hardly ever escapes my tongue or pen. I do not recollect ever having had to regret anything in my speech or writing. I have thus been spared many a mishap and waste of time...A man of few words will rarely be thoughtless in his speech; he will measure every word."

Whenever I catch myself beating myself up over my awkwardness of speech, having a "Damn, I should have said...." moment, I think of this. I remember that I don't have to take back words I don't say. Although it's uncomfortable, frustrating, and makes me feel different than the rest of the world, I take comfort. If Gandhi felt that hesitancy of speech and constitutional shyness was "no disadvantage whatsoever" in his life, how can it possibly be in mine? If he could accomplish what he did while having these issues, what excuse do I have to let it hold me back?

The Dichotomy of Being Aspie

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Fri, 25 May 2007 03:10:00 +0000

It's strange the more I think about it, the more I realize what a dichotomy being aspie can be. Gifted in some areas, very curtailed in others.

Until discovering asperger's, I never really realized it - but all of my life I have lived far ahead one one hand, and far behind in another. As a kid, adults thought I was "so smart" because I talked like a little adult, a "little professor," yet I was always the last of my age group to develop.

I sucked my thumb until I was seven (thank God for orthodontics). I was the last to give up the "baby stuff," then the "kid stuff." When other kids my age wanted to go check out the movie with the "hot guy" in it, I wanted to go see the latest cartoon. In high school, when all my friends were really serious about guys - I could still take them or leave them.

I had crushes, but it was still on the more platonic level. Like the early years when most kids start to notice the opposite sex, but really have no sense of what to do about it yet... I didn't really get into boys until about my senior year of high school, but I now realize that my skills in this area were that of a person much, much younger.

On the other hand, from a very young age I was recognized as gifted. I could draw, paint, sculpt, and write. When they started testing, I was found to have linguistic skills four years above my peers. Other smart kids at school called me "brilliant."

I took the SAT at 12, and did better than some high school seniors. I competed in academic contest after academic contest and always placed first or second. I used to spend time talking to my parents' highly schooled friends about obscure mathematical conundrums, that other people would roll their eyes at.

Today, I still have many areas where I am very able - computers, programming, processes. I'm still creative and can write. But I also still have the gaps - which at some times can be overwhelming.

Looking back on my history, I still find it hard to see why my developmental delays were not blindingly obvious to those around me growing up. Now it's very clear to me that I was always several years behind my peers. My parents knew I was different, but I think they just thought it was eccentricity - I don't think they thought much above it.

I'm still a little odd, but the biggest fight I fight today is to "act normal." To be successful in things that others take for granted. This evening I was watching the 1989 film, "My Left Foot," with Daniel Day Lewis. In it, the character, Christy Brown, an extremely talented artist, poet and author born with Cerebral Palsy, goes through extensive speech therapy...simply in order to be understood. To be able to articulate and share his thoughts, and his world with the outside world.

Being aspie is like that. Just as people take speaking for granted, so do they take for granted social and executive skills. Time and time again people say, "Just do this" or "Just do that," but it's never that simple. There are always details that they leave out, because it wouldn't even think of them consciously. What they don't tell you is the basics. What aspies really need to know.

The think you're just being difficult if you ask, "What if this happens?" or "What if that happens?" or "What if they say this or that?" What they don't understand is that you're not saying "I can't because they might say this" or "I don't want to do it because this or that might happen." You really want to know. You really need to know how to react to those situations. You need to map out the next step. They wouldn't, because they would just know.

How is it that we were created to be so gifted, yet we are so challenged at the same time? Sometimes, it doesn't feel fair. You feel like your life is nothing but struggle. It becomes way too tiring - but as I watched the movie this evening, I realized that there are a lot of us out there that have similar challenges. Whether it's struggling to physically speak, or struggling to interact, sometimes it takes painstaking work for some of us to get even halfway to "normal."

That's OK. For whatever reason, that's how we were created. The irony is that sometimes when the struggle drains us, others judge us as having a weak spirit. They think we haven't "suffered enough." That if we would just "toughen up" we'd be fine. Because they view these things as so little, so mundane, so every day, they don't understand why they are such a problem for you. Why they tire you so.

