Everyone struggles in life – but not everyone who struggles suffers.
I didn’t know much about autism before 2014. But I was very aware I had experienced problems and suffering throughout my life with social communication – at home, work and in close relationships.
From birth I didn’t have the same type of speech and communication as my two older siblings. I didn’t talk until I was 2.5yrs and pre-school, was sent to elocution lessons which continued until I was 10 years old.
Like many others, I was teased by other children. Adults picked up on my speech; not speaking, talking too fast, mumbling, whispering, not answering. Early on, when I did attempt to talk, my voice actually scared me! It sounded too loud and too deep.
As a sensitive children, when someone expresses irritation of behaviour, we generally try to hide it or suppress it. I started masking my speech problems to avoid the hurt. My default options were silence and observation until I became older and the outbursts started.
I vividly remember feeling bewildered by the behaviour the person in front of me was displaying. What had I done wrong? What did they want me to do? What should I do? Why should I? Why aren’t they discussing it with me? Why did they say that? I would be thinking rather than speaking. Sharply followed by anxiety about what would happen afterwards – unless I behaved the way I was now being asked or told to.
It’s difficult to accurately portray childhood memories. My early life wasn’t straightforward; at age 5, I lived in Sussex, my parents divorced. Both sets of grandparents lived in the same town and were deeply involved with the family. By the time I was ten, both parents remarried, we’d moved away from my hometown – and all the family and people I knew – and were closer to London. Both my parents added a new baby into their second marriages.
At Secondary school, I preferred to sit alone in class. Retrospectively, I realise I struggled to find friends and understand the social ‘rules’ around clothing and socialising. My brother and sister (one and two years my seniors) were involved with London’s emerging punk scene. I changed schools at 14 and I was dispatched overnight to live with my father’s family when I was 15.
At 16 I had left (my fourth) secondary school and was working as an administrator in London for a life insurance company. I had briefly returned to live with my mother when I started work and literally had my bag packed and was forced out of the home when I was 16. I wasn’t violent. I didn’t have any boyfriends or stay out all night. I was ‘argumentative’ and didn’t fit in like I was somehow expected to.
I survived my teenage years, living in the gay community in London. I was protected, accepted and fitted right in. My best friend was an intelligent, exuberant, verbose gay man. I was his shy and faithful side-kick. He taught me about diversity and makeup – and I happily adopted his lifestyle instruction.
Fast forward into my 30s and the communication problems continue. At work for example, there have been at least five times I can recall, when a colleague has introduced (their way) during a business meeting, I’ve been expected to pick up the presentation and have been literally unable to speak. Struck mute! It feels like I can’t find the thread to pick up – to grasp – my mind is running backwards and forwards and can’t locate that thread!
This didn’t and doesn’t happen when there is discussion and planning beforehand, where I can visualise the outcome we are agreed upon.
Seriously, can you imagine the look on the face of the expectant client, my colleagues, the MD? In excruciating awkwardness, I felt like I was melting from the inside out. As people would nervously start laughing, all I’d be able to do would be to leave the room until I could compose myself in the nearest toilet.
Socially, I have throughly enjoyed going out for an evening with a single friend, but will remain silent in a group, listening intently, but seem unable to talk or express myself. This has always been the case, has caused me a lot of suffering and has made me want to avoid socialising. It feels similar to the work presentations, I know and understand what’s being discussed, have my own thoughts, but can’t locate the thread of communication.
By the way, like many other women who identify as autistic, I detest small talk and would like to write about that separately at some point.
Other types of socialising
If you ever met me at a lunch, dinner, pub, club, event or party, I might talk to you one to one, but the rest of the time, you’d probably see me sit or stand back, I listen and avoid inclusion (usually with a glass of wine in my hand).
My life started down a new path at the end of my teens when I encountered a group of buddhists in a wine bar.
I’ve attended monthly buddhist group meetings at people’s homes since I was 20. There’s nearly always a guest or new face at every meeting. Social communication issues surfaced here pretty quickly. I didn’t talk at these meetings other than to say my name at introductions for the first two years.
My group leader eventually became quite frustrated and cross with me, questioning why I continued to attend meetings if I didn’t join in. I had no way of explaining my feelings and could have given up my buddhist practise then. The truth is, I enjoyed the topics, I always felt refreshed and invigorated after a meeting and so fortunately, took some advice and was able to seek personal guidance and encouragement with a senior leader in faith.
From then on, I determined to not give in to what I perceived as my weakness, misunderstandings or a negative attitude from others. I wanted to keep using my buddhist practise to grow and shape my life. I planned in advance what I would say at meetings and by sincerely contributing, was able to open my life, focus on my strengths, gain confidence a feel happier. My efforts simultaneously benefited other areas of my life – work included.
