Archive for the ‘autism’ Category

Suffer The Little Children: Part IV in my Autism series   Leave a comment

So today I’m writing about experiences that people on the autism spectrum have had at churches around the United States.  Some people were children, one an adult when I talked with them about what it was like to attend church or youth group.

There was a general sense that other people just didn’t know how to interact, so sometimes families with people with ASDs (autism spectrum disorders) were just left alone, and did not have any overtly negative experiences.  One respondent told me that her son had a very positive experience at the church they were currently attending.  People were accepting of differences, and the congregation was friendly.  At this church, the pastor had a grandchild on the spectrum, which she said made him more understanding and inclusive.  At two other mega-churches they attended before the family found this small Southern Baptist church, their son was directed to the special needs department, which he did not need as a high functioning individual.  This lack of understanding of his actual situation seemed patronizing to him and he would not go back to that church.

Another mother, Shelly, met personally with people in leadership roles in three different churches to explain her child’s situation.  Her older teen-aged son is a talented musician who wanted to get involved by playing in the worship team.  They agreed to include him in the band.  However, when some difficulties arose in getting all the musicians in sync, instead of spending the additional time it might have taken to help him get up to speed with the band, the leader decided this young man on the spectrum was too much trouble, and he was asked to leave.  Shelly also found out later that the pastor had said unkind things about her son during a church leader’s meeting.

In a different situation, as she moved up from the middle school group, Kimberly’s daughter Julie found the high school scene to be focused on socializing and the teens who were leading the worship music.  The environment was supportive of the musical talent of these kids, leading them to rise to the top in what quickly became a popularity contest, and girls and guys who had previously been Julie’s friends in the middle school group began to ignore her.

When Kimberly met with the youth group leader to explain about Asperger’s, he wanted to assign another girl to be her friend, but Kimberly said Julie would see right through that.  She suggested instead that he create more structure for the group meetings, as she knew there were other introverted teens who were having a hard time with the long periods of unsupervised small talk and general chaos.  His response was that the majority liked the arrangement as it was, and as the group was growing quickly, Julie would just have to get used to the way things were.  Due to all the factors that were making youth group overwhelming for Julie, Kimberly decided to let her stop attending.  Then she was criticized by other parents in the church for not requiring her daughter to attend.  The family eventually left this church for one that was much smaller, where they are happy.

The church seems to have a hard time with anybody being different.  I think this problem extends far beyond the world of ASDs.  No room is left for people to be different and for people to be loved as they are.  If you don’t raise your hands occasionally during the songs, get into the music and smile at everyone, and if you aren’t comfortable holding hands during group prayer, you are criticized as being un-Christian.  Yes, a pastor actually told the congregation from the pulpit that if you did not join hands with others, you were un-Christian.  There’s a very small grain of truth to that–but it doesn’t take into account other realities.  It dismisses the challenges those with ASDs face every day.

If a person has extreme social anxiety or a physical condition which would prevent her from holding hands during a group prayer time, this would probably be understood.  The same consideration should always be extended to any person who is worshiping in a congregation.  Consider that for people on the spectrum, sensory input or a change in routine can be overwhelming, and these challenges can be something as simple as your talking to her while she is worshiping, or asking her to move out of her accustomed spot.  These are concerns that neurotypical people often are not aware of.  But now you know–large group gatherings can be a literal minefield for other minds.

Your feelings may get hurt by what you think is odd behavior, but the focus should be honoring the needs and feelings of the other person.  Your ideas about what is socially acceptable behavior may be upset, but what is important is that members of the body of faith experience the grace and peace the church exists to share.

Love the person as he is and where he is.  Continue to acknowledge the person even when you don’t seem to be getting a response; smile when you see him; ask how he is.  Over time, your consistent love and kindness will be rewarded.  There are many valid reasons why a person may not be either able or willing to do exactly as the majority of the church body is doing during worship.  These reasons should not keep a person from being loved, valued and included.

 

 

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Posted April 18, 2018 by swanatbagend in autism, the church

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We Are the Children of Tama   Leave a comment

At least I certainly am.  For years, I have quoted lines from books and movies where they seemed relevant, and for some reason, my children do the same.  Lots of laughs and more than that–it has become a unique language for our family.

So I always loved the Star Trek: Next Generation episode about the children of Tama.  They were a race encountered by the crew of the Enterprise that communicated entirely with literary allusions.  The crew was clueless in these interactions until after the leader of the Tama kidnapped Captain Picard so that they could experience the challenge of facing a foe together, thus building a relationship so they could understand each other.