If we weren't gifted, if we were just a little more impaired, our struggle would be more obvious. It would almost be easier. It's almost as if the better we do, the harder people are on you. The more people forget or don't register our challenges. If we had to obviously struggle to speak, or some other physical manifestation - people might be more understanding. I'd like to ask even one of these people to live a day in our bodies, with our minds. To have to reason out even the most basic of social situations.

We are struggling to make ourselves heard. It's hard work sometimes. It's not always fair the amount of work it takes for us - but don't let anyone tell you that you're weak. If they minimize your struggles, know that you are being made stronger each and every day. As we go through our "speech therapy" we do make progress. It's easy to be hard on ourselves that we have to work so hard just to make a slight bit of progress, but that make the effort all the more valuable.

While intellect may be easier for the aspie, we have to learn that it can't all be easy. In a way, I think early learning sets us up for difficulties later. Because if, as an aspie, you excelled it rote work (which seems to be most mainstream schools' stock in trade), intellectual pursuits, or school in general (minus the social aspect), it can because very hard to accept that what others view as "easy" is hard for you. You get used to being "the smart one" - getting attention for those aspie "islets of talent." How can you then switch the side of being impaired? To feel "stupid" compared to others? Perhaps it's the price we pay to develop uncommon strength...to be uncommon.

Uncommon. At the very least, no on can argue that we are not that.

I Have A Dream

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 04:04:00 +0000

I have a dream, that someday, there will be a place where all aspies can feel comfortable.

I have a dream that there will be a place, where people will be judged by who they are, and what they can do, rather than how well they can "play the game."

I have a dream that one day, we will all find our place, our niche.

I have a dream that we will be recognized for our value to this world, and all we bring to it.

I have a dream.

Let's make it happen.

Let's make a world where aspies can be comfortable.

Let's start our own companies, where we can all be judged by our abilities, not "fluff."

Let's make our own place in the world, our own niche.

Let's all recognize each other, and ourselves, to never forget our value to this world, and all we bring to it.

We are worth more than the distant judgments of people who do not understand. We were made for a purpose, a unique purpose. Never forget it, no matter how hard it may seem at times, never rest until you've discovered it.

Only when we all do this, can we forge a place for us aspies in the world. We are the iconoclast, free thinkers, visionaries, geniuses, and eccentrics. We bring spice, brilliance, and innovation to the world.

Ever honest, ever fair. Loyal to a fault. Trusting. Believing. Uniquely talented, in ways no average person could be.

We bring a wealth of wondrous talent to the world. Free to be us. Free to do what we do, how we do it best. Let's charge forward, to live our potential, make our own way! Mold the world!!

Bad Day

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Wed, 18 Oct 2006 03:35:00 +0000

Bad day. Bad week. Don't you ever wish you could just live like the people in the Star Trek world? "We work to better ourselves..."

It's so frustrating! You pour yourself into something, and your opinion isn't given any more consideration than a snail's. Your ideas. Your work. Somehow, frustration is your problem.

I know things usually work out, but it's difficult being different in the clone world of the corporate. Why don't they recognize unique mixes of ability?

Not everyone is cut out to traipse all over the country, manage a staff of people, etc. I so admire the companies (especially the tech companies) that have learned this and created alternate career paths for those who don't feel that management is their bag.

I wonder how many aspies have fallen comfortably into the "typical career path" of Corporate America. I'm guessing not a ton.

Anyway, I'm leaning ever harder on faith. I know that things will work out, given time. It always has...but it always takes longer than I want it to. I wonder if this is a universal law?

House

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Wed, 27 Sep 2006 03:03:00 +0000

We all love watching people who remind us of ourselves. Long before I realized I was on the spectrum, I found myself drawn to characters autistic characters, or characters with aspie-like tendencies.

From day one, I identified with Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation - only now do I get why. And, of course, Grissom on CSI - the quirky scientist that collects bugs. At a time when everyone else around me was saying "Kmart sucks," mocking Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man, I found myself trolling the library for anything I could find on autistic savants. I recognized something of him in myself, but I couldn't put a specific finger on what.

My latest kick is House, MD on Fox. Granted, it's a medical show, and I love medical shows, but the biggest thing a get a kick out of is how aspie Greg House is. The ascerbic things he says. The mannerisms. The decidedly aspie way of thinking.

