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5 minute read Autism identity social communication

Authentically Autistic

This brief piece was prompted by a number of discussions I’ve had with people about autistic masking, being authentic and true to your autistic self.

You may like to check out my writing about autistic masking via the menu.

What makes me different?

I’m autistic, so experience the world differently to non-autistic people. My senses work differently – my personal range of sensory experiences is broader than most non-autistic peoples’. I experience some things more intensely (e.g. sound and smell) and others less intensely (e.g. body sensations and balance)

I have less need to form hierarchies than many of my peers – I still love to organise things and compartmentalise them, but we use different systems.

I think about things differently. I tend to consciously think through things that many others find intuitive – and intuitively know things that others have to think about!

So what is the problem?

I am in a minority. A seriously misunderstood minority. This means I often have to hide things like the extent of my sensory overload or my need for clarification.

My logical and literal mindedness puzzles people. My drive for clarity and need for honesty perplexes them.

And often it is NOT a problem. I have integrity, I cannot tolerate inequality. I stand up for what is right regardless of the personal consequences.

So, when is it a problem?

It becomes a problem when I remain dysregulated because I cannot do what I need to do to be in a state where I can learn and thrive. None of us can. But for me, the sensory aspects of the environment – and inside my body (noise, smells, lighting, my emotions) tend to effect me more because my sensory processing works differently.

Being dysregulated always makes thinking, communicating, and looking after myself and others needs, more difficult. That’s the same for all of us.

Humans are social animals. I don’t particularly enjoy socialising and I certainly find humans difficult to understand, but I recognise my social responsibilities. I may not want to hang out with other people for fun – but I choose to have unconditional positive regard for them….. and in fact, some of them are actually quite nice!

When I was younger I would be blunt, straight to the point and say exactly what I thought. I knew I was right. I certainly didn’t aim to be rude. In fact, I thought I was doing people a favour by leaving the bullshit out and getting straight to the point! I saw no need for small talk. I empathised by finding common ground that demonstrated my understanding of the other person’s situation and shared this with them. I used my incredible capacity for problem solving to offer advice, find solutions and share them with others. I wanted to be helpful. My heart was very definitely in the right place.

How was this perceived?

I sometimes came across as rude, self-centred and insensitive.

I am not.

Reflecting on this, it is important to consider that other people don’t necessarily operate in the same way as me. Those sensory and cognitive experiences I listed earlier may be different.

When I appreciate this, I realise how invalidating my responses to others may be. Lets take empathy as an example – a subject I have written about in my personal blogs and for Neuroclastic.

My natural, authentically autistic response to someone telling me something distressing about their own experience is to trawl through my memory for something comparable.

I don’t feel a lot when people share their experiences with me. Other autistic people may be somewhere else in this broad range of sensory experiences and physically feel other peoples pain to such an extent it hurts them too. If I responded with a “yeah well, whatever” to someone’s loss, and my autistic friend with the intense emotional sensations responded with a “omg, that is so awful – look I’m crying too” – neither of us would be much use to the person who was choosing to share their experience with us.

So I developed a technique that uses my very natural abilities of logic and reasoning. I would find something comparable from my own life and tell them about it so they realise that I truly understand.

Except they don’t!

Of course, these genuinely autistic responses can be seen as invalidating for others. And it’s not just issues around empathy where this happens.

If I was to tell someone that they looked dreadful in their new dress when they asked me for my honest opinion, they’d likely be hurt.

I hate lying and I find the games people play where I am meant to know the hidden meanings behind questions, frustrating and disappointing. I am lucky to live in a family where we can be open and honest and not dress things up in untruths.

How can I stay true to myself without hurting others?

As I have matured, I have found ways of remaining authentically me, whilst recognising that other people may be running on a different operating system to the one I’m running on. Expecting other people to appreciate my straight talking just because I’d like them to do that for me, is a non-starter.

I could simply say “I am autistic, I have every right to be autistic and this is how I do things” and expect them to accept this. But they won’t! People don’t. Maybe one day when people understand autism better they will accept our way of being a bit more. In the meantime, I do have people that I can be more blunt with, or skip the small talk. It’s great and is a very small step on a long journey to equality.

Or I could mask my differences and pretend that I am like them too. That I enjoy small talk, that I like to beat around the bush rather than get to the point. That I am happy to lie! But that sucks, and messes with my mental health. I sometimes need to mask my distress and dysregulation in order to feel safer and to blend in – and we all need to behave differently in different situations in order to act appropriately. But long term masking erodes your wellbeing and identity.