At our house, you might hear allusions like this.  See if you can identify the movies.

Someone drops and breaks something or can’t finish a chore.  I say I will clean up the mess or cover the work: “I’m a compassionate insect.”

Some satisfying conclusion to a mess we were in: “Yes, Rico.  Ka-boom!”

Nobody knows what to do in an unfamiliar situation: “I have no memory of this place.”

Discussion of how I will respond if the kids take this or that action: “And then we have the screaming problem again…”

When departing from dear friends: “Have fun storming the castle!–It would take a miracle.”

And so forth.  There are plenty of other times when there’s less of an obvious context, where a phrase just fits the moment we’re in, or somehow reminds us of a past incident.  We get the context, however.  There are many lines we love that sum things up more perfectly than any analysis any one of us could give.  So, I just assumed other families quote movies, because like, why wouldn’t you?  It’s fun.  It’s succinct.  It gets a laugh.  It communicates.

It was only within the last couple of years that my reading about behaviors typical of people with autism led me to understand that this could be called echolalia.

Echolalia is defined as repeating speech or lines that have been heard.  If you look at the definition in some places, it appears the average person would see no context for the line that was repeated.  Based on our personal experience with our movie quotes, though, I really doubt that’s true.  Probably there is a context every time to the person on the spectrum; it’s just that the neurotypical can’t see it.

When we quote movies to each other, there is a context.  We are communicating.  It works beautifully.

I found out today that we aren’t the only ones.

In this New York Times essay, Ron Suskind relates how his son on the autism spectrum connected with an animated character from a movie, when he couldn’t communicate with anyone else.  Granted, in his situation his son had no other way to communicate for many years.  But for both families, utilizing other stories built connections in ways typical conversation was unable to do.

There’s communication going on here–if you can speak the language.

Posted February 7, 2018 by swanatbagend in autism

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I Never Thought I’d See This   Leave a comment

What a glorious night!

We were at the theater, an older, slightly worn, but very classy one near our city’s downtown.  The lights went down.  The story and music began and I was as entranced as I could be.  Beauty and the Beast has always been one of the best Disney movies ever.  It’s a story in which more than one character is transformed by the events of the story and by love.

By the end of the show, when the cast took their curtain calls, cleared the sets and headed for IHOP to ride the wave of adrenaline, I was
riding it with them.

Remember the line from My Fair Lady?  “I could have danced all night, and still have begged for more…I’ll never know what made me so excited, why all at once my heart took flight!”

Well, unlike Eliza Doolittle, I knew exactly why I was so excited.

My child with an autism spectrum diagnosis was on the stage, acting, dancing and singing.

In those few hours, amidst the emotions that flooded me, came one that has been uncommon: hope.

Why?

Before my eyes was the proof that his life for the past ten years, my life, our lives together were not destined to continue status quo.

I wouldn’t have believed it, even a few years before.  My life was circumscribed by the limits of what my son could handle and the number
of triggers he could cope with per day.

Our lives together were relatively simple, with relatively few outside activities for anyone, because between him and me, we could only handle
so much stress.

He went to occupational therapy because he had to and with a reward program to motivate him.

He went to a STEM class, which was OK because he liked the science topics and because I was with him.  He could never go to any group
activity without a parent to help maneuver the social situation.

He went to church with us because that was non-negotiable for me, but we modified our time there for him.  Most of the time, we didn’t even
try to have him participate in the children’s program after multiple days where he argued with and kicked the volunteer teachers, and we drove two
cars so my husband and I could take turns staying longer to visit or serve, while the other parent took our son and other children home.

He went to the homes of a few friends we had.  They came to our home and those times were usually fun and enjoyable, although there were also
misunderstandings that led to melt-downs.

If we invited a group of friends over, I had to be ready to de-fuse problems or take my son to his room for a cool down time.  I could
never, ever, ever anticipate a straightforward visit for me with other moms or a fun time for him with the other kids, because
invariably, some comment or event would make him either irritated and frustrated, or explosively angry.

There were months and years when I pretty much gave up on my life ever looking different.  We homeschooled and we stayed home a lot,
because that is what we could handle.

But — there he was on the stage.  All because a teen theater group’s director was willing to include him.  All because she had been led to
start the conservatory nineteen years earlier.  All because the environment was one of respect, care, professionalism and mutual growth.

All because God does amazing things.