Most times, aspie-ish characters on TV and in movies are pitiable. What I love about House is that it shows, unapologetically, the brilliance of an asperger mind. I recognize, so clearly, why it is why only House solves the problems that he does. The confluence of patterns that only converge in the aspie mind. The dictionary of esoteric knowledge.

Of course, like all Hollywood portrayals - it strays way outside the realm of credibility. In real life, House would have been fired several times over. Yet, you want to cheer for the the fact that he is who he is, he does what he does and is accepted, curmudgeonly quirks and all.

To many times, in the wider world, the stark honesty of the aspie means certain downfall. In today's episode, House talks about how envious he is of the severely autistic child he's treating, because the child is free of the expectations to respect vapid social niceties. (After his little speech about this, I could hear aspies around the world yelling, "Yeah! Alright!") He talks about the "box" that society puts around people and calls "normal." Of course, in reality, such a blunt speach would probably relegate House to cleaning the back rooms of the hospital, as far from patients as possible.

In today's episode, they showed House interacting with an autistic patient. The doctors and parents are trying to forcibly calm the boy down to anesthetize him, and he's struggling in terror. In comes House - despite all his faults, he's the only one who can calm the child down. How? By demonstrating what is expected - putting on the mask himself so the kid can see what it's about, then putting it on the child.

The rest of the people in the room fall silent. The parents think it's a miracle. Of course, House is bluntly less than diplomatic about it. The other doctors stand openmouthed. To the "normal" people, he comes off as insensitive...but he's sensitive to the autistic kid's distress. He gets it.

I found myself thinking - "DUH! The kid doesn't understand what they're doing. That's why he's so afraid. All he knows is they're trying to force some scary thing onto his face, and he's on overload. Strange people touching him. Not helping him to understand what's going on. What House does is so simple, and straight forward. He shows the kid there's nothing to fear. He helps the kid to understand the function of the thing they're trying to stick on his face, and show him what is expected. Ease his anxiety. Why didn't any of the rest of them think of it? "

In today's episode they actually said it. Another doctor actually suggested that House might have Asperger's and wanted to help the autistic kid because he identified with the kid. (Of course he recants it to House himself.) I was loving it. Finally, an aspie character that's more than a pitiable geek with no purpose in life. However unpolished (and maybe even a little tortured) he may be, House is respected by his coworkers, and they care about him (in their own way). They look to him for his skills and mind, not his ability to flim flam...

I hesitate to call House a hero (maybe an anti-hero), but it's refreshing to see an aspie as a lead character in a popular show. AND represented in such a way that he has a life, and a respected career. No, he's not all soft and cuddly...but he makes a difference. That's awesome!

When There Is Darkness, Seek The Light

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Tue, 12 Sep 2006 03:24:00 +0000

In any person's life, there will be dark times. In any person's life, there will be times when the darkness threatens to take over, and there seems no light anywhere.

An aspie's life can feel desparately lonely at times. You can feel like no one in this world understands you or why you are the way you are. You can feel like everyone, even those you most love, are judging you, leaving you feeling not enough. It can feel sometimes, that the energy required in dealing with the world, can seem too great.

When this happens, seek the light. Know that it is out there. When you feel out of place. Seek the light. When you feel all alone. Seek the light. When you feel like you've no place in this life. Seek the light. When you feel tired, exhausted. Seek the light.

When you feel not enough, remember all the things you do well. Think of a time that someone told you how amazing you were. Think of a time when you realized that you did something great - that you had a talent. Think of the positive.

There is good in any situation - just look for it....

Don't Ever Lose Faith

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Tue, 25 Jul 2006 04:01:00 +0000

When I think about the worst mistakes that I have made in my life, there’s one common thread. The trouble came with a loss of faith. A despair. A feeling that “this is horrible, it is never going to change, and I will just suffer. I might as well give up and face it.”

But, you know what? Things did change…just not on my schedule. By being impatient for change, by deciding that since it hadn’t happened on my time schedule, it wouldn’t happen at all, I created additional suffering for myself, and I jeopardized the very things that I was longing for. In fact, created suffering in my life and others’ lives which still lives on.

We don’t always know what will happen. We don’t always understand the time frame when things will happen. But don’t lose faith. Things can get dark, like you’re lost in a cave with no way out. In the moment, you might not be able to see the way out.

