Putting it in context
Howdy! There will be no post next week, as I’ll have just gotten to Hawaii and will take my first week off. Expect to hear from me again around 8/15 (release day for the Blingsters!!), probably with descriptions and photos of the amazing scenery because the plant and bird life there are mind-blowing.
To tide you over till then, consider checking out my serialized short story project on YouTube - a 10-part mystery narrated by my cousin. I plan on making more of these at some point, but the whole series is up and ready for you to enjoy!
But for now, here’s this week’s post so LET’S GO
Putting it in context
I like my therapist.
That seems like it should be a no-brainer, I know. But sometimes I find it helpful to state the obvious. It can act like a sort of confirmation that I’m on the right track: make statement, see how it lands, adjust if necessary.
Anyway, yes, I like her. On our very first visit, almost a year and half ago, I joked that I was probably on the spectrum. She just looked at me and said, “Yes, you are.”
Well okay then!
I feel this to be true. I believe her when she says I’m not very far out on that spectrum, I believe her when she says it does still influence who I am.
She’s lived in ashrams and taught yoga, so she understands there’s more to life than what the textbooks say. She’s English, so she has some cultural flair. She works with other adult aspies. Sometimes I think she might be a bit on the spectrum herself. In any case, she gets it, and I trust her.
Every so often, my closest friends might say something like, Okay, I’ve known you a long time, what parts about you are the spectrumy parts? That’s a hard question for me to answer. I don’t know how I am different. I can tell you how I feel and how I see things, but I don’t know if those things are aspie things or not. Sometimes my friends tell me that they feel the same way as I do about something, or have quirks and sensitivities too.
None of us are on the spectrum. All of us are on it. It’s sort of useless to think of things this way… sometimes. Sometimes it’s a helpful reminder to me.
When I visit my therapist (which isn’t as often as I’d like because she is so effing expensive—but worth it), I will tell her about something that’s been bothering me or just on my mind, and 99% of the time she will frame it within the context of being on the spectrum.
Last week we talked about grief. It’s coming up on the year anniversary of my father’s passing, and even though I haven’t been actively thinking about it much, I realized that I am hurting. That’s understandable, and fine, and I accept it—when I notice it. Where I run into problems is when those emotions of grief or fear or anxiety seem to bypass my emotional radar and go right to showing up as a physical manifestation. I know I am hurting. But why do my legs and back and hips have to actually hurt? I asked her, Why is my body still back there?
My therapist explained that many aspies are good at memorizing things. I guess we all recognize this as being a stereotype of some neurodivergent people. Good memories, hyper-focus on one topic, etc.
I do not have a photographic memory, nor do I have eidetic memory—and I can’t even really tell you the difference. At best I can remember where I saw something on a page in a book, or where I last saw your car keys. This does come in handy when editing books—if you are stickler for word repetition and plot consistency, I am the editor for you! But in other areas in life, it’s sort of a liability. I also don’t hyper-focus on anything. I fact, I do the opposite. I’m all over the place.
What I hadn’t realized before my therapist explained it, is that this “photographic memory” can extend to areas besides memorizing facts or figures. It can extend to emotions and memories. And sometimes, people on the spectrum have almost PTSD-like experiences because in our own way, we can unwittingly land ourselves right back there.
My dad’s passing last September was hard. Maybe it was extra hard to experience because I am an aspie. Maybe it was hard because he and I shared an unusual bond, or because the process took a long time and it is excruciatingly hard to make decisions about someone else’s comfort when they can no longer advocate for themselves. In any event, it was a lot. And I am still feeling it, whether I’m conscious of it or not.
I know I just need to roll with it until it begins to fade. I know it will fade. I went through something similar (yet totally different) with my mom. I wrote a little about that here. That still sneaks up on me, but not very often and it’s not as bad anymore. Time does help, if you let it.
If I can remember to take a minute and remind myself that some of what I’m experiencing is just a difference in neural pathways, maybe this makes it easier. What I’m going through is real, but at the same time, it’s not life-and-death real. In this regard, it helps when my therapist reminds me to put these things in the context of being on the spectrum.
Apparently, aspies also have a harder time experiencing embodiment of the self. Please don’t ask me to explain that one yet, because I’m only starting to try to unpack it, but based on the words, it makes sense to me. Some people have a harder time making sense of what is occurring in the Self. Not just “the body,” but the Self with a capital S.
Things to think about, whether you are on the spectrum or not.
On the one-year anniversary of my dad’s passing, I will be in Hawaii. I think that will be okay.