Autism & Cuddles

I'm a shameless hugger.

No-one is safe.

In public, I practice an exercise where I mentally pin my arms to my sides and count to ten until the urge passes.  

Then I hug them anyway.

I've had to had a stern word with myself to refrain from hugging the postman or the bank clerk (mainly to avoid injury or incarceration).

Usually this works.

The thing is, I miss cuddles with my adult children.

Yeah, we hug, and chill together on the sofa etc. etc. But we don't do the big, full-on, soul-deep cuddles we did when they were little.  When puberty arrives, cuddles like that become a bit creepy and Game of Thrones-y.

Finian, however, doesn't waste any mental energy on social norms or raised eyebrows.

Finian folds that flying fuck into an origami humming bird and catapults it far, far away.

This is one of the sunny sides of autism.

On weekend mornings he waits for his dad to get out of our bed (Freud, eat your heart out), dives in, and cuddles up beside me from his head to his toes.  With a big old silly megawatt smile radiating from his lovely face.  The man just wants a goddamn cuddle and isn't shy about getting it.  There's a purity about his demand for love that is both vulnerable and courageous.  His autism bypasses all the conditioned bullshit that prevents most of us from experiencing this.

Things can be right in the world with love like this

.

Autism & Crazy Love

I tell people I love them all the time.

Unfortunately I've lived long enough to have lost many loved ones, so I know how painful it is to regret things left unsaid.  It's really not cool when the last thing you said to someone is "can I have my jumper back?" or "how much was your car insurance?"  No one is gonna shuffle through the pearly gates/ jaws of hell/ whatever-you're-having-yourself and think "I'm really glad I know how Jean feels about the Matrix reboot".

Far better that those you care about actually know you care about them, before they (or you) leap off this mortal coil. 

Which is why it can be crap being a special needs parent.  It's not unusual for us to receive scant indication of love from our kids, verbally or otherwise.  On one heartwarming occasion I told Finian I loved him; he gazed deeply into my eyes and replied "I love Ford Focus Zetec".   Tbf, our car served us well, but I'd kinda hoped to outrank a two-tonne hunk of metal.  The truth is a bitch.

I grew up in the 70s and 80s when saying "I love you" to your kids ran the risk of spoiling them or, God forbid, making them less terrified of you.  It took me years to learn how to say it without dying of shame and dread.  

Eventually I mastered it.  Happily, my skin hasn't boiled off.  So far.  

By the time I had my kids, I was fluent in "I love you".  I could feel the emotion, translate it into words and express myself without the messy business of dissolving in a pool of mortification.  Just like a real human.  

I have friends and family who say it back to me.  Those who struggle with words, show it with kindness, or hugs, or a coffee.  

Then I have Finian who cuddles up to me....... and then tries to kick me out of my own bed so he can hide the iPad he robbed off his sister.

I know Finian loves me.  I suspect most special needs parents can intuit that their kids love them.  Just now and again, it's one of those breath-stealing darts of pain when you realise you've never actually heard him say it.  And never will.  Ouch.

(p.s. in a gorgeous synchronicity, just as I finished writing this, one of my daughter's friends messaged me and said "I love you Jeanie".  The universe be trippin')

Autism & Holding Hands

Finian and I hold hands a lot.

It's partly a hangover from his bolting days, but mostly we just like the connection.  It seems to anchor and soothe him.  

When Finian was younger, I had to keep a death's grip on him to keep him safe.  There was nothing centred, or loving, about it.  It was all about survival.

We held hands in the car today as we drove to youth club. I noticed that even though we had a warm connection, we held hands lightly.  We didn't need to cling to each other to feel secure.

In keeping with life's synchronicities, this reflects how differently I now relate to the world.

My breakdown a year ago was one of the best things to ever happen me.  It was an excrutiating baptism of fire, which burned away my excess baggage. It was a painful, humbling way to shed a thousand pounds of  weighty armour..... but living as a more exposed, but genuine, soul has a lightness that it wonderful.

My ego, and all it's defences, were incinerated.  A generous amount of therapy helped me learn to relate to the world with love and compassion, instead of from a rigid place of fear.  It's still a work in progress (and always will be) but it's a healthy, wholesome path supported by authentic connections.  

Clinging onto anything (hands, people, objects, self-image etc) is a wax-sealed guarantee for suffering.  Any Buddhist worth their Himalayan salt can tell you that.  

Letting go is a scary process, though, when our culture has conditioned us to value ownership of external objects above all else.  

I'm not such a beardy hippie that I want to live in a bin eating lentils.  We need to pay our bills and have somewhere safe to live.  But that's all we need.  

When I meditate, I visualise holding everything, and everyone, I love lightly.

It's really cool to notice this manifest in how I hold hands with my son.

Autism & Attachment

Attachment is a pretty cool concept in psychology.  

It's more than having a deep affinity for orange chocolate, rioja and Matthew Mc Conaughey's abs (or so my college tutors insist).  Attachment is the mutual feeling of security and love that develops between an infant and it's caregiver.  But as well as being warm and cuddly,  it's a deadly serious survival strategy.  Attachment ensures you'll continue to care for the outraged poop-machine that popped out of your (now traumatized) vajayjay.  Evolution hardwired us to fall in love with the fruit of our loins so we don't return the screaming balls of fury to the baby shop, strap on our sparkly high heels, and hit up the nearest nightclub.  Survival of the species etc. etc.

