Navigating the Event Horizon

Our lives are full of cycles:   We learn, we teach, we become wiser.  We gain confidence, we take risks, we learn moderation. Some cycles are repeated again and again as we age. We trust, we are disappointed or betrayed, we make better choices about who we confide in, or we don't.  These cycles of trial and error are the mechanism by which we learn to navigate our world, but when you remove the 'why' from these experiences, our ability to learn from them is compromised. If you don't recognise that your trust has been abused, rejected or betrayed, or do not understand the reason why, how do you make a better decision next time?  How do you protect yourself?

One particular cycle (trying and failing to get the outcome I desired, and blundering into exactly the same issue next time I tried) was interrupted when I got my diagnosis 7 years ago:  I learned about Asperger's and that lent me the understanding I needed to begin to extricate myself from the cycle.  I nearly fell back in when, after copious research, I realised that there were no apparent solutions to how Asperger's affected my life.  I had simply added one more step in my cycle:  Try and fail, but fully appreciate the impact on myself, and others before blundering into it once again.  I still didn't know why, and even if I did, I did not have the language, skills or support to try to improve things.

But I wasn't ready to admit defeat.  I decided to embrace the positives.  I decided to use my experiences to illuminate the little-understood world of Asperger's. - to provoke discussion and highlight issues.  I had some success, which allowed me to take the next step...  And when the invitation came, I accepted and I learned about a possible solution - a way to claim back a portion of my life that I had never realised was lost.  I began to co-present The Different Engine's Aspie TA workshops. I made new friends and eventually, the illumination spread to those around me, letting everyone see me more clearly, and I, them. I am no expert in Transactional Analysis - I have a basic vocabulary, but is is enough to enable dialogue, and consequently, understanding.

But life with Asperger's is rarely so straightforward....

One of the most painful aspects of living with Asperger's, is the way that huge, hulking misunderstandings can still come barreling out of left-field to knock you senseless and make you question your entire world view from the tiniest details to the broadest foundation.

Everyone suffers unexpected setbacks at sometime in their lives, no matter how they try to insulate themselves from disaster.  I myself have spent a lifetime, unsuccessfully trying to find ways to avoid getting hurt.  Enhanced understanding cannot cover every eventuality, and certainly cannot stop the dreadful emotional impact of misunderstandings when they happen.  So you explain yourself, people understand, you feel more relaxed and accepted, you take a chance and trust more.  In neurotypical people, there are numerous buffers (tests, if you like) that ensure that the risk is manageable; trust growing incrementally, allowing only the most worthy and compatible into the inner circle of genuine and mutual intimacy, where lasting harm could be done. This is not the case with Asperger's.

Asperger's not only means you are without the vast majority of these 'buffers', (meaning you are likely to risk far too much in one go), but also that you are likely to be unaware that this is happening until it is too late (leaving you totally unprepared for the disaster when it descends and utterly defenceless in its wake).

When I have encountered such disasters in the past, I have always responded to the appalling emotional and psychological pain they inflict by removing myself from everything and everyone involved immediately and permanently.  An over-reaction?  It may seem that way to a neurotypical, but I have a pitifully limited defense.  It is rare for me to trust, and rarer still that I relax in another's company.  So when it turns out that, in my enthusiasm to celebrate some of those rare relationships, I have unwittingly caused harm to them, my world falls apart.

 I suppose it is a nod to progress that I have not acted immediately on this occasion, despite the impact of this particular disaster being as painful as any I have encountered.  I need to know if this can be resolved, if my world view can survive, and whether I can live with that resolution, should it materialise. Running away and hiding from the pain is as attractive as it's ever been, but I will see this through. I need to know if it is possible to build mend bridges instead of burning them.  Sometimes, it seems, the only thing you can do when trust has let you down, is to trust that things will get better, and I'll emerge from this black hole.

If Hawking radiation can do it... maybe I can too.

Mourning the loss of "Why"

First, I must make my apology for being silent for an extended period.  Suffice it to say, it was unavoidable and I will do not wish to bore you with the details.  I will say that recent events have left me in reflective mood; hence the subject matter today....

I have been tasked to support literacy in a class where many of the students speak English as a second language.  After the first lesson, I realised that grammar and spelling were not the issue.  The difficulty arose on interpreting the wording of the essay questions.  Students would wax lyrical about a subject without getting to the real meaning of the task.  It struck me that this is a difficulty I, and many autistic people share.

I spoke at length with their teacher about strategies for helping them with the questions which involved stating their understanding of psychologically-influenced decisions, and the discussion inevitably led to talk of our experiences of perspectives and misunderstandings.  My colleague mentioned a funeral he had attended many years before;  that of a male colleague who had died in an accident.  He mentioned the reaction of the man's autistic teenage son who, mid-ceremony, had turned to his grieving mother and asked if they could 'get a dog now'.

Now, I have a particular difficulty with emotionally charged situations, especially those as heavily shrouded in social rules and ritual as funerals...  I remember the funeral of my own father, when I was 17, and the huge anxiety I felt.  Interestingly, the anxiety was caused not by 'grief', but by the fear of not knowing how to 'act' at such an occasion.  The vignettes of outpourings of grief exhibited by the the other people at the funeral were at once fascinating and bewildering to me.  I did not cry, and although I was sad about the loss of my parent, I don't remember 'feeling' any different than usual. (I have strong emotions, but most of the time I struggle to connect them to particular experiences.) It did not affect me acutely, in the way it clearly affected others in my family. But I certainly felt shame. I could not conceive of trying to 'act' a certain way for fear of being 'found out'. I even spoke with friends at college and asked about grief, what it felt like, how it should be shown and how long it should last etc.  I waited for the feelings of grief (as described by my fellow students) to begin.  They never did.  What did affect me, was the clear concern and judgement on the faces of those who realised I was not reacting in the usual way.  I don't doubt the boy my colleague spoke of noticed peoples' shock and even disgust at his words.  I cannot bring myself to attend family funerals, to this day, for this very reason.

I thought about the boy my colleague mentioned and, after many years of avoiding the subject, I realised a sad truth.  It is not that I did not experience grief - it is just that grief is a constant. In one of our many TA workshops, we talked about 'the loss of "Why"  I must confess, the significance of this eluded me for some time, but I think I understand it now, and it is dangerous territory.

So, the "Why" refers to the process of making sense of the world around us.  It is about the journey we take through our experiences and the lessons we learn from them.  It is how we acquire the answers that allow us to grow in confidence and navigate the chaos that is life, and in the answers, we take comfort.

I crave answers.  Like many people with Asperger's, I am fanatical about researching, learning and sharing information, but there are vast tracts of my world that will always be closed to me:

I grieve for the things I have lost and the things I will never have.  Every day.  I grieve for the unspoken moments I have missed, the expectations I have not lived up to, the experiences I couldn't communicate, the joys that I couldn't share, the opportunities I never saw, the disappointments I have suffered.  I grieve for the friends I will never make, the belonging I will never experience, the camaraderie that cushions, the intimacy that soothes, the feelings and perspectives I will never understand.  (Regardless of new skills and perspectives... the volume is too great.)

Do not confuse this with regret.  Regret infers that there might have been another outcome had different choices been made. Grief is the response to the tragic, unrecoverable events that may happen without warning and despite our every effort.  Grief is my background.  My baseline.  It is the expectation of loss that insulates me from it.  My emotions are nerves stripped bare, the comfort of 'why' is absent, and I dare not dwell on it.

It is this fear that has me looking to the repercussions of actions, instead of indulging my emotions. (I do not have the experience or skills to indulge anyone else's.)  It is this that has me looking to the future to find new problems that I can fix, and this, I suspect, that led that boy to be thinking about a dog, when 'he should have been' mourning his loss to the world.

I don't mean this to garner pity.  Just perhaps to shed a little light on what might appear to be heartless, emotionless behaviour at a time when everyone is vulnerable.  Consider those who are so vulnerable, they cannot afford to show it.

The Trust Relationship Between this Workstation and the Primary Domain has failed...

I can only apologise for the delay in posting my blog…  I wrote one for February and also for March.  I will post neither as, looking back, they were not my thoughts.  Suffice it to say that, (due to my condition (chronic migraine and allodyna) and the medication I have to take in order to function) my personality, and consequently, my outlook were altered both pharmacologically and by sleep deprivation.  I have no wish to share these experiences, and I don’t think hearing my woeful rants written during that time will be of any benefit to anyone, least of all, me. 

Despite the weather and disruption of March, things have recently become much more settled for me.  The situation at work (which was responsible for many of the difficulties of previous months) has been satisfactorily resolved.  When things looked bad, I applied for another job and was invited for interview, which I attended.  Before they finished their deliberations, the problems at work had evaporated, and I withdrew my application - this time for the right reasons. (The hours didn’t suit; the commute was a problem…  It simply wasn’t worth the move, despite my delight at the possibility of working in graphics once more.)  There were emergent opportunities in my job for including some graphics and marketing work… things were looking up.

It got me thinking about ageing.  I will be 50 later this year, and I think I am finally starting to feel comfortable in my own skin.  I still have no well-formed sense of self, but I am much more likely to consider my own needs when making decisions.  I am happy with my current work situation.  So, is this really just a plateau in the profile of peaks and troughs?  I think not. 

A little while ago, I was introduced to Erikson's theory of the Psychosocial Stages of Development.  I suppose I approached in much the same way as someone would an astrological forecast – fitting my experience to the categories and feelings, but I was quite sure, that I had not come out of this process unscathed…

There is nothing like the first flickering shadow of one’s own mortality to make you reassess your priorities.  Life, it seems, is too short.  I have had an interesting and varied work life.  I don’t need a highly paid, high pressure job.  I don’t want a long working day and short holidays so I hardly see my son.  I have other things queuing up to fill my time:  I have a book to finish with my son;  I am a director of The Different Engine; I have historical events to attend; I have paintings to paint, music to listen to, et cetera and so on…

Perhaps it is this age-earned ‘wisdom’ that was responsible for my decision not to post my previous two blog entries… The confidence to wait is something I have always felt I lacked in the past – my need for additional time to process probably played into my anxiety for not responding quickly enough, and fear; my tendency to make panicked decisions.  With hindsight, the waters were always calmer than they seemed at the time; the tempest exaggerated or wholly imagined.  

Perhaps this is the wisdom of age, or maybe a by-product of deepening trust. Trust is a fragile thing, but I have followed some excellent advice a friend gave to me several years ago: Surround yourself with kind people.   Trust is fragile, but I now realise that it gets stronger when maintained.  I have acquired a very select but extremely high quality group of friends over the last few years, and I trust them as much and more, than I have trusted anyone.  But I nearly walked away from my job when I perceived that my trust had been betrayed...  But trust must be maintained in the face of apparent betrayal, to be sure there is no solution to be achieved, no corner to be turned... Because I waited, a solution was found, an apology and a commitment made and trust was renewed.  It made me realise  just how many times I may have turned away too soon....

There is a central principle in TA. Eric Berne initiated the principle within Transactional Analysis that we are all born 'OK' — in other words, good and worthy. Frank Ernst developed these into the OK matrix, (also known as the 'OK Corral' after the famous 1881 Tombstone shootout between the Earps and the Clantons).

I realised some time ago that, for the most part, I have spent my life in the two left hand boxes, and this position is indicative of a complete lack of trust (in myself and others).  The title of my blog is "The trust relationship between this workstation and the primary domain has failed" and is the only surviving element of my discarded rants of last month.  You can imagine my metaphorical interpretation of this innocent computer error message - it was very much in line with the bottom left hand square of the matrix:  “Everything is broken and it won’t get better.”

Now that things have settled somewhat and my trust is restored, I can put my title where it belongs which is in the top right hand square of the matrix:  “Ha! That error message is a T-shirt, right there!  I’ll call IT and they’ll come and fix it”. 

The hits keep coming...

So, has the bubble burst?  Has my new-found validity run out of steam?  Met it's match?  Died a death? The answer is most assuredly: No.

Indeed, I have put it to the test.  I have thrown everything I can think of at it:  There have been social events, stressful health issues, concerns about the educational future of my son (SATs and Secondary Schools), and the most potentially incendiary of all: A meeting with Senior Leadership at my school: (a second attempt at an abortive OH follow-up meeting that led to a very public meltdown...)

I had given it much thought, of course; (don't we always?) the reasons why this meeting ended so quickly and so disastrously...  The unexpected venue of the large conference room next to the Principal's office... the equally unexpected attendance of my line manager and a representative of the School Federation's HR department, as well as the one person I had expected.  As they began to go through the points raised in my OH report, I immediately began to feel defensive, hearing demands instead of questions, ultimatums instead of realities.  I felt tears prickle at my eyes as the panic rose, and that was that.  Less than 5 minutes and the rest of the day spent agonising about how annoyed everyone would be at me, that they had arranged this meeting and made the time... etc. etc.

Weeks passed, and so did the TA 101 part 2, (where my husband's TA Epiphany took place) and where validation was achieved, despair was mislaid...  Then came the email:  Would I like to meet up and try this follow-up meeting again?

Was I stricken with terror?  Did I arrange to be absent?  Did I refuse, saying it wouldn't be necessary?  No.  Not only did I agree, but, when the meeting details were sent - I asked for them to be changed:  Could we meet somewhere less formal?  Could it just be the two of us?  Of course, this was accepted, because they are reasonable requests.  I was very pleased with myself indeed.

When the meeting came around, the atmosphere was entirely different.  I asked that we omit the blow-by-blow account on the OH report, in favour of an informal discussion about things I found difficult at work.  I talked about the lack of interaction with my line manager, my difficulty with networking.  I spoke confidently about what I have to offer, and my frustration at not being able to communicate it.  I spoke about the shame I feel that I have to ask for explicit, verbal feedback because I cannot rely on picking it up through non-verbal cues common in the professional relationships most of the staff here share, (mainly because this is often misinterpreted as needy or egotistical.)  As the conversation went on, the panic never materialised... I felt almost equal, justified, calm, articulate - my vocabulary did not desert me.  I voiced my suggestions and they were not dismissed.  There was no awkward end to the meeting.  We were just two colleagues walking to our next appointments and casually finishing a conversation ignited by our discussion.

I realise the only thing that has changed is my attitude towards myself.  My ability to understand non-verbal communication has not improved miraculously, I have not become more confident, more social, observant...  No.  And the hits keep coming. But I now know that other people can understand my world, and that gives me validity.  Therefore my thoughts, words, feelings and actions must be valid:  This upturn in my professional fortunes is merely the result of my analytical mind applying new knowledge to an existing situation.

But it changes everything.

In a different light: A full-disk multiwavelength extreme ultraviolet image of the sun taken by SDO on March 30, 2010. False colors trace different gas temperatures. Reds are relatively cool (about 60,000 Kelvin, or 107,540 F); blues and greens are hotter (greater than 1 million Kelvin, or 1,799,540 F).
Credits: NASA/Goddard/SDO AIA Team

The feeling is Mutual

I have lived for many years with the unshakable and certain knowledge that I was alone.  That no-one would ever truly understand my world, my experience, my truth.  For two weeks now, I have been rather off balance - my certainty has disappeared and normality has yet to return, because return it must:  If it doesn't, I will have to think of something to replace it with, and this is new territory.

I have grown closer to people in the last year or so, special friends who share my experience, whose insights I value, whose company I genuinely enjoy, but the loneliness persisted.  Something fundamental has changed since the TA/Aspie workshop that we attended a fortnight ago, when, shockingly, my NT husband went from borderline cynicism to  wholehearted devotee of TA. He acquired an almost miraculous appreciation, not only of the difficulties I face as an Aspie, but also the breadth of the empath/systemiser spectrum and his place in it, and the power of TA to bridge the enormous chasms that litter our attempts to connect with people.  It was somewhat unexpected, and I wanted to give things time to return to normal, for his enthusiasm to wane, for the bubble to burst. The odd thing is that none of these things has happened.  And, even more unexpectedly, I find I'm OK with that.

I have come to the conclusion that this is due to suddenly having a key person in my life who genuinely understands, wholly, why my life is the way it is. He 'gets it.'

This is The Most Important Person In My Life, and until now, I was certain he only excused my mistakes, tolerated my idiosyncrasies, weathered my anxieties. I have played my part without the innocent wisdom of genuine sincerity. I merely support, agree and frown my concerns with no real expectation of understanding. This is no longer the case. He 'get's it.'

We have talked and talked and talked.  We have sat in silence, grinning at each other between intervals of hand-holding. He tells me he's less stressed now, and that he no longer feels the need to start conversations with 'don't take this the wrong way' or to answer 'it's nothing' when I ask why he's upset:  He gets it.  I go to work and experience the same old problems, the same lack of understanding, the same pressures and anxieties but somehow, they no longer seem to accumulate into the overwhelming assault that left me exhausted at the end of every day.  I brush them off:  The Most Important Person in my life 'gets it'.

My friend, Peter assures me that this is, in fact, the experience of Mutuality.  This is unconditional; a place where communication is effortless, where I am accepting and accepted, where I am welcomed. It is a gift: A sublime edition to our hard won and solid foundation, 25 years in the making.

(I suppose I should wish my husband a Happy Silver Wedding Anniversary while I'm thinking about it... chances are I'll probably forget by next August!)

Binary system - stars in mutual orbit

Pardon my English

I marvel at the English language. I am struck by the bizarre spelling and the grammatical and usage rules that are routinely broken.  I admire the exclusivity of 'good grammar', and I especially appreciate the rich variety of  descriptive vocabulary and multiple meanings of many of them; often at complete odds with one another...  I acknowledge that there are often ten different ways to say everything, and don't get me started on pronunciation...

In short, the English language is analogous of the complexity of the NT world which I navigate and the difficulties experienced by those of us who do not possess it as innate language.  There is no substitute for plain speaking, but I have learned to use this complicated tool to articulate my world in ways most likely to reach those unfamiliar with it.  But there is a danger here:

The tool with which I try to express the realities of my world, can be held against me in the most oppressive of ways.  It would appear that my joyful use of the English language can, to some, appear superior - as though I were trying to highlight the difference in our ability/knowledge/class... take your pick.  My choice of subject matter can highlight the same inequality, I am told.  Should I adhere to the apparent norm, where only the most intelligent or privileged use correct grammar and the full range of their vocabulary? The idea that only superior, privileged people speak correct English with a large vocabulary, or that only Physicists are interested in physics is untrue and an NT social construct.
It is natural to me to use the full extent of the tools at my disposal, regardless of who I am talking to. Should I 'dumb down' to 'fit in'?  'Now hang on!' you may say... 'Just a few alterations to take into account peoples' feelings will make all the difference...'  That sounds reasonable, doesn't it?  But how does an Aspie anticipate what feelings might be hurt?  (I will have made no prior judgments about a person's intelligence or vocabulary before I speak to them.  I will not notice their discomfort with the language unless they tell me explicitly.)  I do not 'talk down' to anyone... not even children, although I will offer simpler synonyms and definitions to them, along with my normal speech - they are much better than adults at telling me what they need.

The social world is a riot of complex, misleading and hidden cues that NTs tap into easily, often without conscious thought, so should expect an Aspie be expected to alter their speech to accommodate the 'hidden' feelings of the NT majority?  I wonder if this isn't just as problematic as expecting an Aspie to know when someone is being sarcastic because we rely on the NT person letting us know what they really meant... surely it would be easier if everyone was more clear?

I daydream sometimes about what it would be like in a world where everyone only said what they meant, in simple terms, without subtext or contradictory expressions and body language...  Where everyone would have an opinion that was fluid - based only on the available evidence at the time, without reliance on ingrained memory and social influences...  Would this world be dull? Unemotional? