Autism & Villages

I spent much of today procrastinating.

Instead of tidying up a few irritating loose ends in my college portfolio, I draped myself across the couch like I was in the terminal stages of a Victorian wasting disease.

My portfolio will be assessed in three days.  The bits that need attention will take about an hour to tidy up.  It's not even proper work.

But I acted like deadlines weren't even a thing.  It was of grave importance that my eyebrows were tweezed into perfect symmetry.  It was most urgent that the dog was groomed.  And all the tea wasn't going to drink itself.

My portfolio gathered dust while I alphabetised the spice cupboard.

I'd like to make my procrastination sexier by saying it was a coping mechanism, used to protect me from my fear of not being good enough..... like a type of performance anxiety.  But the real, and tragically less sexy, truth is that I was just being a massive lazyarse (real word).

And I loved every minute of it.

I idled the day away deeply appreciating having a lovely husband who will take Finian to youth club while I crack on with (*cough*) work.  I am weak with gratitude that I have emerged from the happy side of many months of intense therapy, now able to eat, sleep and not view the world as a hostile place.  

Having a kiddo with autism is hard.  That's hardly headline news.  Crawling through decades of psychological awfulness (without much grace, it has to be said) was also super not-good while managing autism.

But when things are hard, I've learned to look for the good people.  The ones who hug you when you're a stinky mess.  The ones who meet you for a walk or a coffee when you're Not Your Best.  The ones who let you know they're there for you, even when you've driven them insane with your lunacy.  There are good people who supported me without knowing it..... my yoga teacher, my college buddies, strangers who smiled at me in shops.

Before this becomes an Oscar acceptance speech, I think it's important to point something out.

Among our autism circles, we often remark that it takes a village to raise an ASD kiddo (albeit a weirdly niche one, characterised by much talk about streaking kids, and children taking enormous dumps in the display toilets in B&Q).  

But as I continue to flounder my way through this perplexing world, it's clear to me that it takes a village to raise every one of us.  It takes a little humility to accept this, but all of us need each other. 

Portfolio done, with fabulous eyebrows

Autism & Mad Mothers

This has been one of the most difficult years of my life.  

There was Autism, usual family stuff, college and covid.  But in the Spring, the shell protecting my mental health cracked open and I fell to pieces.  One day, all the defenses I used to avoid my issues (maintaining facades, perfectionism, anxiety, depression, overwork, wine, rationalizing emotions, denying my own needs, unhealthy boundaries, whatever you're having yourself) just stopped working.

It was about fucking time.

My breakdown immersed me in a world of pain that I'd been avoiding for a very long time.

Many months of therapy have helped me to integrate most of my big psychological injuries.  There's still one or two sticky issues  I need to befriend, but I know I'll get there.  Tbh, I'd rather french kiss Boris Johnson after he's eaten a packet of Monster Munch, but you do what you gotta do.  Am wearing Big Girl pants now, and all that.

The big surprise is that processing the awfulness isn't as terrible as pouring all my energy into avoiding it.  I mean, therapy is horrendous.  It's like being atomized in a high-speed blender and then re-shaped in a really unfamiliar new mould.  It takes a while to get used to.  And making friends with the dark creatures in my mental basement has been...... unexpected.  

But avoiding it has been worse.  The relief of allowing the mask to slip is wonderful.  Breaking down gave me the freedom to recognize and discard what was bad for my soul.  It's a work in progress, but yanno.

Autism was the catalyst that forced me to engage with my mental health in a meaningful way.  It's very possible I would have continued to spin in my resistant groove for the rest of my days, had Autism not driven me mad.

It's kinda comical to be grateful for something that caused me pain, but here we are.  Alice in Wonderland knew her shit when she said "curiouser and curiouser".  

Autism & Kindness

Kindness is a tricky concept to teach an autistic kid.

Finian gets that it's expected of him to occasionally share his salt & vinegar Tayto, but I'm pretty sure he only complies to get me outta his face and not out of a sense of moral obligation. 

Really, it's a tough enough gig for many neurotypical people to grasp.  

Kindness, as the cliche goes, is often mistaken for weakness.  This is a sad loss for the western world (it seems to be a western thing to admire stomping all over other people to get what you want?  Just look at the movies we love).  But kindness is not martyrdom.  

As I get older (and work through a lot more therapy) kindness is starting to appear as more of a superpower.  Maintaining the belief that kindness is the antidote to an often jaded, cynical world is an act of faith.  It requires strength and stamina that some days I have to dig awfully deep to find.

Here's what I believe.

Any act of kindness, no matter how small, creates a ripple effect that exponentially increases positivity and goodness.  Ultimately we all benefit, even indirectly, as it makes the world a better place.  Cynics may roll their eyes, but cynicism is lazy.  It takes thought and effort to emit kindness into a world you may have been battered and abused by.

I guess a caveat is that being kind should not hurt you.  There's nothing to be gained by channeling your inner doormat and tattooing 'masochist' across your face (you'd need a pretty big face tbf).  We are also obliged to practice kindness towards ourselves.

I think a particular challenge is to extend kindness (without hurting ourselves) to those who hurt us, or who we don't like.  That's next level Buddhist shit right there.  It makes sense that wishing ill to others is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.  The only person we make sick is ourselves.  It's a counter-intuitive win-win to extend good wishes towards those who wounded us.

Bitterness shrinks the soul and condemns us to live in the half-light.  Love is liberation.

A really hard part of healing my own wounds is being brave enough to experience the pain and bitterness I  buried many years ago. Owning the awfulness I avoided with overwork, perfectionism, wine and fakery has only been possible because I try to be kind to myself.   I've cried more in the last six months than in five decades (and I really fucking hate crying), but I also like myself better.

Being kind to myself has increased my desire to be kind to others, as I know how healing it is.

Now all I have to do is teach this to my autistic son.

morals never tasted so good