In my buddhist environment, people became used to seeing me talking and participating. I’m aware now that although I have experienced personal challenges with meetings, that these are “structured” environments, meetings are respectful (generally), timed, planned and topics are agreed and prepared in advance. I tend to feel relaxed and enjoy being in such a supportive environment and feel energised by the time the meeting finishes.
I have always attended a monthly ‘discussion meeting’ which is an opportunity to share our buddhist practise with other group members living in my local area. We discuss our lives and how we use and apply our buddhist practise to grow and overcome problems. In this way we study, discuss and grow, together in all aspects of our lives.
To quote an article from SGI ; “Attaining Buddhahood is an ongoing effort to strengthen our inherent Buddha nature. It is also a struggle to not give in to our inherent fundamental darkness, which is our most deeply rooted disbelief in the truth of our own Buddha nature.”
I continued to chant, reflect on myself and maintain my buddhist practise – and continued questioning why I still struggled so much with relationships and felt socially inept. Making efforts to be helpful, smiling and upbeat were my personal contribution and, I assumed, successful relationships would eventually become a natural habit.
In 35 years of practise, the habit to not give up and to enjoy helping others has strengthened within me, but the social ineptitude seems worse than ever!
I have continued to challenge my limitations – attempting to break through that “wall”. As an adult I also started to become increasingly anxious as familiar people around me have grown critical and frustrated when I don’t respond as expected or remain non-resposive to certain expectations of behaviour.
Most of the time – in other structured environments like work – my communication strengths have outshone my communication weaknesses. I have always avoided mentioning personal weaknesses to friends and colleagues. Not wanting to expose ‘imperfections’ or differences. I wanted to avoid potential judgements that could affect my job, to cause others to think less of me or feel ashamed that I was not ‘changing’ into someone who was more likeable.
Learning about my autism identity has recently given me the courage to mention that my way of thinking may be different – should the need arise. I’m beginning to understand the ‘masking’ and ‘withdrawal’ that has been part of my behaviour and I am learning to use phrases like, for example; ‘Oh, sometimes I need time to think before answering’.
Additionally, I now recognised that focussed interests ‘are one of my “things”‘ and embrace some of my quirky interests instead of trying to hide them. I’m finding ways to ask for the thread of the discussion to be repeated because I missed it.
Criticism is difficult. I find personal criticism still hurts in as much the same way as when I was a child. I find job-based criticism much easier, because to me, it means it’s an opportunity to develop expertise and reap the measurable benefits in my work.
I need quite a lot of time to think about personal criticism and be able to understand how others’ may see or experience me. I find it difficult to understand what it is in my behaviour that a person is criticising. What do they think I am lacking? What do they expect of me?
Having the courage and learning how to question and listen to others’ points should work both ways in a social setting or equal relationship. For someone with an autistic brain, I have learnt this type of communication is better if it is a communication of ‘facts’ rather than complex ‘feelings’.
According to the teachings of Buddhism, everything around us, including work and family relationships, is ‘a reflection of our inner lives’. Everything, including communication is perceived through the uniqueness of the self and ‘alters’ according to the individual’s spiritual heart.
This means, for example, that an on-going sense of personal worthlessness will affect every aspect of my life.
My daily buddhist practise works to transform and polish my life from the very core. It involves identifying and challenging those things which inhibit the full expression of my positive potential and humanity. Buddhism teaches me to recognise, to call forth, to use and to strengthen the ‘hidden’ or ‘latent’ life state of Buddhahood which exists within all life.
Discovering my autistic identity is an experience for me. I do not feel like it is an unjust burden or disability. It feels more like a key to finding a purpose in my life. It means I can learn how to help others struggling in a similar situation.
I believe that as I continue to grow, my own understanding of different people and their different ways of communicating will become more universally embraced.
However, I feel particularly worried for any children whose parents decide to use upsetting, physically corrective methods for behaviour which they, the adults, find challenging. Children grow into adults. How do the adults ‘in control’ expect those children to view and relate to the world around them as they move into adulthood?
Ending with a quote:
“No life is completely free from problems and difficulties.. What matters is that we bring forth boundless courage, wisdom and life force so that we may calmly surmount every challenge and hardship that arises… That is the purpose of our faith. We study Buddhism in order to learn the fundamental path for living with true humanity and to make our own character shine its brightest.” From 10th June 2018 issue of the Seikyo Shinbun, translation released Aug. 2018.
Have a great day today!