This Explains Everything
Some of my earliest memories are of me watching others as though I was an alien. I didn’t understand social interactions, and I needed to observe in order to gain the knowledge I lacked. My brother was very upset by this. He was a doer, not a watcher. He wanted me to leave my seat on the couch and to go explore the world with him. He didn’t actually want me to participate very much, though. Really, he just wanted the company, which was fine sometimes. We are more than six years apart. Often, I was just glad to be included. But for the most part, if I was going to have so little to do, I’d rather be left to my own thoughts and observations on the couch. If I was going to just observe anyway, why drag me outside where there was cold or mosquitoes? Why make me so uncomfortable?
My brother was not the only one who found me strange difficult to understand. One of my most vivid early childhood memories, probably because something similar happened every weekday, is of walking through my kindergarten class, viewing all the activity like it was some kind of slow motion dream or movie. Everyone felt separate from me, or I from them. I couldn't tell which way that worked. But I saw these little clusters of people my size, doing all sorts of things together, and I had no idea how to join in. So, I would ask my teacher if I could help her with something. There was always something she could give me to do that would allow me to be near my classmates without having to interact with them. So, in a way, I could understand my brother’s desire to have me nearby but not know how to involve me.
It wasn’t very long after I started school that I would begin to notice other children that seemed to have no idea how to include themselves. I would try to talk to these other children. At the very least, there always seemed to be a boy or two that had no interest in the other children and who were often in trouble for making too much noise or drawing or something. I hated it when other children were in trouble. I tried to save them as much as I could. If they were bullied, I’d stand up for them. If the teacher was upset with them, I’d volunteer to help keep them in line. I would try to be their friend, even if I didn’t understand the rules. They needed someone, and no one else was doing it.
This became a life theme - help those that no one else will or can. Fast forward to today, and I now understand why I felt both so different and so moved to help, why getting involved was way outside my abilities, and why many people excluded me. I’m autistic. I realized this when I started getting clients that were on the spectrum, and I embarked on extensive research about adult, “low needs,” autism in order to help them better. With each book and blog, each new podcast episode, I felt like I was researching myself. I began making connections, not just with how “other” I always felt, but with my extreme lightheadedness, my inability to speak in overly stressful situations, even things that I used to connect to depression and PTSD. Autism explained all of it so much better than anything else. Add to that my eventual realization that I’m ADHD, and I had a new perspective on my life. (I’m dyslexic too, but that’s for another blog.)
And with this new explanation, I was able to begin new skill building. Eventually, I was able to be in a loud party setting for two hours instead of ten minutes or less. I was able to understand physical symptoms and why they were happening, offering myself care, compassion, and alternatives to the stress triggers. Now that I had better information about how I’m wired, I was able to reevaluate past experiences and understand them better. Understanding gave me things I’d been searching for nearly my whole life - a better path to participation and inclusion.
If you or someone you know seems to struggle with being around others, loud noises, bright lights, patterns and colors, a to-do list, and more, or if you just feel like you are different, let’s talk. All of these things can be benefits, once you know how to use them. Whether or not you are autistic or ADHD, you need to understand how you are wired and how to make that work for you. What makes you different also makes you wonderful. You just might need a little help understanding.