In my presentations, counseling and hobnobbing with persons in the autism universe I often address family feelings of anger, fear, and guilt. I believe that these emotions are useful only in the short term as parents and families regroup to consider a different life path. I believe that young children especially pick up on these dark emotions and internalize them, making it even more difficult to “come out and play” in the broader stratum of relationships. I believe that hope, courage, and steadfast love heals and creates new meaning.
But I recently discovered another emotion, a deeper one that has twisted roots, savage bark, and gnarled, moldy leaves. And I partake in this emotion.
It is shame.
It breaks my heart.
All through elementary school I knew that I was different but all the chattering random children about me didn’t bother me. I did not care about adult opinion. I was in love with Nature, trees, water, sunlight, dust motes, and horses. By middle school that blissful ignorance disappeared, sometimes in trickles, sometimes in thunderous torrents. I became aware of the Others, my peers, and that they had opinions, feelings, and thoughts. This awareness brought a lack of peace and a spirit of competition into my heart and mind. By high school, I wanted to belong, to something, someone, and I am not sure I could articulate whatever belonging meant. I wanted to be with Others. I wanted to have friends.
High school was fun most of the time. I discovered theater, and art, and music. I learned to speed-read books, so that the written word could now keep up with my imagistic brain and the linear language made moving pictures in my imagination. I discovered writing, particularly writing science fiction and fantasy. These talents and skills brought me in contact with Others with whom I could share time and activities. But, with one exception, they did not bring me friends.
So I began a journal of observations, a diary of the Others, filled with stories about behaviors, responses, interactions, and alliances. Images that I captured of facial expressions, tone of voice, garments and accessories filled these notebooks. I kept these journals hidden.
I also filled them with picture, photographs, cut out from popular magazines. At home, I stood in from of the bathroom mirror and tried to make my face look like the photographs. I practiced vocal imitations, especially from television, and I became—well, still am—a decent mimic.
And for nearly 30 years I depended upon the mirror, the observations, the memorizing of film clips, for finding friends and developing meaningful relationships.
Why?
Because I was not good enough for the Others, I hid my immense vocabulary, my extensive reading, and my almost photographic memory. I hid all my skills and talents that brought meaning to my inner life so I could fit into an outer life.
When I discovered autism and that Asperger’s Syndrome explained much of the discrepancies in my life, I was overjoyed! Finally something made sense of the odds and ends of my life, of the social gaffes, the relationship faux pas, and the many jobs lost because I could not interpret the nonverbal signals being sent to me!
Yet I still hid. Oh, I helped the occasional parent that I found hovering in the gluten free/wheat free section of the supermarket. I shared with close friends and family about Asperger’s Syndrome—only to have people scoff at me and declare that I was “just looking for attention with the latest fad.”
Since coming out of the autism closet, I have been happier and found a wonderful direction in my life. Hiding is a Very Big Burden. Trying to “act normal” is a Big Burden. But still there has been an undercurrent of sadness. And I have just realized what that was—it was shame. I was forcing myself to be out in the light, and hoping that somehow I would still find acceptance.
Indeed, I have found much more acceptance than I ever thought possible! I have new friends through the Freedom Writers Foundation that I was blessed to experience last December. I have new friends through my graduate program in autism advocacy. And from the presentations that I do for the Institute on Disability through UNH I have more recognition and even approval for the work I am doing. I feel strongly that sharing my life and my own accommodations with parents and educators will help other youth, so they do not have to hide for decades.
So now I take the next step in This Awfully Big Adventure that is Life: I accept myself.
But I recently discovered another emotion, a deeper one that has twisted roots, savage bark, and gnarled, moldy leaves. And I partake in this emotion.
It is shame.
It breaks my heart.
All through elementary school I knew that I was different but all the chattering random children about me didn’t bother me. I did not care about adult opinion. I was in love with Nature, trees, water, sunlight, dust motes, and horses. By middle school that blissful ignorance disappeared, sometimes in trickles, sometimes in thunderous torrents. I became aware of the Others, my peers, and that they had opinions, feelings, and thoughts. This awareness brought a lack of peace and a spirit of competition into my heart and mind. By high school, I wanted to belong, to something, someone, and I am not sure I could articulate whatever belonging meant. I wanted to be with Others. I wanted to have friends.
High school was fun most of the time. I discovered theater, and art, and music. I learned to speed-read books, so that the written word could now keep up with my imagistic brain and the linear language made moving pictures in my imagination. I discovered writing, particularly writing science fiction and fantasy. These talents and skills brought me in contact with Others with whom I could share time and activities. But, with one exception, they did not bring me friends.
So I began a journal of observations, a diary of the Others, filled with stories about behaviors, responses, interactions, and alliances. Images that I captured of facial expressions, tone of voice, garments and accessories filled these notebooks. I kept these journals hidden.
I also filled them with picture, photographs, cut out from popular magazines. At home, I stood in from of the bathroom mirror and tried to make my face look like the photographs. I practiced vocal imitations, especially from television, and I became—well, still am—a decent mimic.
And for nearly 30 years I depended upon the mirror, the observations, the memorizing of film clips, for finding friends and developing meaningful relationships.
Why?
Because I was not good enough for the Others, I hid my immense vocabulary, my extensive reading, and my almost photographic memory. I hid all my skills and talents that brought meaning to my inner life so I could fit into an outer life.
When I discovered autism and that Asperger’s Syndrome explained much of the discrepancies in my life, I was overjoyed! Finally something made sense of the odds and ends of my life, of the social gaffes, the relationship faux pas, and the many jobs lost because I could not interpret the nonverbal signals being sent to me!
Yet I still hid. Oh, I helped the occasional parent that I found hovering in the gluten free/wheat free section of the supermarket. I shared with close friends and family about Asperger’s Syndrome—only to have people scoff at me and declare that I was “just looking for attention with the latest fad.”
Since coming out of the autism closet, I have been happier and found a wonderful direction in my life. Hiding is a Very Big Burden. Trying to “act normal” is a Big Burden. But still there has been an undercurrent of sadness. And I have just realized what that was—it was shame. I was forcing myself to be out in the light, and hoping that somehow I would still find acceptance.
Indeed, I have found much more acceptance than I ever thought possible! I have new friends through the Freedom Writers Foundation that I was blessed to experience last December. I have new friends through my graduate program in autism advocacy. And from the presentations that I do for the Institute on Disability through UNH I have more recognition and even approval for the work I am doing. I feel strongly that sharing my life and my own accommodations with parents and educators will help other youth, so they do not have to hide for decades.
So now I take the next step in This Awfully Big Adventure that is Life: I accept myself.
