I am woman.

We Aspie and Autti women unite in the common cause of our uniqueness and our group understanding.  Last month I became officially a member of the tribe of all women.  In three to five seconds each, I bonded in mutual understanding with over 100 women.

We had a booth at the Minneapolis Home and Garden Show for our weighted blankets.  Two of the people selling in the booth didn’t have menopause because one woman is too young and the other is a man.

But, Marie and I, whew, Holy Hot Flashes, Bat Man!  You see, Marie and I were the blanket models in the recliner.  We were so glad when an attendee took over the chair to try our weighted blanket.

When one I asked women to try it, only the ones under 40 were eager to try.  The ones over 40 (like me) would make a hand gesture waving at their faces to show that they are too hot.  One woman said, “I’ll put on a blanket again once I’m able to wear white pants.”  Marie and I laughed so hard, while the other two salespeople looked at each other with confusion.

Most people were interested in our weighted blankets, but the over 40 or over 50 women said to their mates, “Honey, you try it.”  When he said, “This feels great; pick me up in two hours” the women often said, “Okay, you get a twin size for your side of the bed and you can have the comforter too.”

I learned that all women, on the spectrum or not, go through the stages of womanly life together.  Women with autism or Asperger’s go through the monthly visit from Aunt Flo, some choose to go through childbirth (as I did twice), we get the dreaded pap smear done, and yes, we go through menopause.

Helen Reddy sang, “I am woman; hear me roar.”  Well, when I get a hot flash, I roar louder.  For you youngsters, life really does begin at 40.  Some have children leaving home so they do like I did and start a business or they have had a career and start a family.

The old-fashioned euphemism of “going through the change” has a new meaning for me.  It’s usually a time of life to celebrate because we have a new understanding of ourselves, start on new adventures, and we have the life experience to do it.

So, go for it because you’re on fire!

If you are not on the autism spectrum maybe I can help you understand your loved one’s visual detail that brings such delight, but others may not understand. It’s this detail that can bring a difficulty with understanding context, like in social situations.

I have a fascination with twinkling light that draws me and pulls me into my mind so I notice little else.  I walk to them when I see them, I stare, and I watch over and over.

Try this exercise:

With the speakers off, play the above commercial, while focusing really hard on each twinkling light.  Focus only on every detail of each light, so the objects and the background disappear.  Notice as many lights as you can.  Then play it over and over focusing ever more on each light as it unfolds.  Observe the light growing and disappearing.  As each light moves, notice the trail of light it leaves behind.

With each playing of the commercial, you will notice that you start to have less recall of the shapes and the background but your mind will fill up the lines of light as the twinkling unfolds.  It may be difficult at first, since neurotypical people think in context.  Your mind may at first jump to the objects and the entire picture.  Try your hardest to focus on the lights so you can understand your loved one’s mind a little better.

My visual thinking enables me to see every detail of light automatically.  If you are not on the spectrum, you may have to work at it over a longer period of time to learn how to achieve it.  Or, you could train your brain to learn certain techniques, but without ever learning to do it automatically or properly.

Such Detail in Social Situations

Now, when I try to behave like a neurotypical person in social situations, I have to really work at it.  Over the years, I have learned one social rule at a time.  I rarely learn by “figuring it out” because that would require that my mind can understand social situations in context, much like seeing the bird, flower, tree, and background in the twinkling bird commercial before noticing every little light.

The concept of “making a first impression” mystifies me.  When I meet someone, I know nothing about them so if 30 seconds later, someone asks me what I think of the person, I would have to say, “I don’t know.”  I would also not understand the purpose of asking what I think of the person.

Evidently, neurotypical people get an “impression” of a person in the first 30 seconds.  They have summed up the person into a whole impression that they can talk about.  They have also made decisions about their continued interaction with this person.  They have decided if this person is safe or not.  I don’t know what this person is “like,” whatever that means.

Me?  I usually don’t remember faces and haven’t picked up on the non-verbal facial cues.  I’ll notice and remember details of jewelry (especially if they are twinkly!), clothing, physical size, etc.  Based on these details, I don’t know how I’m supposed to interact with this person.  I don’t know what to say or not to say.  I don’t know if I should walk away or continue to talk.  Also, in how many seconds or minutes am I supposed to walk away?  How long am I supposed to interact?

My brain is running through every social rule I know trying to figure out what to do.  If I don’t know what to do, I talk incessantly or say nothing and walk away.

I am still going through what I call “Social Training University” and learning the rules that create social interactions.  I’ve learned so many I can apply almost consistently.  Hey, I’m not necessarily using the rule in the right situation with the right people, but at least I have learned the rule.

The Science Behind It

This blog was sparked by the paragraphs below from this article in Science Daily.

