Sensory Stuff

Our Autistic Expression

How did a Transformers movie help me to understand that I am neurodivergent, and put to rest an oft-voiced complaint about me in social settings? Read on to learn this, and other aspects of our sensory experience, in the latest edition of the ongoing series Our Autistic Expression.

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Because of our late diagnoses, and our tendency to ask innumerable questions about ourselves and about the world, once we both understood that we might be neurodivergent, we sought out indices of our own behaviors (and experiences, tendencies, thoughts, etc) for comparison. As anyone in a similar position will understand, we are endlessly self-aware and search for causal chains for logical explanations. We sought the wisdom of anecdotal experience, alongside reading mountains of evidence-based clinical research and white papers on neurodivergence & autistic expression.

Sensory processing is of great focus in both personal and scientific research. I had never considered my own sensory processing as unusual or atypical, and what I read forced me to think much more deeply.

A dawning moment that I was assuredly on the spectrum was sensory in nature, a realization as epic as the intent of the Michael Bay movie on which it centered. That a Transformers movie should be the catalyst for my self-awareness is both fitting and humorous.

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Like many, I often went to the movies, prior to the streaming age. I always enjoyed the experience but could hardly remember what I’d seen afterward. I couldn’t recall plot details or character names. I had always attributed this to my mind fixating on details it found more pressing – the choices the set designer made, how the composer created suspense, etc.

Despite my inability to nap (lifelong inability, you can ask my mom) and my inability to fall asleep in public, or sleep sitting up, during the biggest action movies, I always fell asleep. No matter how much I’d looked forward to seeing the movie, no matter how important it was to me that I remain awake, 30 to 45 minutes in I was dozing. I never made the conscious decision to close my eyes, never felt bored, tired, or disinterested, and yet, again and again, inexplicably, I was told by those accompanying me, “You passed out,” “You fell asleep,” “You were out like a light,” etc.

And just as inexplicably, I’d awaken during the credits. Star Wars episode 4 is my first recollection of this happening, but many people found that movie boring (sorry fans), so it didn’t surprise me. It happened again during action-adventure movies, most notably during one of the Transformers movies. (I really don’t know which one.)

I was sitting in the theater, excited and impressed by the intense special effects, digital art having come so far in such a short time. It was a magnificent take on the toys I coveted from the boys’ toy aisle as a child in the early 90s.

No less than 10 minutes into the movie, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open, despite the double espresso I’d had an hour before. I fought the sleepiness as long as I could. My body rattled and my skin buzzed from the voluminous surround sound, literally shaking and thumping along with every footstep and every collision. My body pulsed chaotically, deep in my muscles, entirely out of my control. My eyes grew heavier as the bright, colorful, highly pixelated action sequences penetrated my retinae. The last thing I remember before “falling asleep” was the sensation that my heart was going to race itself right out of my rib cage.

At the roll of the credits, my eyes popped open and I was awake. My skin no longer trembled. My muscles twinged, like I’d run a mile without stretching first, but otherwise I felt nothing but shame. The person I was with, someone I was dating at the time, was furious with me afterward. He’d spent money on these tickets, after all, and the least I could have done was tell him I wasn’t interested in seeing it. I had no way of explaining – I was interested!

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With the understanding that I might be neurodivergent, a decade later, this was the first experience that came to mind. I hadn’t been falling asleep out of boredom or exhaustion. And I wasn’t “waking up” at the credits because I sensed people moving around or heard the end roll in my sleep.

I was blacking out from something the community refers to as sensory overload.

The intensity of movies with rising action, incredibly loud sounds, and flashing, colorful images were literally overloading my body’s ability to keep track of all of the sensations it was experiencing. My body was overwhelmed with the inability to turn down or tune out the noise, so to speak. Consciousness requires a lot of neurological resources, and my body’s tendency in these rare and extreme situations was to conserve resources, by shutting down awareness and running on autopilot.

I was waking up at the credit roll because I was never really asleep. I was experiencing the entire movie without consciously having to process all of my sensations. The moment the sensory experience dulled, the light switch flipped, and I was ‘awake’ again, consciousness returned to me.

Likely, my inability to remember any movie is a facet of this as well. Storing anything in short-term memory takes resources too. I like the analogy of a computer’s RAM, or Random Access Memory. If all of my processing power is being used to touch base with my skin, muscles, sights, sounds, etc., then likely the resources (or RAM) available to also catalog memories during these moments is slim.

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I have no proof of this other than that of my own experiences. I don’t know if there would be a safe way to prove it. Now I just avoid Michael Bay movies and most of the trouble in this particular regard has subsided.

My desire to KNOW was strong and had been powerful in the past. Did my awareness of the issue remove the sensitivity? I wished to go willingly into the belly of the beast once more, having gained this knowledge, trying desperately to know myself.