Looking back on my life now, I realize that times which I felt this way, it passed. I couldn’t see it ever changing, but it did, in time. I struggled. I worried. I wanted to give up. But I held on. If you’re feeling this way, don’t give up. Hold on. It will pass. We all have a purpose. We all have our gifts. We might not even realize what they are, but they are there.

As I’ve mentioned before, faith is important. Everything good that I have done in my life came from faith. Every relationship that I value. Every break I’ve had in life. Without faith, I wouldn’t be here blogging today. We don’t realize the value that faith has until we let it go and see the chaos and pain that ensues. Don’t let go. Don’t learn it the hard way!

Faith = hope. Don’t ever let yourself let go of hope!

Focus on Your Cans

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Sat, 15 Jul 2006 02:06:00 +0000

When you're aspie, it can be easy to focus on can'ts: I can't do this, I can't do that. Most of my life, I talked myself out of things with can'ts. I can't do that - my social skills aren't good enough. I can't do that - I'd be too embarrased by my speech impediment. Can't, can't, can't... Not only is this limiting, it just makes you feel lousy. How can you feel good about yourself, when you've already decided that you will fail?

What I have learned, lately, is that success comes when you focus on your cans. What can you do? What can you learn? Focusing on can'ts only focuses you on the problem. Start from the realm of possibility. When you focus on the realm of possibility, you find that you can do far more than you ever thought that you could!

Don't believe me? Search the web - look at the lists of historical figures who probably had AS. Then check out the list of those who are alleged to have it now. I've read that Bill Gates probably is aspie. Do you think he got where he is by saying, "But I can't do this...."? What about Thomas Jefferson? Einstein? Thomas Edison? Isaac Newton? Do you think they focused on can'ts? Think Dan Ackroyd got to Hollywood by saying, "No, I can't?"

Don't capitulate to can't-ism!

Faith

noreply@blogger.com (aspieprincess) — Fri, 28 Apr 2006 03:08:00 +0000

It's amazing how such a small word can be such a big challenge. But it is.

Faith.

It's a challenge for anyone, but for an aspie even more so.

How do you have faith in others when you can't read their intentions, when you've been disappointed before?

How do you have faith in yourself when you know your limitations, when you've failed before?

How do you have faith that everything will work out alright, when you feel completely at a loss as to what to do.

It's amazing how it can be be such a challenge.

But it's so important.

How can you interact with others, build relationships, if you don't have faith in others?

How can you be successful in anything, if you don't have faith that you can do it?

I struggle with this every day...though I wish I didn't. Sometimes the world can be so overwhelming. The ins and outs...the politics of life. It's easy to worry all the time.

Did I do that right? How did I come off? Did I take the right tone? Did I say the right thing?

Everything can be a worry. But, in the end, does it really help? Worrying can make the problems worse. No one is at their peak when they're psyched out. And that's what worrying does. Psyches you out.

There's a place for planning. There's a place for running things through. But when you are, as many aspies are, obsessive, "running things through" can quickly become destructive, and you've worried yourself into trouble.

A few weeks ago, I was asked to get up and do a presentation in front of the entire department - 50+ people, I'd guess. I'd never done a presentation before, even in front of a small group. I was up all night in a cold sweat, praying it would go alright. When morning came, I was oddly at peace. At a certain point, I guess I had just decided I couldn't worry any more.

When the time came, I went up to the front of the room, pinned my microphone on, and went to it. It seemed to have worked! Many people walked up to me afterward, and told me I did a good job - not even one criticism. Someone even called me a "natural" speaker....(thank God for my Theatre teachers)!

So what was my worry for? Why was I up all night? What good did it do?

All I needed was faith. Faith that I'd figure out a way. Faith that I could do it. Faith that I wouldn't trip on the way up to the podium. Faith that the words would come, and I wouldn't seize up or stutter. Faith, that even if I messed up, I'd learn something from it.

There's nothing more comforting in life than faith.

We aspies need faith more than anyone. We need tenacity, focus, to get through every day. How would we get up each morning, if we didn't have faith that we'd make it through the day?

So, have faith all of you out there. Even when life looks insurmountable. You can do it. You can overcome. Just keep tackling it. Keep going for it. We can do anything we set our mind to, if have faith in ourselves. Never settle for less.