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Jun1
Letting Go and Starting Over
13 CommentsLast night, I reached a milestone in my life. And today, I am so relieved. Tired, but unbelievably relieved.
The backstory: We’re having a new ceiling put into our living room because the old plaster was flaking off. The process entails moving everything out of the living room into the dining room so that the contractors can work. The whole job will probably take another three days. So everything is piled up in the dining room, and I have to walk through the mess if I want to use the bedroom, the kitchen, or the bathroom. Did I mention that I hate clutter?
Yesterday, the contractors were supposed to be here at 9 am. I had planned to do some writing in my loft in the morning, while they were here, and then hang out in the rest of the house after they’d left. It’s always difficult for me to have people in the house, especially ones making lots of noise, so I figured I’d burrow into my loft for a few hours, and by the time I came out, they’d be gone.
Nice plan, huh? Unfortunately, the guys didn’t get here until 11 am or so. Isn’t it fun when people are late and blow your plans right out the window? I got very agitated. I could feel my nervous system panicking. They had good reasons for being late, but I felt like my day was getting totally disrupted.
In addition to getting here late, the guys were here a lot longer than I’d thought they’d be, and the whole thing became very overwhelming and disorienting. There is only so long that I can hide upstairs before I need to go to the kitchen and get something to eat. And, of course, the irony of the whole situation is that the guys doing the work are wonderful people—friendly, conscientious, and good at what they do. In other words, they’re the kind of people that anyone without a jangly nervous system would love to have around.
But I’ve got a very jangly nervous system, and by the evening, it felt like my day had been turned upside down and shaken a few times. Needless to say, I started to get upset. The disorder in the dining room was driving me nuts. My nervous system was so keyed up that I was shaking. I was feeling angry, and I said so, but the anger very quickly turned to tears. My meltdowns seem to follow this pattern these days. I go through the anger part really quickly and then go straight for the sadness.
I felt really exhausted, but it wasn’t just because of the work on the house. What happened yesterday was just the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. What I’m really exhausted by is all the energy I’ve expended since forever in my ongoing quest to become neuro-typical. Now that I’ve realized that I don’t have to pretend anymore, everything I do out in the world feels impossible. Working at the store feels exhausting, because every single time I have a conversation with anyone, I have the following script running in my head:
“Okay, smile……Make eye contact. No! Not that much……Pause. Say something helpful, but don’t jump in too fast……Wait……Wait……Now! Say something clever……Very good……People laughed……Now, make more eye contact……Okay, the conversation is winding down……Okay……Oh, shit, how do I exit gracefully from this interaction? I have no idea……Help……Okay, okay, I’ll just use my strong voice and act confident……There……I’m walking away now……G-d, I feel like such an idiot….”
For some strange reason, running this script just isn’t fun for me anymore.
My husband and I talked for a long time last night, and he helped me to see that almost all of the commitments I’ve made in the outside world are optional. I don’t have to do them. I made most of these commitments when I was still thinking that I just had to work really hard at the store, or on my OT work, or whatever, and things would get better. Even though I knew that I couldn’t change my neurology, even though I had accepted that I wouldn’t make friends at the store, even though I knew that the OT work might not have any effect at all, I still went into everything with the old idea of progress. It’s hard to shake. In large part, it consists of trying to be the NT that I think the world expects me to be. I know I’ll never get there, but over the course of my life, I’ve tried getting as close to it as inhumanly possible.
At some point in the past six months, it did dawn on me that I might not be the quite the actor I thought I was. But this realization didn’t stop me from trying. I still catch myself working on my big, ongoing, lifetime challenge to see how close I can get to “normal.” I used to wonder whether I’d actually fooled anybody, but you know what? I don’t care anymore. The only way for things to get better is for me to start untangling my true Aspie self from all my ridiculous mega-efforts to be someone I’m not.
I’ve had an NT impersonator job all my life, and it’s time for me to retire. Fifty years is enough. It really is. I don’t need a pension, and I’m not going on the public dole. I’ve got all kinds of great things I love doing, and the old job is getting in the way.
So, although I love my OT, driving an hour to see her is really out of the question. I’m so exhausted by the intensity of all the sights, sounds, movement, and emotional energy out there in the world that I need to pull back in a major way and have some respect for myself. And I don’t want to work at the store again until I find some way to be there without constantly running my script. Having come to these realizations, I emailed my OT and the people in charge at the store. My OT wrote me back a really lovely, supportive email. I’m pretty sure I’ll get a similar response from the people at work. After all, I have taken care to surround myself with very nice people.