I chose a 4D action movie, which purported to be a sequel to one of my favorite movies, starring Tom Cruise. (It was not a sequel.) In the 4D theater, the seats move to replicate the character’s experience on scene. If a character falls, the chair bumps. If a character leans over a railing, the chair tilts forward. Scents and sprays are directed at the audience to enliven the experience further. I figured, it may not be Michael Bay, but if I’m right and this is actually sensory overload, the added scents, smells, and movement should make up for the loud (if not abnormally loud) sounds and vivid (if not entirely digitally wonderous) imagery.

The moment before I blacked out, my back was crawling with sensation as rats devoured Tom Cruise in a London alley.

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It isn’t just movies. Concerts are a special sort of shock as well. When I feel the bass in my chest and see the lights strobing, there’s a chance I’m a goner. I remember the first half of an AC/DC concert I attended, and then my date forcibly shaking me and lecturing me all the way out to the parking lot about the stupidity of over-imbibing. (I’d had 3 beers, not a drunken black-out’s worth, but seeing me black out, he’d assumed many more.)

Sensory overload is truly a difficult thing to understand if you haven’t experienced it for yourself. It isn’t a headache under a bright light or the grating shudder when hearing nails on the chalk board. It is the overwhelm of sensory input combined with the inability to process all of the data coming through.  And it is exhausting.

In my daily life, I don’t experience sensory overload very often, and I have since learned how to manage my environment in order to cope.

  • I avoid movie theaters generally, and the rise of big screen TV has made movies much more pleasant. When I sense a movie is “too much” (eg a horror movie with a lot of blood and suspense), I sit sideways and casually watch the movie askance.
  • My office and bedroom offer a variety of lighting options, to stimulate or relax sensations, but in general I prefer yellow light to bright white light.
  • I prefer dark paint to light paint, especially in relaxation settings.
  • I’m discerning about the clothing I wear, textures in particular, so that I’m not adding to my sensory load by feeling an itchy synthetic draw on my neck or hips. More about my fashion-related autistic expression here.
  • I sleep with a mask to darken the room, cover digital lights with black tape, and have replaced a noisy air conditioner for one with a quieter motor.
  • I keep gentle, pleasant smelling essential oil or lotion with me at all times, in case an outside smell is nauseating.
  • After a long day, I sit in the dark to recover, with no screens and no sounds, just something to hold my focus, like a sketchbook.
  • I take frequent walks in nature, which only ever relaxes me.
  • I avoid the beach and its vastness.
  • I seek out hugs or personal space when the needs arise.

There are rare times when I need to turn the lights up, the sound on, and create an environment rife with multiple inputs. I’m not entirely sensorially wimpy, so to speak.

The Scientist can never get enough sensory input. Curiously, like me, he really enjoys nature but for different reasons. Pathways among the trees provide an endless amount of visually stimulating textures, colors, and random variations; the outdoors wrap his other senses pleasantly as well. His ideal day is spent on death-defying rollercoasters in the sun with loud music blaring. After a long day, he needs an unfathomable (to me) amount (say, all the lights on, loud anime, a handheld video game, a heating pad, & a fizzy drink). As partners, this makes our living situation interesting, and at times, challenging.

As always, with verbal cues and self-awareness, we do our best to make it work and keep it working.

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About the Series

I am neurodivergent. Neurodivergent is more appropriate terminology than autistic, a term which derives from the Greek word autos meaning self, a term intended to imply isolation from social interaction. While the definition of autism has expanded over time, I feel it’s more flawed and divisive than not (as labels typically are). While I do still refer to myself as autistic on occasion, I’m much more likely to label my notable traits as autistic, as in “this skill or tendency sets me apart”, and to describe myself generally as divergent.

My partner, also neurodivergent, feels similarly. We were both diagnosed later in life, in our mid-late 20s, after running the gauntlet of other health and human service concerns and crossing the eventual “must be autism if it isn’t these other things” finish line. I wouldn’t wish either of our journeys toward diagnosis for anyone, years rife with stress, mislabeling, depression, psychosis, serious medical ailments, and general social othering. The medical and psychiatric communities have already begun to recognize neurodivergence earlier, and with more sincere gender blindness, to provide individuals with the tools, resources, and assistance they require. To “make it” in our society as a person who falls many standard deviations outside the expected average on related scales relies on an individualized approach to education and healthcare. (A much larger conversation for another day.)

Sincerely,

Sunshine

Of Www.sunshineandthescientist.com

Creator of Kid Lit Motivates: a fledgling business on Long Island providing customized educational resources from a unique perspective of education

Author of Maddie Steiner, Fashion Designer

For Them to Listen, You Need to Be Listening

A Plea for Child Carers, Rearers, and Engagers

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Scenario 1

I’m on the self-check-out line at the grocery store, waiting for a free machine. It’s busier than usual and a few of us wait our turn. A woman looks up from scanning a cartful of items and sees the line of customers backing up — she seems stressed, a bit frazzled, perhaps even a bit guilty for having so many items on a self-serve line. I maintain a placid look and browse the cookie display to my left.