How do I find a balance?

The most important consideration goes back to my thoughts on how I treat others – and myself. Unconditional positive regard. Not being an asshole to others or to myself! Recognising our differences and accepting them. Using my desire to find common ground, but not in a way that invalidates other people’s experiences or takes from them and puts the focus on me instead. Not needing to change people, instead accepting them as they are.

I recognise that I am in a neurological minority. The majority of people tend to assume I am like them, because my differences are not usually visible upon first impressions. They should accept me for being me and for being autistic, but they usually don’t.

I want them to treat me in the way that I treat them.

When I am talking with someone that has a different way of being in the world to me, I try and understand how it is for them. Many autistic people do this – it is what makes us so great at masking and camouflaging our autism.

I still use my particular way of empathising to consider that the other person may get an unbearable sensation if I tell them honestly that their dress looks awful on them. Just like I sometimes get an unbearable sensation when I have to make small talk. I consider that they may find our surroundings drab and insignificant and easy to filter out – whereas I am annoyed by the background noise and distracted by their perfume. I hold on to the fact that we are operating on different systems. But I don’t necessarily say all this out loud.

I cannot get them to understand my way of being by forcing it upon them, just like they cannot get me to become less autistic by forcing me to enjoy soap operas and small talk! Nor can I bully them into changing their attitude by blaming or shaming them for simply being born different to me. Nor should they try and bully or “normalise” me or my autistic peers by making us keep still instead of stimming; or keep quiet instead of asking for the clarity we need.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

We need to do this together…

I would love non-autistic people to put the same amount of effort into understanding autistic people that autistic people often put into understanding them.

If I am going to accept that I need to be diplomatic when telling you about your dress, so that we maintain our positive relationship and you don’t feel hurt; then I’d like you to reduce the amount of effort you unknowingly make me use when trying to understand your true intentions and desires when we are chatting.

We both need to recognise each others intentions – and we may need to get to know each other and see beyond the stereotypes in order to do that.

Autistic people often communicate really well with other autistic people – we clearly don’t have deficits.

When you know me, you will value my honesty. Don’t write people off because they say or do things that seem odd to your way of thinking. If I accidentally upset you, remember that my intentions may not have been the same as your intentions in the same circumstances – and I’ll try and do that for you too.

I will not compromise my values, but I’m happy to adapt my communication style to accommodate you – in fact I do this most of the time already! Please do the same for autistic people.

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5 minute read social communication

How I would like to be treated as an autistic person.

How do I like to be treated? Same as everyone else! With respect, equality, compassion, interest, and kindness. But I am autistic. I am disadvantaged just by existing in a neurotypically biased world. This blog isn’t about how and why I should be treated better – I’m a human being for goodness sake, I should not need to ask for human rights! Instead, I would like to invite you to consider the following analogy:

Imagine that I am not autistic (I am). Imagine that I am not British (I am). Imagine I am French…

I am still human and have the exact same human needs as every other person. I share many customs with other people – lots of similarities with fellow Europeans, noticeable differences with some parts of Asia for instance.

I look similar to lots of people – quite often my French-ness isn’t obvious until I speak. When I am chatting with other French people everything looks ‘normal’. When I am chatting to British people I can sort of fit in – English is a common language after all. When I am trying to chat to Russian people, I struggle, and I am obviously out of place. (My French-ness hasn’t suddenly ‘got worse’ or ‘more severe’ by the way!)

So, assuming I am French, and you are British, how do we communicate? We learn a bit of each other’s languages. We find out about each other’s customs so that instead of finding it weird that I kiss people on the cheek, whereas you shake hands to say hello, we understand and accept this – perhaps we even find it interesting and have a go ourselves!

We understand that we have different body language with different meanings, we accept that one of us is perhaps more reserved – or more demonstrative than the other. We take our time when having conversations to ensure we can process and translate the conversation in our heads, and we doublecheck our understanding. We certainly don’t assume I am stupid or slow just because I have to translate your words into my language to think about it, and then prepare my response back into your language too. And you don’t shout so that I understand better – no one is more able to converse in a foreign language just by slowing down their native tongue, doing some actions, and speaking louder – no matter how often it resorts this!