“Autistic people usually can’t grasp the full meaning, or context, of a situation,” she said. “This often leads to difficulties in social settings, as making inferences from what someone else says or thinks is extremely difficult for an autistic person.”

“Our studies strongly suggest that autistic people need more emphasis on and explanation about the context of different situations,” said Hillier, who leads a social skills support group for people with milder forms of autism. “We can teach them how to interpret different situations.”

My 19-year-old daughter is leaving the nest.  My son went to live with Dad for his high school years.  I’m moving in with my long-time boyfriend.  And, I started my weighted blanket business.

I imagine change like this would be difficult for anyone.  Since I have High-Functioning Autism, it is doubly, triply, quadruply difficult for me.

I Feel

A fallacy exists that people on the autism spectrum don’t feel much.  For me, it’s the opposite; I feel deeply.  I just don’t necessarily know what to do with the feelings, except rocking or other stims.

Transition

I’ve working up the courage to live with John for seven years.  I’m here (at his house) most of the time.  We have chosen decorations and furniture together over the years so they are a part of my mind.  Even though the house and the things have become so familiar, just the anticipation of fully moving in disrupts my world.

I have made the transition easier by locating my business in the (entire) basement of his house and working here, so I have gradually gotten used to being here, so I have my house habits.

Routines

My house habits are my routines that I do in exactly the same way in the same places.  As I write, I am sitting in my spot on the couch.  I sit in the same place at the table to eat supper.  I do the morning coffee routine in exactly the same order.  Everything has to stay in the same place.

Gradual

I have to introduce new things into my environment gradually-really gradually.

We, okay, John and his son, moved my dresser into our bedroom.  It upset me that the bedroom looked different, yet it comforted me to have my things around me.  John wanted to move the bed in another direction to make more room, but I told him that it would be too much change all at once.

I need my things.  I enjoy looking that them.  They create a solid comfort-much preferably to wild change.  I want my home to feel like my cozy castle.

What to Do

If your loved one is on the autism spectrum:

• Introduce changes only one at a time.
• Make sure you involve them in the decision-making as to what is chosen and where it goes.
• Always warn them at least two weeks in advance of an impending change.
• No surprises, please.

Change as a New Routine

Lack of change can be a rut to fall in, and one must make change itself a routine to get used to.  It challenges a person and opens up the mind to new ideas.  In small doses, it invigorates.

Just make it planned is all.

This is my brain on green beer and a cacophony of noises on St. Patrick's Day

That’s how I felt last night at the neighborhood bar celebrating St. Patrick’s Day.

A cat will turn its ears toward a sound.  If there are too many sounds, the cat looks scared and will run away.  I’m like the cat when it comes to sound because it’s like my ears are turning toward each sound, but when there are hundreds of sounds, I start feeling all wound up and I get a fight or flight response going.

Here’s the story:
John (love of my life and professional extrovert) asked if I wanted to meet the kids and their friends (they’re older) at the local haunt for a St. Paddy’s day beer.  I like them, so I said, “Sure.”  (My name is Eileen and I have curly, reddish hair and I have freckles, so I have a right to celebrate it!)

Enough parentheses.  I will get on with the story.  They were sitting at a table against the wall, but in the middle of the dining/bingo/karaoke area.  The only spaces left to sit were at the end of the table facing the wall.

The place was packed because it was happy hour and soon-to-be bingo night.  I sat and smiled at everyone because they were joking and laughing.  In minutes I started to feel confused, but didn’t register why quite yet.  Then I just watched people and said nothing but a word or two.  I could hear every noise in front, to each side, and behind me.  The noises were like needles shooting by the hundreds into my head, one after the other, non-stop.  I tried to make them go away by looking at the floor and at my beer.

John knew the look on my face as I grabbed my coat and said, “I’m going to stand outside for a while.”  It didn’t help.  I sat back down and took the abuse from the noise.  My brain confusion mounted; my breathing got shallower; my temperature increased; my sweaty palms started; and a hurting headache came on like a migraine.  It was harder than usual to look at people and I could feel myself whining without making a sound.  I couldn’t think.

“I have to get away, but I can’t because it’s socially incorrect and John wants to socialize,” I thought.  The corner booth was open so we moved there and I thought that would be the end of my problems because I could sit in the corner and calm down.  Not.  I could barely focus on the rapid-fire conversation.  I didn’t know where to look.  Plus there were so many people that my visual field became very confused.

On the way home, we stopped at Target, and I waited in the car.  Every little sound in the parking lot stabbed me in the brain.  I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t even move.  It was very difficult to talk to John and to understand what he was saying as we were driving home.

Evening was supposed to be for some work I had to finish up, but it ended being no-brain TV night instead.

Today, I feel better.  I woke up to the sound of John making coffee, and that’s a find sound for this Irish girl.