Healthy attachment happens when the caregiver responds to the baby in a loving, consistent way and they learn to co-regulate each others emotions.   The baby develops emotional resilience and is securely attached.  The child grows into an adult who can enjoy healthy, loving relationships.

Disordered attachment happens when care is inconsistent (resulting in insecure anxious attachment), or mostly absent or dismissive (causing insecure avoidant attachment).  Disorganized attachment arises when the caregiver oscillates between the two and the baby becomes.... well.... disorganized.    

The insecure, avoidant adult tends to be emotionally unavailable within relationships and may feel suffocated by love.  They dislike relying on others, and they mistrust intimacy.

The insecure, anxious adult tends to live in fear of abandonment and lack the resilience to cope with being left.  They're often needy, and seek validation from others.  I fall into this group, which is great fun for my (eternally patient) husband.  He totally ruined my anxiety with his damned love and consistency, though.  That, and lots (and lots and lots) of therapy have finally allowed me to retire my preoccupation with abandonment.  Hurray for nice husbands and therapy!

The insecure, disorganized adult tends to crave love while pushing it away, which isn't fun for anyone.

(there's a good article describing attachment here, including a quick test if you want to check what type you are)

That's all well and good when you're neurotypical.

But what about when you're autistic?  How do autistic people form attachments, and what can we do to help them thrive?

Not surprisingly, research shows that autism is associated with avoidant attachment styles.  More reading shows that when parents develop a secure relationship with their kid, that the outlook improves.  It's also hard to tell the difference between what behaviour is autism related, or attachment related.  

Academic papers aren't always helpful in the real world.  Sometimes they just muddy the water.

I think all we can do as parents is love our kids as best we can, and be kind to ourselves when we don't get it right.  I feel a deep love for all my kids, and I know they all love me back.... including Finian.  

Autistic people are clearly capable of forming healthy attachments.  It's our job as parents to do what we can to make this happen.

securely attached

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

Autism & Sadness

Sadness is an emotion in need of good PR representation.

It's usually labelled as a 'negative' emotion and we're taught to avoid it at all costs.  But sadness is an important feature of our emotional landscape.  When we're taught that sadness is unattractive, weak or embarrassing, we attach shame to it and learn to suppress it.  Emotions that are not allowed to flow and process become stuck.  They stagnate into defensive blocks and may eventually find expression in physical or mental illness.  

Paradoxically, it's impossible to experience authentic love and joy without acknowledging the inevitability of loss.  We can't know the heights of joy and love without feeling them against the counterfoil of loss and sadness.  

We apologise for shedding tears.  Repeated messages like dry your eyes, put a brave face on, get over yourself etc. cripple our authenticity and we learn to present an acceptably agreeable face to the world.  We run away to cry in the privacy of locked rooms.  Not alone do we avoid expressing sadness, but we are terrified of feeling it.

Except for Finian.

He does sad like a pro.

I envy Finian's ability to express his emotions without censor.  If I buy the wrong chocolate spread at Lidl, or Netflix cancels Bob the Builder, or there's a hole in his favourite pyjamas, he howls with abandon.  He has no concerns about ugly-crying, appearing out of control, or embarrassing those around him.  After a spell of backbone-deep sobbing, he's processed it and is good to go.

It's taken me six months of intense psychotherapy to achieve this and I'm supposed to be neurotypical.  As ever, Finian is my favourite teacher.

One thing we can be sure of is that life will give us plenty to cry about, so it's a skill worth mastering. Processing sadness isn't fun.  To be honest I'd rather chew a pig farmer's boot than sit with my sadness and learn from it.  But it's worth giving grief room to move to appreciate the good stuff.

Autism & Love

Love is a slippery fish to write about.  

It's one of those words that has a million connotations, yet it's almost ineffable in its quality.

We think of love as romance, sex, affection, companionship, loyalty, trust, vulnerability ..... the list is pretty endless.  Yet it's none of these things on their own, and more than the sum of them. 

It's hard to define exactly what it is, yet we know we need it, and we definitely know when we lose it.

To be an unromantic biologist about it, love is necessary for survival to form attachments with our parents as newborns.  If our parents didn't fall in love with us, they'd soon get fed up of the screaming, defecating ball of fury they gave birth to, and we'd die.  Our very survival depends on being lovable.

But love usually has a transactional element to it.  We love someone because they love us back, or because they care for us, or because we admire their achievements.  It's generally conditional.  If someone is aggressive, or disruptive or makes our live difficult, they don't usually make it onto our Valentine's card list.

So it's a bit confusing when we have kids, who basically eviscerate us and stomp all over our innards while we smile benignly at them.

It's even more confusing when we have autistic kids. They ratchet the innard-stomping all the way up to max, combust our innards in a high-speed blender and then pour the contents all over our favourite laptop.  And we fucking adore them.

Love doesn't make sense.

From a biological point of view, we would be wise to reject our autistic kids.  They're very unlikely going to pass our genes on, and they are ingenious at making our lives difficult (I'm thinking about Finian's infamous smashing-eggs-down-the-back-of-radiator phase).  Logic says it should be easier to love our neurotypical 'kids' (is there a better word for our adult 'kids'???  Someone please tell me), but it doesn't seem to work like that.

Not many of us are fortunate enough to have experienced unconditional love.  But we can turn that on it's head and experience it by giving it.  

I love my kids just because they exist.

And, flying in the face of logic, I love my egg-smashing, hell-raising autistic son just because he exists.

Even though he ate my favourite crochet hook earlier today.

Go figure.

Try fitting that on a Hallmark card.

June 2004