I’m empathetic and I have no desire to rush her. She’s checking herself out, requiring her to scan and bag everything alone, all while keeping tabs on an imaginative 4-yr-old who is holding the cart with one hand and playing with a toy dinosaur with the other. He’s keeping himself occupied while she has a lot going on. No one else on the line behind me seems concerned either — there are two other machines that could free up at any moment. The other customers seems patient and unconcerned.

The dinosaur gallops across the register, across the scanner, and falls onto the weighted bagging surface. A robotic voice sounds: Please remove the unscanned item. And then the woman, with an actual finger pointed several inches from the kid’s face, grunts, “You’re not being a good listener!” He recoils in fear, eyes wide, silent, then snatches the dinosaur back and slides himself to the other side of the cart without ever losing contact.

I’m taken aback. In this scenario, what is a Good Listener? I’m an adult, and I have no idea what she’s talking about. Should he? 

Scenario 2

I’m at the shoe store, hoping to return a pair of $80 sandals I’d bought thinking they’d only cost $25. Ahead of me, next on line for the register, is a grandmother and a young boy, maybe five or six. The boy is asking questions about the sock display — Why do they have cats and no dogs? Nana, where are the kid socks? What are these for (pointing at the barely-there nylon toe covers)? 

All good questions. I’m wondering how I’d answer them as if he’d asked me. Maybe cats are more popular sellers, or dog socks have all sold out. Kid socks are probably over by kid shoes, or near the socks section — the register is just a sampling of the sock stock. And I have no idea what those stretchy nylon toe traps are for — they’ve never done anything for me except been annoying the for 10 minutes they were on my feet before I threw them across the room.

Nana is not answering any of his questions. She’s patently ignoring him, despite him being polite, deferential, and attentive. When she gets called to the register, she steps up, turns, and barks, “Get over here” and then not two seconds later, lunging and grabbing his wrist, “You’re not listening, come here, don’t move.” 

When was he supposed to move those three feet from the line to the register? How was he supposed to know he should be listening for her commands while she was ignoring his questions? How quickly was he supposed to “get” before being branded “not listening”?

Mind-boggled, I continue to watch as his affect falls from chipper and curious to dejected and sad. His arms have fallen lifelessly to his sides. His chin is on his chest. Still, a woman with a stack of shoe boxes brushes by him and he attentively steps backward to move out of the way. Nana, not seeing the woman, looks down, “That’s it, I said don’t move. You’re not listening, so no ice cream now.” His face wells up and he hurries to wipe away the tears, holding his breath and turning red. “Oh grow up,” says Nana, as she grabs his wrist to guide him out of the store. 

I fear for his potentially stunted emotional development and the tattered shards of a relationship he has with Nana. I hope there are other adults in his life who will answer questions, acknowledge his attentiveness, and support him.

Real Stories, Not Exaggerations

In my experience, those of us who are professionally trained and experienced working with kids are one of two ways: 

  1. Overly empathetic, attuned to all kids around us at all times, struggling not to butt in to parent-child interactions unless the most dire circumstances call for it, quick to make goofy eye contact or wave at toddlers, and quick to compliment a kid’s hat or shoes to put a smile on their face. It takes every ounce of strength for us in these scenarios to keep our mouths shut and mind our own business, only interjecting if something is clearly putting a child in harm’s way.
  2. Exhausted, overworked, and short-tempered, incapable of dealing with one more kid for one more minute especially when we’re off-the-clock, running scripts on autopilot and expecting more of our own kids than they could possibly perform. From a glance, the women from these scenarios seem to exist here. 

The grocery store and shoe store stories are true — happening just as I’ve described them. 

Both of those women were also educators — one wearing a shirt from a local school indicating such, the other brandishing a school ID for a discounted rate. This means they’ve been trained, presumably, to be on the lookout for these types of missteps. I find this the most appalling part of their stories — that they’ve entirely lost perspective, with their own children, and possibly with all children. 

They’re Doing Their Best

The women I’ve described may be the most patient, loving, attentive women most of the time — maybe just having off days. Maybe they were stressed, overworked, underpaid, receiving awful news, and having difficulty coping with the world we all inhabit. Maybe, after a long, dark, tense day full of harsh realities, they were really doing their best. Maybe they went home, apologized, and openly explained to their children that being an adult is challenging and that emotions, while a personal responsibility to control, are sometimes difficult to understand, even for adults who love their kids very much.

Maybe I’m being too generous. But maybe they really were doing their best.