Posted July 6, 2017 by swanatbagend in autism, homeschooling

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The Love Compels Us   4 comments

When thinking about the situation a person on the autism spectrum faces when walking in the doors of a church building, you could say it is up to that person to change himself and make things happen.

You could say there is not a disability here that we need to accommodate.  If we can’t see the disability it does not exist.

You could say if he is a child, the person’s parents should explain in advance to other people that their child needs certain special treatment.

You could say the person with the autism spectrum disorder (ASD) who didn’t make friends and ended up leaving a church should have made more of an effort to involve herself in group conversations and to introduce herself to others.

You could even say the church is not here to cater to different special interest groups; rather, the church’s goal is to share the gospel with as many people as possible.

 

These are some of the trains of thought which confound those wanting to make the rough places plain for those individuals who do not fit the template of “church” that has been laid out by popular Christian culture in the United States.

I’ll take a look at each one.

I think that demanding that the person who is new to the church and on the autism spectrum bridge most of the gap toward other people is almost as illogical as stating that people who use wheelchairs should get out of their chairs and drag them along, in order to get into a building that doesn’t have a clear, smooth ramp.

Sometimes people assume that because a person with an ASD which can include diagnoses like Asperger’s syndrome, high functioning autism and so on, does not appear to be different or to have a disability, that he does not in fact have a disability.  If you see someone with no physical differences, who is able to walk around, and is seen talking to his family, people can assume that whatever problem this person is supposed to have is no major problem at all.  Other times, when parents of a person with autism explain to those in leadership what things are hard for their child and where he will need a little extra guidance or help, or, when they explain what is not working for their child about the way things are at church, sometimes people can’t seem to understand that there is a problem.  It’s as if because it appears that all is normal, they think there will be no problematic situations later.  Or maybe it’s because they are people who are already truly committed to reach out to others, so they feel like they are truly doing that.  Maybe, this is why they can’t see that there is a problem sometimes–because they believe they’ve already met the need.

If someone comes in who is a child or teen, it may be thought that somehow the parents will convey exactly what other people are supposed to do, and nothing need happen until then. There are a couple of reasons why this is not a good assumption.  First, in a new setting, it can be unclear to the parents that it is either appropriate or acceptable for them to make special requests of other people in a group setting.  It’s awkward.  If a parent is just making his or her own way in a new church, it can be difficult for her to know if it is all right to ask for specifics.  Parents don’t want to be demanding, as that probably isn’t going to help them make friends either.

Also, the parents may not know that their child needs an entrée into youth group or conversations with other people in the body; they may assume welcoming overtures will be made to their child by adults and other children.  Or, they may know that he could use help, but they may not be sure how to help provide that extra assistance in a way that will be both effective and workable.  In any social environment, nobody wants to feel like a special project, or like somebody is being paid to be her friend.  You can’t manipulate genuine friendship, and people with ASDs do not want you to.  That’s fake.  People want to be wanted, because.

While it is always true that more effort could be made by any individual to reach any desired goal, the question becomes, how much is enough?  For people on the spectrum, and honestly for any person who has trouble getting to know new people or trusting them, there’s a chasm between where he is now and the desired community on the other side.  He’s not being difficult; he’s not being selfish.  Relationship building is painful work for him.  Sure, there are times when she’s not making much of an effort.  There are always times when individuals don’t make enough of an effort.  But, in general, a person with an ASD is probably doing her best to interact with others.  To say that if she had just pushed herself harder she could have been welcomed is obviously wrong.

And I would agree that the church’s goal is to share the good news with as many people as possible.  That includes the people who are already in the church building, not just the ones on other continents.  I’m not saying those who have never heard are not important.  They are priceless and valued by God.  But so is each person you see as you come and go on a Sunday.  If the church cannot love those who are sitting in its figurative lap, how is that church living out the gospel?  Would you want to come every week to a place where others assume that you should be working at full steam on your areas of weakness, or would you like to come to a place where on a foundation of love first, you can grow stronger?

To know Christ is to know his love for us.  His love for us bridges the gap and draws us in.  So we bear with others’ weaknesses, knowing that they too are bearing with ours.  We reach out to each other because.

The love of Christ compels us.

 

Posted June 9, 2016 by swanatbagend in autism, the church

Make the Rough Places Plain   Leave a comment

In my most recent blog, I shared an open letter from an anonymous blogger about his experience in a local church.

I shared this letter in concert with the author in our mutual hope that by delineating his experience, we can transform future experiences for other individuals with autism.  I hope that by reading it, you will begin to understand some of the challenges faced by those on the spectrum and that you will know what you can do to change the status quo.

