In yesterday’s post, I was musing about how stereotypes of autism blocked me from realizing that I might actually have it. Another one that really tripped me up was how autistic people miss nonverbal/social cues. I have read and heard it said so many times that if you want an autistic person to understand your hints and cues, you have to be explicit about them. A look, a grimace, a tilt of the head–none of that would actually get through to an autistic person. That’s one of the constantts I’ve heard about autistic people–they don’t understand nonverbal cues at all.
“Just be direct with them!” That’s what I constantly hear as counsel for dealing with people with autism.
Now, let me say, I’m not arguing for direct communication. I don’t think it’s a bad thing in general to just state what you want. Well, except that it’s not the way things are done in Minnesota. Here, you have to duck, dodge, and feint your way during a converastion. You can’t directly say no because that would hurt the other person’s feeling. I’ve had to explain to other people that if they extend an invitation and the answer is anything but an enthusiastic yes, it’s a no. “I need to check my calendar!” = no. “I have to talk to my husband!” = no. “It sound s great”, but with no actual affirmation = no. Only a yes is a yes.
Anyway. I can read facial/bodily cues just fine. In fact, I can read them better than some allistic people can (many) because as I’ve said many times that I’vee had it drumed in my brain since I was a little kid that I was responsible for other people’s feelings. Also, that there feelings were more important than mine. Also, that I should not upset anyone and if I did, it was of utmost importance that I did what it would take to make them feel better.
Side note: I’m not saying one should not be aware of one’s effect on other people. One should! It’s part of living in a society of disaparate people who need to get along. However, it’s usually non-male people who are made to feel resonsible for male people’s emotions.
Anyway, in Minnesota, you’re not going to get people telling you up front what they really think. You just aren’t. It is, as the kids say, what it is. It’s frustrating, but once you know how to navigate it, it’s much easier.
I’m also Taiwanese, which has a similar ‘talk obliquely in semaphores that only the in-culture people understand’, if not worse. Or rather, my parents made it bad even if it’s not necessarily a negative. My father coupled it with having a pathological need to hide everything–even things that don’t need to be hidden.
I always give this example when I want to make a point about how excessive my father was when it came to secrecy. When I was a teenager, there was one time when he and my mother were out playing tennis with some church friends. Another church friend (female) called to ask where they were. I said they were playing tennis. When my parents came home, I gave them the message.
My father exploded. He got angry and told me that I should not have told her that he was playing tennis with another friend. I was so stunned by his response, I just looked at him in bewilderment. He added that it could hurt her feelings that he and my mother had played tennis and did not invite her.
Now. I get that in the Taiwanese community, this was Not Done. But. Even in that community, my father’s reaction would have been seen as outre. I would hope at least. It took me way too long to figure out that the woman calling was either an ex-mistress, a current mistress, or a mistress-to-be, and my father wanted to be sure that she was kept firmly on the line.
My father had me so twisted that I withdrew completely into my shell. I could do no right in his eyes, so I just did not try at all. I vinidly remember carefully tucking my soul away so as to protect it from my parents. And, yes, I say parents because my mother did not help.
Side note: It’s funny to me in a bitterly ironic way that my parents are perfectly suited for each other, not despite their individual flaws, but because of them. It’s a very codependent relationship, and if it had just been contained to the two of them, it would have been easy to shrug it off as them belonging together. You add my brother and me to the mix, though, and it was a disaster.
Back to the point! I learned at a very early age that I needed to read everyone around me like they were made of Braille. I had to know every bump that they exuded, regardless of how big or small. And even though I could see, that wasn’t the skill I needed when trying to real Braille.
It’s the same with being neurospicy. I am not saying I am autistic, but now I can at least see it’s a possibility. That thing I mentioned about reading emotions/social cues/nonverbal cues? Those are all things I have honed over several decades. I am exceptionally good at reading people now because my survival has depended on it. In other words, I have developed the skill that it’s heavily implied that autistic people can’t.
This is perhaps the biggest obstacle to me even thinking that I might be autistic. “Autistic people can’t read nonverbal cues.” “Autistic people need things spelled out.” “Autistic people don’t have social skills.” Those were the things that were held to be true. Autistic people said it all the time, and I just assumed it to be true. When A pointed out that she had learned a lot of the same behaviors (and she appears highly empathetic from the outside), I realized that this was one of the issues.
I knew quite a bit about autism for a layperson. But I didn’t know enough. I did not know that the things I took to be facts were not true for every autistic person–or maybe even the majority?