To them, and others like them, I plead, the most important thing to remember, the kids were doing their best too. Neither kid was being malevolent, harmful, or intentionally troublesome. (Most kids aren’t.) They both seemed timid, not testing, after explosive commands. They both were minding themselves, attending, listening when they were chastised. 

Even on the worst day, it is the adult’s responsibility to retain, or regain, control — of themselves — first. If a child is not responding in the ‘proper’ way, the adult needs to reconsider exactly how appropriate ‘proper’ is, and how intentional ‘proper’ has been communicated. 

If something an adult is doing makes a child cry, shrink in terror, or freeze up, it is the adult’s responsibility to change the narrative. If they don’t, they’re the ones not listening.

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Listen, We’re Not Listening

As a culture, we need to get back to basics.

First off, what outward physical sign are we expecting to see when we tell a kid to Listen? Listening is an active event, but it’s mostly unobservable. 

To know for certain if a kid is listening, we see them follow directions or change their facial expression. Can a kid be listening without reacting? Listening without responding? Listening without changing their expression or action? Listening while playing, moving, looking away? Yes, absolutely, yes.

“Listen!” They are. They’re listening more than we know. Unless we tell them exactly what we want them to do, they can’t possibly show us they’re listening. They hear is all of the things that go unsaid. And they’re learning how to interact with people when they grow up, how to cope, how to communicate, and how to be an adult — from all the things we say and don’t say, and all the ways we say and don’t say them.

LISTEN! We’re building little humans here, one interaction at a time. 

Reaction Time and Space

In both scenarios, there was less than 2-seconds allotted for the child’s reaction, even when a direct command was given. “Behave, you’re not behaving, you’re punished for not behaving,” is a common trope among short-tempered caretakers. 

Under the age of 10–12, children are still learning to process language. This means, even if we speak slowly, kindly, and directly, it may take a literal minute for them to be able to fully understand that we’re asking them to react and what that reaction should be. 

If we’re speaking quickly, angrily, with complexity or with nuance, it takes even more time to process and react. Contrary to the beliefs of some, aggressively yelled commands are LESS LIKELY to be followed.

What does ‘behave’ mean to a child? What does ‘listen’ mean? What do we mean, ‘stand quietly next to me, don’t touch anything and when we get back to the car you can play with your toy?’ That’s a lot to process. What are they supposed to do immediately? What are we actually asking and why? Even if the child can follow, is there even a reason to command?

The first child NEVER took his hand off the shopping cart. That child was clearly following instructions that had been given earlier in the day or trained on previous shopping trips. He listened. If he had been instructed to keep his hands at his sides, touch nothing, be still, be invisible, he’d likely try his best at that too. He’s listening, but nothing is actually being asked.

The second child NEVER had a chance to act. He wasn’t listening for the cashier to call them forward, but why should he be? He wasn’t misbehaving by adult standards. He was standing still and not moving as directed. The assumption that he should grow up, or that he’s done something wrong — it’s damaging. He’s listening, and he had no way to succeed in this scenario. 

The more aggressively we respond to children, the more reserved they become in their reactions. It isn’t their responsibility to change the cycle.

Emotions Speak Louder than Words

While empathy is cognitively developing, for most kids, absorbing emotional affect is automatic. (For neurodiverse kids, this skill may develop later if at all.) 

So for most kids, no matter what WORDS they’re hearing, the accompanying EMOTION is translating more quickly. This is why reacting to a baby’s fall can bring tears or laughter — they respond to our affect in real time, before their own pain or pressure signals. Our reaction shows them how to interpret their internal signaling.

Until kids develop a clear sense of self in their preteen to teen years, they pick up and emote whatever the strongest influence in their current sphere is emoting — stress or elation, negativity or positivity. The assumption is often that once a kid can talk about how he feels, he’s capable of operating and interpreting his feelings independently all the time. Kids with verbal skills haven’t lost the tendency that babies have, to pair internal signals with an adults’ affect, but adults forget how powerful their affect can be.

If we are angry, upset, stressed, or otherwise not in a good way, kids are predisposed to mirroring that emotion. If we ignore them, kids are more likely to ignore us. If we approach with kindness and attentiveness, however, kids quickly turn it around. They’re natural mirrors. They can be expected to be as engaged or disengaged as the people who have the strongest influence over them. 

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What are we actually asking?

Stand here. Don’t touch anything. Walk this line. Don’t speak. Answer questions when I ask them. Move when I move. Keep your eyes forward. Stop asking questions. Stop your childlike sense of wonder and curiosity. Stop your imagination. Don’t play. Be a human doll until I ask you to respond, and then do as you’re trained, like a pet. 

This is what I hear when I hear adults say “You’re not listening.” 

Because “not listening” seems to entail a boatload of directions that kids are meant to intuit, deduce from the environment, or otherwise KNOW. 