If it isn’t obvious what to do–read on.

My experiences so far with relationships with people on the autism spectrum, and others with disabilities, have given me a few ideas.

First, I think any church that makes it a priority to train its small group leaders and ministry team leaders can allot time to provide some simple information about autism–what it is and how it affects people.  There are increasing numbers of children and adults who are on the spectrum, so there will be more of them attending churches.  It makes sense to know how to reach out.  It makes sense to remove the simple barrier of ignorance.  A half hour session as a part of other training would be a great start.  Other special needs and differences might be included as well, since the key component in any interaction with anyone is respect for the individual.

With autism, it may not be so much that a person looks different, but that a person acts differently.  However, I’m confident that a little practice can take the fear out of interacting with any person who is different or has a disability.  I know it can be awkward at first.  I still think one-to-one respectful interaction works no matter who you’re interacting with.  As my guest blogger observed, making a big deal is not necessary.  A little bit of straightforward teaching providing the needed awareness is, in my opinion, all it would take.  Parents of children with disabilities and those with disabilities, let me know your thoughts, please.

Second, in any group setting, whether a large group like a church congregation, or a smaller one like an in-home group, to initiate and develop a relationship with a person on the autism spectrum and welcome him in will take a little effort.  A warm genuine greeting, followed up by follow-up, will open the door to relationship over time.  By follow-up I mean, check in with the person.  Whether that is next week at the next meeting, whether that is Sunday morning, whether that is by phone or text in a few weeks if you haven’t seen him, it doesn’t matter.  I mean follow-up.  Do something practical to show your interest and care.  After a few meetings, invite the person to join you for dinner in your home or elsewhere.  If he doesn’t seem ready for such an invitation, save it for later, but do it.

For a person with autism to be welcomed, it isn’t going to work for you to assume he will blaze his own trail into a group.

Also, many people with autism have a hard time remembering names and faces.  Especially in a large group setting, such as a chaotic church vestibule, it is very difficult to pick out individuals in the crowd.  It all blurs together, and can become overwhelming.  So, when you see the person at church, greet him.  Don’t be offended if he doesn’t remember your name.  Don’t be offended if he seems stiff and unsure.  Don’t wait for him to initiate with you.  The fact that he’s there, in the building, can be a huge effort for him.

Once the person is included in a group, he can feel more comfortable, and will eventually get to know other people in the group.  He has a great deal to contribute–insights in discussion, and loyalty in friendship.

Honestly, it only takes one person.

One person to consistently and faithfully initiate in friendship.  Once that one person draws the other person in and he experiences welcome, he will develop friendships and relationships with the other people in the group.

Christ welcomes us.  By definition, we welcome each other.

 

 

Posted May 27, 2016 by swanatbagend in autism, the church

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Open Letter to Sojourn Community Church — Guest Blogger   1 comment

Today, I am publishing an open letter by an anonymous blogger about his experience in a church as part of my current series on life with autism.

 

Almost two years ago now, I stood up and walked out of the sanctuary of Sojourn’s J-Town campus. I never came back. Indeed, I never set foot in Sojourn Community Church (as it calls itself) again. I swore that I would not, and I have kept that oath to the letter.

As I said, it’s been two years, and many things have changed in that time—just as many things have also remained the same. One of those things: I am still angry. Not so angry as I could be, but furious nonetheless—furious at Sojourn for all that it did and did not do—and this fury shows no signs of dissipating.

Holding anger within for two years is unhealthy, to make a bit of an understatement. It is time to set it free, and hope that by doing so it will cause no further damage, either to myself or to others. It is time that Sojourn knows how it hurt me, and what it must do to improve.

I came to Sojourn from a church that had, since my arrival, made a custom of ignoring me. It was easy, of course, for this to occur: I am an introvert, and introverts excel at metamorphosing into inanimate fixtures of their environment, no more deserving of interaction than a piece of furniture. I assumed that this was my natural fate within the church—I was not outgoing nor stimulating in conversation, so why should anyone reach out to me? I contributed nothing; why should I receive anything? A disappointing state of affairs, but a wholly just one.

In the end, my family departed that church, for it also made a custom of ignoring even those who contributed most to its enfeebled existence. And, due to doctrinal particulars that I need not detail, we wound up at Sojourn.