Meanwhile, here I am, living in this strange transitional state of knowing that the old ways won’t work, and wondering what the new ways will look like. I hate transitions, but there you are. I don’t know what the future has in store, but I do know that my marriage, my mothering abilities, and my capacity to be a friend all depend upon being in some kind of harmonious relationship with who I really am.
I’m only beginning to understand how different I am from most people. I’m only beginning to understand that most people do not experience the world with anything remotely approaching the intensity that I do. And I have to respect that. I have to respect the fact that just going outside and seeing all the green leaves on the trees can be a beautiful and overwhelming experience. It’s overwhelming because it’s so damned beautiful.
Perhaps I need to experience the world in small portions. Something like that.
It feels so good to start over—to get up in the morning and tune into my hyper-aware, hyper-sensitive Aspie nervous system and see what we can do together. Last night, I didn’t sleep well, and when I have things to do in the outside world, I always feel very anxious trying to do them without enough sleep. But this morning, I realized that I didn’t have to go out there. I could be tired, and it would be all right.
The one outside commitment I’m keeping is to my new therapist. First things first. I want to work on accepting who I am, and she seems quite willing to help me. So that’s where I’ll begin. Again.
© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
13 Responses to “Letting Go and Starting Over”
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John Dale Lyons June 1st, 2009 at 4:56 pm
I’ve been in and out of therapy all my life, even before the diagnosis. I wonder if it will end.
Once again, beautiful writing, Rachel.
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Well done Rachel. I’m sure it’s possible to teach a cat to bark but what would be the point. Time to stop pretending to be something that you’re not and to become what you are.
In my opinion anyway, aspies have quite a lot to give socially. It’s just a matter of finding the right listeners.
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Moksha June 1st, 2009 at 11:02 pm
Reading this, I realize just how hard I’ve been trying to act neurotypical lately. I was more of a “flamboyant” Aspie in the past, and it led to serious emotional scars. But now I’m realizing that I’m not much happier acting neurotypical either. *sigh* I don’t know what to do anymore.
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Beautiful and thought provoking writing as others have said – keep it up
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Oh my god, Rachel. I swear you and I must be one entity on some other plane of existence.
We’ve got guys coming to work on our house (new addition), and they were supposed to come this morning at 7 AM. Since my husband’s away, this has been a significant stressor for me for *days*. Set the alarm, got up at 6:40….turns out they have things to finish on the house down the street (apparently), and will be here no doubt later today. But my morning is wrecked, I’m alone but not alone because I’m ever listening for signs someone might be arriving, I’m irritated and annoyed and anxious and peeved at something really quite unimportant and not even on the radar for an NT.
And then there’s the rest of your post….I’m sending my husband a link to it, because you describe it so perfectly for me. Everything. The script in your head, everything. And we’re at much the same place in our journeys (though I envy you the one, nearly-grown daughter instead of three, the youngest of which is a toddler
).(And thanks so much for continuing to comment on my blog….it’s really good to read what you say, and to know I have an audience. Though I’m writing for myself, the connection is somehow very important to me.)
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LizzieK8 June 2nd, 2009 at 5:12 am
Be gentle with yourself during this transition. Just go with the daily flow and allow yourself to slip into the routine that will best fit you. Once you find the daily life that is you, you can add other things in as you like and it won’t be quite as stressful.
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Jennifer June 2nd, 2009 at 5:29 am
I read something on another blog that seems appropriate here (and I hope helps)
“People with autism are used to going our own way. This may make it easier for us to seperate from others and their opinions on how to deal with general issues. This source of own independent power people with autism carry with them kan be an important source of self esteem if you look for your own (autism) identity.
Your own autism identity is a pure thing. This is you, pure and unspoiled you. Be proud of it and try to make the best of it, let your inner autism child be heard and treat it well. You are worth it.”
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Wow, you guys rock…
Samuel: I’m overjoyed to hear that an early diagnosis has been a good thing for you. It gives me a lot of hope that the next generation of Aspies will not have quite so many struggles as those of us who were diagnosed later.
John and Kate: Thanks!
Gavin: I really like the image of teaching a cat to bark. Very funny, and very helpful, too!