For a kid to respond the way we’re hoping, we need to be clear, concise, calm, and compassionate. They haven’t learned the rules yet, but they are mostly hoping we’ll teach them. They WANT to do well. They just can’t intuit what you mean when you tell them they’re failing.

Realistic Expectations

We also need to get back to basics on what we expect from children at various ages and stages.

Can this kid ever stand totally still? Is that developmentally appropriate for a kid his age? 

Do we really want this kid to stop asking us questions? For how long? 

Is this kid, for the most part, being self-guided and following the expected rules? 

What do we really need this kid to do, right now? If they continue to play with their toy without causing too much of a stir, is that enough? 

Are we accounting for how loud, how bright, how distracting, how bustling, how much is going on at this store? Do we remember how fun or how stressful it was to be in a new place when we spent most of your time inside the same 3 places? Is it fair to request more of a kid who is striving to understand, interpret, interact, behave, and take it all in?

We need to choose our battles and maintain realistic expectations based on past behavior, developmental ability, and the environment we’re in. 

Path to Success

The best that we can do for kids is to set them up to succeed more often than we chastise them for failing. A confident, happy kid is more attentive and capable than a sad, self-conscious one. If setting them up for success is not viable, distracting them is better than getting upset. Here are some examples of things that could have been said in the given scenarios:

“Please play with your toy on the shopping cart. The scanner needs to be left alone.”

“I need your help counting all of the items that I put into this bag.

“You’ve kept your hands on the cart the whole time — that’s great! Can you keep your dinosaur on the cart too?” 

“I’m having a stressful day. Please keep listening for my directions. Thank you for helping me shop.”

“Please stay by my side and hold onto my shirt. You’ve been pretty close to me, but it would be better if you would stay closer.” 

“I love when you ask me questions, but I have a headache and can’t answer your questions now. If you remember, ask me later on.”

“When we’re in a store like this one, we need to pay really close attention to each other. Please follow my directions and stay close enough to touch me. I know I can depend on you to follow my directions. You are a great listener.”

“Can you count how many pieces of candy you can see? How many shoes? How many bottles of water? 

“Can you say the ABCs for me while I finish this transaction?” 

“When we leave the store, I’m going to ask you to name three of your favorite movies. Think about them now, and when I ask later, you can tell me about them.” 

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Every Interaction Guides Them

Kids learn and adapt quickly. The exceedingly neuroplastic nature of their brains makes rapid development possible, and also makes them sponges for change. 

If we find ourselves setting a poor tone, we are only an interaction or two away from fixing it, especially with very young ones. They look to us for guidance. We show them how to be. Should they communicate their needs or bark commands? Should they ask for help or demand it? Should they expect the impossible of those around them? They’ll only know how to do as we do.

If we’re able to objectively view ourselves and alter our own behavior, we help them develop in the ways we intend. We create a brighter world full of more empathetic, communicative, attentive individuals with self-awareness and emotional range. Isn’t that what we’re all striving for? 

To ID or Not ID, That is the Question

Part 2 of Our Autistic Expression

I’ve only just found out myself!’

If you’ve been searching for an answer that you finally possess, with whom do you share and why? Your acceptance at the table is not proof they are acknowledging you for your authentic self. Sometimes they prefer the mask.

For those who were not diagnosed when we were younger, who struggled with facets of our true selves that seemed at constant odds with the majority, and who wrestled with metaphysical questions or shrunk from the crowds, the later-in-life Autistic/Neurodivergent label was a breath of fresh air. Some of us had already mastered masking techniques to blend with our nondivergent peers and some had pursued professions which intentionally played up our uniqueness. This might have been at cost to our self-esteem, mental well-being, physical health, or financial stability. The autistic label helped us find community, inclusion, coping mechanisms, strategies, and ways to verbalize who we are, really. For me, it was the puzzle piece I’d been obsessed with finding, not a missing piece but an explanation.

Photo by Sigmund on Unsplash

I’ve identified as neurodivergent (or autistic, to match familiar vernacular) for 5 years, and in that time, I’ve seen such huge strides for those who are just like me, personally and socially. We may quibble over exactly what labels are most fitting, but it is undeniable how we’ve been benefitted and more openly free to find comfort in modern society. Women, in particular, are finding more of a community than ever before, as masked stand-offish “mean” girls come to terms with their nonconformist beings and are thereby more accepting of their nonconformist peers.

So the question then becomes, now that we carry this encompassing idea of who we are, at what point and for what reasons should we identify ourselves to others? In this second installment of Our Autistic Expression, I’ll discuss my rationalizations and the reactions I’ve received in return.

Photo by John Noonan on Unsplash

From pleasantly surprising to entirely misinformed, the responses I’ve heard have dictated the platform on which I currently stand.

Response 1: Like Minds

‘Are you like me?’

On our first date, after a few hours of an incredible, stimulating, and engaging conversation, my partner (the Scientist) and I sat with one another in awe. It was more than an instant connection — it was a mirroring energy and understanding.

“There’s one more thing I need to tell you,” the Scientist intoned. I was rapt. He could have spent the next hour explaining all of the cell organelles and their function, or describing the many burrito shops in his home town, or pitching his groundbreaking idea in materials engineering, and I would have been present for him entirely. “I’m neurodivergent and I’m different than most people.” He glanced at me sidelong awaiting my reaction, until I squealed, “Me too!”

The conversation that followed encompassed our categorical labels, the ways in which we feel different from average, and the respective searches we’d undertaken to find what fit. It bonded us in an incredibly deep way.

When we find people that we jive with, there’s a certain rhythm to the conversation and an unusually high level of acceptance for experiences and opinions. We identify because we want them to know us and interpret our intentions correctly, and in these instances, nearly always, they identify in return or reveal that they’re on a similar path.

We identify to acknowledge instantaneous acceptance among the like-minded and be known fully for who we are.

Photo by Dulcey Lima on Unsplash

Response 2: Clarity

‘I have so many questions. Someone I know is also autistic.’

Once I’ve identified, and hear this reaction, I’m open-minded to the questions at hand. Perhaps I’ll be able to enlighten this person or help them find common ground for an extended communication with their friend or loved one. Sometimes, ‘for a friend’, I’m really just helping them make peace within themselves. With the combination of my training, passionate pursuit of the subject, clinical experience, and self-awareness, I do feel qualified to answer questions or direct the person toward the information they need.

Recently, I was approached at a pop-up show by a woman in her 50s who was very interested in the social skills-based educational resources I create and the events the Scientist and I coordinate. I explained my perspective that typical and divergent children alike are not necessarily learning social skills in a translatable, accessible way. I’m on the spectrum, I explained, so I tend to have objectively different approaches to solving problems. Her eyes lit up and she responded, “That’s wonderful. I’m dating a man who’s autistic. We’ve only been together a few months, and I’ve learned so much, but I have so many questions. He’s still learning how to communicate what he needs and I’m learning how to listen to those needs.” I encouraged her to email me, outside of the brand and the merchandise, to initiate a conversation, in case I might be able to assist her further in any way.

We identify to build community with our neurotypical peers and help them to understand the cultural transition that is occurring.

Photo by Shane Rounce on Unsplash

Response 3: Disbelief

‘That’s not funny, and it’s really offensive to autistic people.’

Unfortunately, the outdated and traditionalist view of autism is that akin to definitions of incapacity, inability, and unsociability. The stereotypes of an autistic person being incapable of learning complex tasks or communicating in a typical way (either ‘high’ or ‘low’ functioning) have been challenging to break down. There are those who even still believe that autism should not be considered a spectrum at all, that it is a limited disability and not a wide-reaching subset of the population which requires and cultivates differences, individuals existing on the farthest points on some of the many bell curves of society’s averages. There are others who would happily put an autistic label on anyone if it meant funding their healthcare or developmental needs. The scope of misunderstanding is maddening.

When someone responds to my statement with disbelief or disgust, I do my best to maintain perspective. I always double down, explain that it was something I struggled to fully comprehend, something others noticed but couldn’t describe, a revelatory light bulb that burned brighter than nearly any other I’d experienced. “But you’re so…” something, they’ll say, and then I usually feel forced to describe my downtime and the kinds of constructs and boundaries required for me to maintain being “so…something”. I dislike being put in a position where I need to describe the downsides of metacognitive spin, catatonia, apathy, melting down, or cognitive rigidity. Even describing these things esoterically becomes a potential difficulty to surmount, but in my experience it’s the only way to inform a person that meets my truth with disbelief.

We identify to appropriately broaden the public’s understanding of autism, with knowing risk to our well-being.

Photo by Vlad Hilitanu on Unsplash

Response 4: Tone Shift to Ghost

‘I don’t know what to do with that.’

A disquieting silence or physical retraction is not uncommon upon hearing me identify. The tone may shift from pity to silence, as though whatever social connection was brewing before is now not worth continuing in light of the new evidence. There have been those who could not maintain a friendship once the identity was clear, once the masks were off. It’s typically when I am at my most comfortable, most free and open in someone’s presence, that they manifest distance and disappear. I am a lot — I am challenging, driven to succeed, held together by strict guidelines I set for myself alone, and prone to using comedic banter to fill the silence. I very rarely advocate for myself with direct, social confrontation. I’m a quick study and a terrifyingly good mimic, and it’s these traits among others that seem to put people off the fastest.

Photo by Martino Pietropoli on Unsplash

In these instances, we identify to communicate unusual or extraordinary needs, feelings, or experiences, and to ask for adaptation or patience. My actions might require an explanation, and when it’s given, it’s discarded along with my friendship. A hard truth to accept is true nonetheless, and a friend is only a friend if they can befriend the you beneath the surface.

Our Autistic Expression

For some people, I suspect increasingly more people, the urge to announce their neurodivergent nature is growing. For others, I’m sure the desire to remove all labels for fear of isolating or facing the misinformed masses is prominent.

I have wavered on when to tell who what — is it something I keep secret and let them figure out? Is it something I announce after the conversation turns in that direction, or after an uncomfortable moment that was brought on because of it? What will be the social cost to identify or not identify? Do I rely on the person seeing my social posting, my brand identity, or my blog in order to understand me fully? Will knowing I’m neurodivergent change anything about our interaction for the better? I don’t know, but I am thinking about it.

In the meantime, while I’m still fitting the pieces together and understanding my own meandering, I would only ask of you compassion, for myself and others like me. If someone identifies as autistic or neurodivergent, listen to what they’re saying and consider why they’re telling you. They may still be figuring it out too.

Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash

We’re all going to figure it out together.

Why We Play Pool Every Week

My partner and I are busy working professionals, working nine to five while cultivating side hustles, keeping house, landscaping, staying fit, eating healthfully, and raising cats. We’re Busy. And yet, just about every week, we make time to head down to the local pool hall and play a few games. It keeps our relationship strong.

Basic Rules

[Skip to the next heading if you’re familiar with the basics. Or read on to read as I summarize a rule book in a couple of paragraphs. ]

If you’ve never played pool before, I’m going to give an amateur description of the game play and rules. One person racks, which means sets up the balls. The rack is a triangle formation of 10 balls, the 8 ball being the most important to keep in the center position. The other person will break using a cue stick, meaning attempt to hit the white cue ball into this formation, hard enough break up the balls, but not so hard the cue ball flies off the table. If the breaker gets one in, they’re entitled to aim the cue ball toward any other ball other than the 8 toward any pocket (that’s the cup or hole where the ball falls.) If the breaker doesn’t get one in on the break, or if they do and miss their second shot, the table is Open.

The racking person now has a chance to hit the cue ball into any (not the 8) ball they like. Once either person makes a shot in after the break, they will either be stripes or solids (or high ball/low ball based on the numbers on the ball), depending on which they got in. The players take turns, shooting until they miss, until all of their solids or stripes are in. Once the colored balls are in, the player can shoot on the 8.

If one accidently moves a ball, accidently sinks the cue ball, or does a number of other things, that’s a scratch. Other person can put the cue where ever they want behind the starting line to start their turn. If the 8 ball goes in out of order, as in before all of the solids or all of the stripes are in, game over, that player loses. My partner and I also call our shots, so if the ball goes into a pocket we made by mistake or didn’t announce ahead of time, lose a turn. And if the 8 ball goes into a pocket we didn’t call, game over, that’s losing. And if a player sinks the cue while missing the shot on the 8, that’s ball-in-hand, meaning the other person can set up the cue anywhere they like. If the first player scratches while sinking the 8, that’s game over, and how statistically I beat my partner most nights.

That’s probably good enough for background.

Partners & Competitors

It’s a game you can play alone, but it strengthens the partnership.

One thing we have consistently found is that we are excellent partners in life. We divide the chores. We plan with consideration. He help and trust each other without question. We are able to support one another through nearly every difficulty, and one of us is always able to take the lead in difficult moments to get us to where we need to be.

But we’re also incredibly competitive, and that’s not something that goes well with partnership typically. If we didn’t play pool, we would get overly supportive of one another, sappy, sweet, take each other too seriously, and generally miss out on the fun of competition. We love to compete, and pool gives us a way of doing it in a confined and specific way where no one is taking themselves too seriously.

In the past, we’ve also played in weekly leagues in doubles rounds. This is a different way of channeling both our partnership instinct and our need for competition. We’ve learned how to set each other up while defending against the other pair, how to support one another with the right praise at the right time, and we’re pretty unstoppable in most local doubles matches.

Trash Talk Motivates

On the off chance that either of us decides to trash talk the other in the fun spirit of competition, typically the receiver of the trashing rises to prove the other wrong. I’ve trashed my partner’s play many times with the idea of motivating him to shoot better- and I always regret it because of how quickly he proves me wrong.

Clearing the Mind

Meditation in Precision

No matter what has happened during the work day, we leave it at the door. (We’ve sat in the car outside the hall a number of times to vent before the play.) We have an unspoken agreement that we do not discuss work or other stressors during the game. First, it’s a game best played quietly and in a focused manner. The chatterer could throw either person off. Second, I have no desire to ruin my partner’s mood when I’ve had a bad workday and we’re in a relaxed setting. We need time to decompress away from the stressors, not around them.. Third, the simple act of lining up the cue, focusing the energy, creating a delicate force, and choosing the proper angles is meditative. During our most skilled games, we’re likely not talking much at all. The silence is sweet. We’re meditating in precise movements.