Sojourn was an entirely different place. For one thing, it was big, and growing even bigger. It surrounded itself with artistic talent and endeavor, from an unimpeachable worship band to bulletins prefaced with artworks relevant to the sermon series. The sermons were never anything less than eloquent.

However, the people who comprise Sojourn seemed to be the most significant difference; they were young and hip—the youngest and hippest that a church can scrounge up these days. More importantly, they were enthusiastic for all that Sojourn Community Church stood for: the Gospel, Jesus, and most of all, Community. If you have attended Sojourn for any length of time, you will have noticed that it emphasizes Community a great deal; there is never a Sunday where the phrase “we are a Community!” is not emitted by some grinning individual at a microphone.

You will also have become aware of the primary vehicle by which Community is expressed: namely, the community group. Having become members, my family immediately involved itself in one—and I was there every step of the way. I had discovered that passivity would not work: in order to be anything more than a tumor on the Body of Christ, to truly belong, one must contribute.

In the beginning, I tried my best—and for a time, it seemed to work. My input in sermon discussions was valued (or so it was claimed). Individuals inquired after my well-being (a strange thing indeed). When I underwent neurological surgery, there were people with whom I had no genetic kinship in the waiting room, actively praying for my recovery.

But it did not last. I do not know when the laborious process of constructing relationships with those who comprised our community group ceased, but cease it did: it was as if I had hit some barrier that could not be surmounted by any amount of effort. I reached out, but my reaching was no longer reciprocated. Invitations were refused, excuses made. I stopped attending community group; no one noted my absence. (I did not merely assume this—my parents confirmed it.)

While taking an intensely difficult class in mathematics over the summer, a fairly prominent individual within Sojourn offered to tutor me. Desperate to the point of wishing that I were dead, I accepted. Yet this individual would never respond to my emails requesting assistance in time for us to actually meet. In the end, he stopped responding to my emails at all.

Again—and not for the last time—I was a non-entity. I had less worth than the installations that Sojourn produces in an attempt to validate itself through artistic expression: at least people would sometimes stop and look at those things.

Having been completely abandoned, I left. I fled this shell of a church that would not extend its much-vaunted “community” to the likes of me. In the end, I had lost the capacity to trust, and gained…nothing. Nothing, except bitterness.

Perhaps I simply did not try hard enough. Perhaps I got what I deserved. Perhaps there is no need for me to be angry: there are far worse things that Sojourn could have done to me. But being ignored, and then persistently informed that the church is overjoyed to involve me (“We’d love to meet you”), is cruel.

There is a reason for the regrettable events I have described: I have Asperger’s Syndrome, which makes me about as capable of developing and maintaining interpersonal relationships as a turnip. However, I am not stupid enough to fail in recognizing fraud. “Community” does not exist within Sojourn Community Church, except as a buzzword. Seek it here, and you will fail; knock, and the door will be opened, then slammed shut.

“All are welcome”, states the page describing community groups on Sojourn’s website. I find that I must disagree, Sojourn. Some are welcome: not the lonely, the broken, nor the hopeless. Certainly not those on the autism spectrum.

So, what can you, my reader, do to rectify this situation? Firstly, mean what you say. Do not feign friendliness. Align your actions with the gospel of grace that you aver. In a world of hypocrites, you have been part of the problem and not the solution.

Secondly, take note of the introverts around you: the person who never speaks up in community group, the skinny young man who wanders around the narthex after Communion. Don’t simply introduce yourself: try to involve yourself in our lives. Invite us out for lunch. Nine times out of ten, we will refuse; but there is always a chance that we might be willing to take a risk and accept your attempts to show concern for us.

I should note that this is not, per se, a call for the church to do better in its ministry towards those diagnosed with Asperger’s, or even those on the autism spectrum in general; although I know firsthand that Sojourn is for all intents and purposes oblivious to us, and that this must change, I do not wish those on the autism spectrum to become the targets of some new initiative in outreach—grist for the mills of pamphlets and books describing five-point plans for “welcoming those with ASD”, complete with mnemonic acronyms. The church in the United States excels at this, but I want none of it. I do not want special treatment. I merely want to be treated as a human being.

I know that introversion is an unacceptable character trait in today’s culture. But we have the image of God imprinted on us, too. It would behoove those who call themselves “Christian” to treat us in the manner to which they were called.

Posted May 25, 2016 by swanatbagend in autism, the church

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And Autism Took That Away   1 comment

Last night, my husband and I almost had a fight over something I said to him.

I’m thankful that after 27 years, he knew me well enough to know that my intent wasn’t to hurt him.