How do we view each other? Do you think I would be happier if I just acted more British and hid that I was French? Perhaps I could learn English off by heart and speak it fluently – but I’ll never lose my accent or stop thinking in French. It’s ok though, you won’t catch it from me! But will you keep encouraging me to try harder to be more British? Lose the accent so no one knows – it’s a bit embarrassing to have a foreign friend. Perhaps you’ll encourage me to hang out with other French people as they’ll understand me better, and I’ll be happier. Maybe we can argue about whether being French or being British is best, or how I ended up being born in France.

No…No one does any of that unless they are a total racist. So, what is so different about autism? How should we treat autistic people?

In the same ways we respectfully treat our French neighbours…

We learn each other’s languages and find out about each other’s customs. We don’t follow stereotypes about what all French people do – we recognise the diversity within each nationality. We invite each other along and don’t make a big deal out of our differences, but we make gentle accommodations like pointing out in advance things that could be tricky. We are genuinely interested in each other and we share and learn. We certainly never write a French phrase book or scientific article about what it is like being French without consulting someone who actually is French. We use bilingual signage where appropriate. We don’t blame the French person for being rubbish at English or tell them that just because they know how to order a drink or ask directions, they should be able to discuss the finer points of Shakespeare.

If I was treated as a human, a three-dimensional, complicated, complex, valid human being that is different in the same way a French person is different to a British person, my life would be much better.

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5 minute read social communication

Autism and the road to communication

Learning to drive…

Remember your first driving lesson.

“OK, put your hand on the gear stick, press the clutch down with your foot, engage first gear, slowly lift the clutch and release the handbrake and press the accelerator with your other foot all at the same time” – you’re off.

Easy, isn’t it?!

I find that the analogy of learning to drive is useful for describing how social communication frequently feels for me. Most of us who have been driving for years can do it automatically and even hold conversations with passengers and listen to music whilst taking in the road conditions and anticipating any risks or changing road conditions up ahead.

I’m one of those people. I can get in my car or on my motorcycle, intuitively find the controls and I’m off!

In fact, driving – and riding motorbikes and bicycles – are things I find extremely enjoyable. They are in the very small group of physical activities I can do without needing to consciously think about what to do with my body.

Social communication on the other hand is something that has never become automatic, and I assume that after 47 years of trying, it possibly never will. In a conversation I often feel like that learner driver I once was – awkward, painfully self-aware, and a bit clunky on the controls. I might get the order right, and use the controls appropriately, and get from A to B, but my knuckles are white from gripping the mental steering wheel inside my head so hard!

From a communication perspective I can ‘drive’ well enough to pass my test. Like many learners, I possibly have fewer bad habits than some experienced drivers. I probably know the rules of conversation better than many people – I try to be conscientious, thoughtful and considerate. But just like understanding the highway code off by heart – it’s not necessarily the way people “actually” drive. All those rules you’re meant to break – all those things that we know aren’t “real driving”… These things pass me by, and in communication situations, I often feel like a very competent learner who has passed their driving test with no major faults – but is actually not representative of most road users!

Being a mechanic doesn’t help much with driving either. My understanding of people is good, as is my knowledge of vehicles. I know more than the average person about how engines work, the sounds they make when something isn’t quite right, and the way other people drive. I can competently fix someone else’s puncture or service my own bike adequately – much as I have a good understanding of people and can help other people with their communication skills. This doesn’t help me be a better driver though; either in a vehicle or out there socialising.

When I am on familiar social roads I can begin to take in the scenery and enjoy the journey, but if you were to send me across the channel to where they drive on the other side of the road I’d be floundering. Put me in a social situation I’m unsure of and I struggle. I can do what I do, well. A bit like when I moved from Bristol to West Wales – my pulling away from junctions and roundabouts was far faster than needed and fortunately didn’t result in me rear-ending any of the local, laid back drivers that are used to having plenty of time for manoeuvres.

 I can navigate the roads of social communication, but the effort is huge because I’m usually having to consciously work out what to do unless the road is one I have travelled down many times before.  I prefer to keep my social journeys close to home and not venture out at busy times or in bad weather. We all find it helpful when other road users use their indicators properly – who hasn’t felt frustrated by someone indicating left that then turns right?! Why can’t people communicate accurately too and say what they mean and mean what they say?

I’ve been able to talk for over 4 decades and don’t fancy highlighting my social struggles with the equivalent of L Plates. I’d rather other people were courteous and gave me space and time to work out how to navigate through social situations safely and at my own pace, on my own route and under my own control. I wish that interacting with people was as straightforward as driving and I wonder why I have never got from that learner driver feeling of everything being conscious and clunky, to where I can just jump in and enjoy the ride?