In yesterday’s post, I was talking about empathy. Why? Well, because I can. But also because other people consider it one of my strongest trait whereas I see it almost as much of a flaw as an asset. Not a flaw exactly, but a negative. I think I would feel less that way if I didn’t feel I had to listen to people. If it truly was a choice, then I probably wouldn’t chafe at it so much.
It’s a strange dichotomy that I both don’t care about people and care about people at the same time. I know it sounds weird, but let me explain. On a global level, I wish the best for everyone. I don’t wish anyone harm, obviously. I want everyone to live their best life–unless that includes harming others. On a personal level, however, I don’t really care about each individual person. At the same time (would that be the third hand?), if I’m talking to someone whom I don’t know, like, say, the cashier at Cubs, I do want them to have the least-worst day possible, especially the ones I’ve chatted with several times.
Now, what’s one of the few things that people think they know about autistic people? That they don’t have empathy. I, myself, thought that as well. It’s only fairly recently that I learned that it’s not true. Many autistic people feel acutely what others are feeling; they may or may not be able to discern what it is, though. Or rather, how to deal with it.
I was teling my friend, A, how my brain worked. For example,, if someone tells me about an important event in their life, say getting pregnant, these are the steps my brain takes.
1. Hear/Read the news.
2. Let it sit for as many seconds as I think I can get away with before it becomes awkward.
If I am hearing the news in person, then I scrutinize the other person’s face in order to see how they feel about the news. Are they smiling or frowning? Was there a lilt in their voice or did they sound sad?
Ideally, this would take at best five seconds. Once I decided if it was good news or bad news, I move on to step three.
3. Arrange my face into a semblance of the appropriate emotion.
4. Infuse my voice with the appropriate tone.
By the way, this is something that is interesting to me. I don’t have the stereotypyical flat tone that autistic people are supposed to have, but I do struggle with showing the right emotion to the right degree on my face.
5. Hope that the other person didn’t realize how much of a struggle it was for me to respond and how much effort it took.
A told me that was how she thought, too, and that it was a symptom of autism.
The more we talked about it, the more I could see thatI had some of the symptoms. And if I stripped away my training, I had many more. Not just autistic traits, but ADHD ones as well.
Do I want to get tested? Yes. Am I going to do it? I don’t know. I don’t know how much an actual label (or two) would make a difference except to settle my mind about it.
It’s like when I got the label of depression. I’ve known that I was depressed since I was in my twenties. I mean that’s when I first realized–I’ve been depressed all my life.
It’s one thing to know about it in my head; it’s another thing to have my therapist say it out loud so we could tackle it.
When A gently asked if I ever thought I might be autistic, it really was a light bulb moment. So many things suddenly made sense. It’s ironic that I was the one who gave that light bulb moment to my brother without realizing that it might apply to me as well.
My mother once jokingly said that she thought she might be on the spectrum as well. I dismissed it because she had the tendency to latch on to every thing and relate it to herself and because I thought it was unlikely.
Again, she did not have the classic symptoms, but when I thought about it more, I could see several things that migth indicate she had some kind of neurodivergency. She does not empathize with people; she has no core opinions (she’s extremely easily swayed; she takes things at face value; she does not read people at all; she can’t lie; and she has a flat affecct.
I’m not convinced she’s on the spectrum, but I can’t say for sure she’s not, either.
Some people like to complain that everyone thinks they’re neurodivergent these days, implyiing that it’s not true. I would disagree. I don’t know if there are more cases of neurodivergency these days than when I as a kid, but what there is now is the willingness to at least talk about it. Sometimes.
It’s the same with gender diversity and being queer. When a society becomes more open to different personalities, then peolpe feel safer being open about them. I will say when it comes te sexuality, I do think it’s a stacking effect. Meaning, once more peoople know about it and it becomes more normalized within the society, other people can at least entertain the thought.
Side note: I puzzled for nearly a decade as to why the women who asked me whether I was going to have children or not got so impassioned about it. It’s a decision that has no effect on anyone but me, and yet, i got so many negative reactions to my simple declaration that I did not want children.
I need to emphasize yet again that I never brought up children. Ever. I didn’t want them and I didn’t care about them (in the general sense), so why would I bring them up out of my own volition?
If I could, I would tell that version of me that she was fine the way she was. Her womanhood was not predicated on her ability or willingness to spawn children, no matter how much the women around her insist this is the case.
More tomorrow.