I had a really long day after a really long two weeks, and I did not think I could do one more thing for anyone.  I wanted him to know that I needed a peaceful evening with nothing else added in.  But the way it came out made him feel as if I thought he always comes barging in thoughtlessly demanding fifty different things from me when he gets home from work.  Of course, that’s very untrue.  It hurt his feelings.

The thing is: I was trying to communicate well.

I thought I was doing fine.  I thought I was being pleasant, but still letting my spouse know what I needed.

Utter fail!

I didn’t greet him first, didn’t ask how his day was.  I hugged him, but my words were, “I need to not have anyone demanding anything from me tonight.”

You’ve had days like that, I know.  And it’s important to communicate your needs, so your spouse will know them.  But this was not the way to do it.

I was mentally catapulted straight back into Mr. Dilbeck’s seventh grade social studies class.  I was distraught because I had been told some boy liked me.  The thought apparently terrified me, and I had no idea how to react.  Other things upset me that day, and by the time I got to that afternoon class, I was a complete mess.  When attendance was taken, in some sort of desperate attempt to get help, when my name was called, I didn’t say “Here.”  I said, “I’m here, but I wish I wasn’t.”

I stayed after class that day to discuss my disrespectful response, with a teacher who turned out be kind once I explained myself, but I learned that there are certain forums which you don’t use for expressing personal angst.

At least–I thought I learned.

But I didn’t, fully.

That certainly wasn’t the only socially inappropriate thing I did as a teenager.  By far.  I rolled off my chair in a Sunday school class one time when I was just about dead with sleep, and got my entire class in trouble with our long-suffering teacher.

I complained to my biology teacher that she didn’t care that I didn’t understand what she was talking about, and spent time helping her to clean up and organize the lab as a way to make up for my misbehavior.

All this fallout was brought on by stressful situations overcoming my social abilities.  My friends would ask me, why did you do that?  And in hindsight I always realized I should not have, but I never had any reasonable explanation for my ridiculous behavior.

I obviously learned something from those experiences.  But apparently not enough to only have one of those experiences.

There are other things that a neurotypical person may routinely expect to do that I cannot.

Autism takes away the ability to attend concerts and any large, loud or frenetic events.  It’s scary and overwhelming.

While I rode my fantastic intellectual abilities to the top in high school and college, there aren’t any good grades to be had working and living and interacting with other people each day in the rest of one’s life.  Autism means that I cannot have a career which involves change, unpredictability, and random events.  I think I’d say waitressing and air traffic control are out.  I did work as a camp counselor, and I do have children, but I’m definitely done with the camp counselor days, and in my own family, we’ve all found ways to help each other out by keeping our general life routine pretty predictable.  If work is changeable, it’s much too stressful, and while I can handle noise and chaos for a time and in some emergency situations, my tank drains really rapidly.

Having autism means the ability to be flexible is extremely compromised.  Friends, now you know why it is impossible to get me to do anything at the drop of a hat–except maybe go get an ice cream.  If you think of it last minute, I say no.  Sorry.

Autism takes away a natural ability to comprehend many of the mysterious ways that relationships work.  I work hard to maintain friendships.  But if I have been mistaken in your level of interest, and you drift away from me, I won’t understand why.  I just can’t comprehend how friendship could evaporate.

I still for the life of me cannot determine when people are being sincere.  I’ve always been naïve, and while I thankfully haven’t ever been permanently damaged by that naïveté, I still routinely look forward to receiving future invitations that never come.  A year later, I will finally realize that the person was dropping a meaningless social nicety when she said, “Let’s do this again soon.”  And it’s not like I haven’t been told that these kind of comments are almost never meant specifically and actually.  I know that.  It’s just that when I’ve wrapped up a fun time or an enjoyable conversation, my mind can’t detect any insincerity.  Why wouldn’t we get together again soon?  I actually spent about a year once waiting for two different people to get back to me about a proposed get together.  Sure, some of that was depression, some was being stubborn, but what person in her right mind really believes that after a month has passed, she’d get an actual invitation?

No matter how old I get, I still say the wrong thing, even when I’m specifically trying to be appropriate and adult.  Even when I try to communicate my thoughts and feelings, while maintaining respect for the other person’s position, or love for the other person, I fail to do so.

Offending people is the last thing I want to do.  I’ve always wanted to be liked more than just about anything.

But sometimes, autism makes that impossible.

Posted May 23, 2016 by swanatbagend in autism

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