Geometry is Wild

It’s hard to deny how cool math and physics can be.

Those angles I mentioned? At first, as an amateur player, I saw the balls straight on. But I’ve never played a game with a clear straightaway shot on every turn. In the beginning, it was all defense. How can I hide this cue ball or make it more difficult at the very least? Then, as I developed skills, I started to see banks (hitting the ball against the side or rail of the table) and combinations (hitting one ball into another ball to knock it in.) My growing comfort and increasing finesse has led me to learning about how spin (English) on the cue can move the ball in otherwise seemingly impossible ways. My partner is working on Masse’ — curving the cue around something to his what he’s aiming at. The more we play, the more we see see the options, angles, and possibilities. We’re developing a kind of second sight. Geometry (seeing the angles) and physics (understanding force) are undeniably necessary and totally cool in this setting. And often, it is the lightest of touch that is needed- a lesson my partner and I both have absorbed over time.

Progress is Possible

The act of playing is practice enough to get comfortable.

Like with other things, the more we play, the better we get. And even if I’m having an off-night, not able to see straight or find the force I need, e.g., there is still the growing sensation that practice makes progress. Not every hobby has perceivable levels of difficulty on which to measure ability. In this game, the way we play, it’s not about winning and losing, it’s about shooting the shot.

Also Winning and Losing

We don’t keep an ongoing record, but it’s nice to win the night.

Despite what I said above, it’s also about winning and losing. Of course it is. My partner and I look at the game one shot at a time, and then a series of games at a time. We give praise freely for the great shots, but we don’t suffer the loss of the individual games. (My first game is always a practice game, unless I win, then it counts.) We play best of 5 or 7, and whoever loses buys dinner or drives home. The reward is irrelevant, but it adds a fun twist to our night. Then the next time we get to the table, usually the one who won will be sure to mention their greatest shot from the previous game. And it makes the one who lost all the more fired up to win this time around.

A Uniquely Individual Sport

How you play is how You play.

My bridge (how I balance the cue on my left hand to aim with my right) is strange. Most people balance their cue in between their thumb and forefinger, but me — I feel more comfortable shooting between my index and middle finger. I have long hands, and I feel I have more stability if I use my spidery fingers to this end. And at the pool hall, no one will ever give me any stress about not doing it “right”, whatever that means. Whether its how you stand, how you approach the table, your hand positions, your aim, the way you see the game, the kinds of shots you take or any other facet of the game — no one is ever going to stop you unless you’re breaking a specific rule. There’s no right or wrong way to play, at least not at this level, and there’s a freedom in developing style and technique in an expectation vacuum. It’s cathartic in a world that is typically full of people telling other people what to do and not to do. (Professionals have thoroughly developed techniques and thoughtfully considered approaches, but we’re just a couple of weeknight players.)

Help is Fine Too

If the game isn’t that serious, ask the question.

How many times have I asked my partner — not as a competitor but as a friend — what do you think I should do here? I respect the way he plays and his eye for the game, and sometimes, if I’m in a pickle between two options, I’ll ask him to step outside the game and look with me, as a teammate. Sometimes he’ll tell me that I don’t have a clear shot, because of how he left the table. Sometimes, he’ll weigh in specifically based on what he sees. And I don’t always take his advice. Sometimes, after he weighs in, I realize (like calling the coin flip in the air) that I’ve already made my decision. And since we play different games, different styles, different techniques — the respect is mutual. I don’t have to take his advice, but I’m free to ask it.

10 Lessons Learned

  1. Always shoot your shot and aim to shoot well.
  2. Respect your opponent as if they were yourself.
  3. Silence is golden.
  4. Meditation can be active.
  5. Try and see all the angles.
  6. A delicate hand beats a heavy hand most of the time.
  7. Practice makes progress.
  8. Mistakes are not setbacks.
  9. Schedule play dates, especially as an adult and leave your troubles at the door.
  10. Respect the rules and earn respect.

Find Your Table

It might not be pool.

The healthiest thing we’ve done as partners is add a competitive outlet to an otherwise supportive set-up. I can’t recommend enough that all partners do the same. Your thing might not be pool (we also love a few challenging board games for similar reasons) but whatever it is, your partnership outlet should be the following things:

  1. A medium where you feel both competitive and supportive of one another
  2. A forum that requires concentration, focus, or the honing of a skill
  3. An activity that can connect to other enjoyable aspects of life
  4. A hobby with delineated progress and achievement levels
  5. A fun, playful, enjoyable, not-too-serious time
  6. An equal balance of procedure and free choice
  7. A place either person can ask for or provide assistance
  8. Something you can laugh about together
  9. Something that can sweep you up in the moment
  10. Something that feels right for you both

How do you and your partner destress as a team and strengthen your skills?

How does game play enhance your life