As I reflect on my search for belonging, I notice that in very different situations, I’ve made many of the same mistakes. And so, in good Aspie fashion, I’ve decided to make a list of these mistakes, along with some examples, so as to impress them more deeply into my consciousness.

In my ongoing quest for belonging, here are the top five mistakes I would like to avoid:

1. Confusing competence with intelligence, and intelligence with my worth as a human being.

Untangling my self-worth from my intelligence is my greatest struggle. Whenever I find myself unable to do something, especially something that I consider simple, I think I’m being stupid, and then I watch my self-worth start to decline. This pattern has become especially clear since the Asperger’s diagnosis, as I’ve become aware of basic things I cannot do very easily.

Example: A couple of weeks ago, I went to the grocery store to get some food that my daughter had requested. On my list were some yogurt smoothie drinks that she really likes. So, I went around the store, putting things in my basket, until I got to the yogurt smoothies. There were five kinds, and I chose one of each. Easy, right?

But then, I realized that I ought to look at the pull dates, to make sure that the smoothies would still be good when she got back from her dad’s house. Each flavor had a different pull date, so I decided to replace the bottles with earlier pull dates with bottles with later ones. I’d take one flavor from my basket and put it up on the shelf, but then I wouldn’t remember which flavor to take from the shelf and put in my basket. I’d look back down in my basket to see what I already had, but by the time I looked back up at the shelf, I’d have forgotten. I had to go through this routine about half a dozen times before I got it all figured out, and I felt like I was in slow, disoriented motion the whole time.

Now, I know that what happened has nothing to do with intelligence at all. Nothing. It was a combination of gravitational insecurity, sensory overload, and a poor working memory.

I know about all of these challenges, and that they are physical. I also know that I’m not making them up or exaggerating them, because my OT actually wrote about them in her sensory assessment report. So I have a witness. A knowledgeable and objective witness, no less.

But it all makes me feel very stupid, nonetheless. I suppose I’m just feeling humbled, but somehow, feeling stupid is easier.

I’ve got to get over this one. Soon.

2. Playing competitive intellectual games in order to prove my intelligence.

Example: 3 ½ years “succeeding” in a very competitive Ph.D. program. 

The good news is that I’m too old to put myself through it anymore. When my husband and I went to a weekend conference at Hebrew College a few years ago, I couldn’t even begin to keep up with the intellectual competition. I tried, reached nothing like the majestic heights of yesteryear, and had a migraine nearly the whole time. It was so miserable that I decided to never, ever, do anything like that again.

3. Ignoring my instincts and past experience when they indicate that a group is not going to work for me.

I may have very poor social intuition, but my basic instincts are excellent. I know when a situation is not going to work, and I ignore my instincts at my peril.

Example: I should have known that my first synagogue membership would not last long when I came into the gathering in the social hall after services, and it looked like a cocktail party. I wondered why in G-d’s name I was hanging out with people who looked like my mother’s friends. The fact that the question did not drive me from the place immediately is an indication of how desperately I wanted to be there.

4. Trying to do everything “right” so that I will be accepted.

Story of my life. Story of my entire life.

Example: The synagogue experience described in my last post. This example is only one small piece of a pattern I have perpetuated for as long as I can remember.

But I’ve finally figured out why I keep trying to get it “right,” and why it will never give me what I’m looking for. Simply put, I’ve spent my entire life trying to act like an NT—all day, every day, and in my dreams, too. That’s what I really mean by doing everything “right.” I wouldn’t have defined it that way before the Asperger’s diagnosis, but it’s very clear to me now.

There is nothing wrong with acting like an NT full-time, if you actually happen to be an NT full-time, but for this Aspie, it’s been a fruitless endeavor. It would have been all right if I had tried to act like an NT only at work, since we all have to make a living at one time or another, but I went to extremes with it. Of course, I didn’t know better, but now that I do, I really must find a new hobby.

5. Idealizing a group and jumping in with both feet, only to end up angered and burned out by the injustice that inevitably arises.

I’ve made this mistake with just about every group I’ve every joined. Ironically, I end up leaving because I see things happening that violate the very principles on which the whole group is based.

Example: My unhappy experience with the woman at AANE. When I joined AANE, I thought, “Wow, what a great organization! They’ll really want me to volunteer up here in Vermont! It’s an AS organization, so why wouldn’t they? There’s even a place on their membership application where they ask for volunteers!”

Then, when I found myself treated poorly and my offer being ignored, I entered what some people like to call “reality.”

Last week, I went around and around in my head, trying to decide whether to email the director of adult services about what had happened and ask for her help. I ultimately spent an hour writing a good, direct, concise email.

And then, I took a deep breath, centered myself, and deleted every word. I deleted it because I have been there before, so many times. I have sent so many letters and so many emails to so many people in so many organizations, describing so many things that were so clearly wrong. And the result has always been one of the following:

a) No response at all.

b) A “circle the wagons” response, in which the person begins with one of the following phrases:

“I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it…“
“I’m sure you misunderstood…”
“I’m sure you’ll understand our position…”
”I’m sorry you feel that way, but…”

c) A response that seems to promise hope, but with no follow-through. This response is the worst for me, because I always start out feeling optimistic, and I always end up feeling unbelievably naive.

What I’ve figured out, after all these years, is that I cannot talk to neuro-typical people in an organization when they, or one of their colleagues, has made a wrong turn. I might someday find someone who can deal with me constructively, but it’s not worth the effort anymore. If the wrong turn involves the loss of a reasonable sum of money, or if it means that my daughter will be unjustly treated, I’ll make an exception, and when I can’t take it anymore, I’ll hand the phone to my husband. But other than that, I’m done.

And here’s why: In every organization, there are all sorts of social, nonverbal, pecking-order assumptions about treating certain individuals with deference, about defending the organization, and about a number of other concerns that I just can’t see and don’t understand. So, a person I contact at any organization will very likely defend someone higher up, come out in defense of the organization, ignore me, or do something else that drives me nuts. It’s happened before.

Enter my Aspie brain, which says that if there’s a problem, all that matters is that it get fixed. It doesn’t matter whether the person who made the mistake has a Ph.D. after his name or struggled through high school. It doesn’t matter what organization he belongs to, what his title is, what neighborhood he came from, what his parents did (or didn’t do), or what plaques he’s got up on his wall. I do not care. I am fiercely democratic. To me, all we have to do is to sit down, hear each other out, get to the bottom of things, and creatively solve the problem.

This is my Aspieness in full bloom. This is the best of who I am. And this is my version of logic. I don’t care for math or numbers, but to me, human life is full of problems begging for solutions, and everything that gets in the way is bullshit. Unfortunately, what I consider bullshit is just basic social reality for most people. Needless to say, sooner or later, a relentless force (me) meets an immoveable object (them), and it’s not a happy experience.

So, given all the givens, if I’m going to find community, it will have to be with a) other autistic people and b) neuro-typical people who treat their autistic friends and family members with love and respect.

And, very happily, I’ve begun to create such a community around myself, simply by starting this blog. In my next post, I’ll spend some more time on this subject.

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg