Autism & Fear

I finally finished one of this semester's assignments, and I celebrated by having a nap and reorganizing the hot press (airing cupboard, to non- paddies).

My gangsta vibes are lit.

It's a lovely feeling to downgrade my fancy performance anxiety to everyday existential dread.

Fear is not the most popular kid at the emotional party, but we probably wouldn't be here without it.  Our inner alarm system has saved us from being devoured, starved or trampled out of existence a long time ago.

But we can have too much of a good thing.

We live in a time and place when fear is used as a marketing tool.  Unscrupulous people with shit to sell cleverly tap into our western values, our innate insecurities (often of not being lovable or good enough) and access to 24/7 information assault.

Sex sells, but fear sells better.

We're relentlessly scared of everything, and it's literally driving us insane.

Aging.  Bad breath.  Missing out.   Being uncool.  Drinking the wrong beer.  Malnourishing our kids.  Cancer.  Body hair.  Having normal teeth.  Loss. Not being rich/thin/clean/ripped/popular/successful/young/sexy/stylish/accomplished/nourished/travelled/fragrant/healthy enough.  Last season's shoes.  Boredom.

We're strung-out consumers blindly buying the next antidote to fear, forgetting that fear is just another normal emotion.

Unless you're Finian.  

One of his many superpowers is deflecting marketing strategies.  He'd probably eat this season's must-have shoes.  Yum.  The only things that scare him are his Bob toys being misaligned, and loss of WiFi.  

Sometimes Autism rocks.

It's taken me almost a year in therapy to know how to process emotions and understand why they call it "work".  Finian is miles ahead of me.  He's almost casual in his genius at knowing what is worth fearing, and what deserves no attention.

I'm still terrified by my laundry monster (it definitely growls at me some days), and some of my college tutors are kinda scary.  But I'm learning from my favourite teacher.

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 & Playfulness

It's been a tough two weeks for Finian and, by extension, us.

He spent a fortnight screaming, sensory seeking, barely sleeping, avoiding food and needing constant reassurance.  It didn't pass the tipping point of self-harm or a full on meltdown, but we were worn out by the time his mood leveled out.

It's often hard to pinpoint a trigger for a mood change.  This time, though, it seems that his return to school was the guilty party.  In addition, some hormonal gymnastics were going on as he had an acne outbreak that looked like a medieval plague had partied on his face. Oh, and he was madly anxious about this being his final year at school.  So altogether it created a perfect stew to nicely boil his racing emotions.

It really wasn't fun.

Finian was miserable, tired and cranky and it didn't take long for the entire family to catch up with him. 

Absence of fun and joy can make living with Autism unbearable. We actually need to foster our own playfulness so that we can tolerate the difficult spells a little easier.  My husband and I consciously create opportunities where we can be irresponsible, carefree and a bit giddy.  We go on lots of coffee dates, hikes and  kayaking trips.  We cuddle up on the sofa, drink wine and watch comedies.  We spend as much time with friends as we can.

This is not with the intention of portraying ourselves as Barbie and Ken (besides, my boobs aren't perky enough and James has too much body hair to qualify).  We need fun so that we're not arguing over who gets the china in a divorce court down the line.

Having fun is serious business.

normal services resumed

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.