The Life Autistic: Say No More

IMG_5762.JPGYou’ve been quiet today, H2.

Yeah, I know.

It happens.

Even to the most adapted, “high-functioning,” disciplined folks in The Life Autistic.

Sometimes we just stop talking. 

There’s a condition that some autistic folks either have or express: selective mutism, which is more or less a way of clamming up, shutting up, and shutting down.

I honestly can’t speak for those with selective mutism; the only experience I can speak to is mine own.

There are days when I’m embarrassed about how much I talk.

There are times when I feel I’m the only one speaking in turn, turning a conversation into a monologue.

There are instances where I say something I shouldn’t and feel the sting of embarrassment flooding my face.

There are topics in which no one responds.

Those things mute me.

Like a locking vice on my jaw, I feel myself close down and shrink in those moments.

And I say nothing or less than nothing.

Not that the words aren’t there.

Not that I don’t want to contribute again.

The Life Autistic has with it an odd voice, sometimes blistering, boisterous, effusive, monotone, polyphonic.

But when shuttered, it is withdrawn.

It doesn’t last forever.

And in fact, sometimes it brings out the voices of others.

You’ve been quiet today, H2.

Is…everything OK?

That is the start to making things OK.

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The Life Autistic: Almost Thankful

IMG_3062.jpgLast Thanksgiving, I pulled off one of my best Thanksgivings ever.

Two days before the events (yes, because we end up doing multiple Thanksgivings because of reasons), I went in to have my remaining three wisdom teeth removed.

You did what?

Yes, I had my wisdom teeth yanked right before Thanksgiving.

It was the best.

I’m a bit of a diet stickler, so with my mouth in stitches, I couldn’t overeat.

Making small talk at the table? *mumbles something like ‘sorry, my mouth hurts, so I can’t talk’*

Awkward socializing? Didn’t have to, since my medication gave me very good reason to opt out and nap until everyone left.

Yeah, I know, I’m a scamp.

But Thanksgiving holidays are just hard. 

They can be hard for everyone, and they’re hard for us.

It’s a break in routine, an extreme amount of effort, and there’s very little getting around the social effort.

Even in a time and set of situations that make me almost thankful, I find comfort in the small things:

– Hosting always gives me the grief, but at least we make good hosts and serve up a good spread.

– There are weeks I get anxiety about something as simple as dinner each night, but after Thanksgiving, I at least have some idea what we’ll be eating next week. (Korean turkey burritos? OK THEN!)

– And for all the talk about people dreading political banter at the table, it never happens with me — I’ve gotten good at shutting down conversations when I need to!

If you’ve got one of those relatives like me: be nice, gracious, and quick to leave or understand why we want to leave the quickest (hah!).

We’re thankful for people who get us and make it easier for everyone. We do try.

I don’t have any more wisdom teeth to pull this year.

So I’m going to try to be more than almost thankful.