Moksha: Keeping hanging out on AS blogs, and see if anything helps move your process along. I’ve gotten a lot out of other people’s writing. Sometimes, someone will write a piece that feels like something that would come out of my own head, except that the other Aspie got there first.
Saja: We definitely seem to be living parallel lives. It’s fascinating to me. I’m looking forward to the next installment.
LizzieK8: I’m very happy to read what you wrote because it’s exactly the way I’m planning to handle things. I want to start with me, my daily life in my home, and see what kind of rhythm and balance I find for myself here. Then, as you say, I’ll have a better basis on which to add things.
Jennifer: Love that quote! Wow.
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John Dale Lyons June 2nd, 2009 at 10:09 am
Gavin & Moshka: I can relate.
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Alison June 2nd, 2009 at 12:41 pm
Hi Rachel,
Thank you again for a wonderful post. I attend a support group for adults with Asperger’s and at the moment we have nine regular members. It is the most important part of my week, and I have met someone there who is becoming a good friend. The thing is, I am the only female and my weekly interactions are almost exclusively with men–but not on purpose! I really appreciate being able to read an insightful, meaningful and entertaining Asperger’s blog from a female perspective.
One of my current interests is the way that AS manifests in girls and women. Many people are surprised to learn that our symptoms are often different. Awareness equals earlier diagnosis!
I, too, am learning how to respect what I am able and not able to do, and to remove the guilt from the equation when I decide to let something in my life go. I just turned forty in May and received an official diagnosis last November. With positive support now I am making so many good changes in my life–not only to reduce sensory overload and anxiety, but to value my Asperger aspects that were often considered undesireable in the past by me and by others. -
Alison, it’s so wonderful to read your post and to hear about all the positive changes in your life. Letting go of the guilt is so important. I’m working on it, too. When I’m able to let go of it, I have a lot more energy for doing the things I enjoy.
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Rachel, how is this playing out for you? Are you able to keep meouwing instead of forcing out barks? (Love that image, Gavin.)
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For the most part, I’m meowing rather than barking (to the relief of my family), but that’s mainly because I’ve pulled in most of my energy from the outside world. The more time I spend doing what I need to do for me, the less I care about what other people think of me.
Grounding myself at home is already having some unexpected effects. For instance, I had a visit today from my step-daughter, who is in the area for a class reunion. I like her very much, but we’ve had a pretty difficult relationship. Since the AS diagnosis, I’ve realized that the difficulties are mainly sensory. It’s helped me take everything much less personally, so when I saw her today, I was genuinely happy she’d stopped by, and we had a really nice chat.
Then, a few minutes later, I went back to my hobbit hole to spend some more time in Aspieland.
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About Me
I'm Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg, and I publish this blog, Journeys with Autism. I'm a wife, mother, writer, singer, artist, photographer, community volunteer, and the chapter leader for the Vermont Chapter of the Autistic Self Advocacy Network (ASAN).
At the age of 50, I awoke to my place on the autism spectrum and discovered a world of gifts, struggles, and life-changing possibilities. My latest book, The Uncharted Path: My Journey with Late-Diagnosed Autism, was published in July of 2010. My work has also appeared in Shift Journal of Alternatives: Neurodiversity and Social Change and in the Disability Rights and Neurodiversity section of the ASAN website.
My Memoir
"The Uncharted Path is an autism autobiography unlike any I’ve ever read.....I’d recommend The Uncharted Path to anyone on the spectrum, to anyone who has friends or relatives on the spectrum, and to anyone who cares for people on the spectrum. Her book is written straight from the heart.” —Gavin Bollard, author of Life with Asperger’s
“Cohen-Rottenberg is emotionally honest and skilled at relaying the stories from her childhood and adulthood that made her the person she is today....A highly recommended read."—Kate Goldfield, author of Common Scents: Adventures with Autism and Chemical Sensitivity
“What Rachel has written, few others would be able to....An enlightening journey."—Jon Gilbert, author of Same Child, Different Day
My memoir The Uncharted Path: My Journey with Late-Diagnosed Autism is now available in paperback for $17.95 and in PDF format for $8.95.
To purchase the book, please contact me by email. I accept payment via PayPal, by check, or by money order. You can also find the book for sale in paperback on Amazon.com.
Thank you for your interest in my work.
Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
rachel@journeyswithautism.com
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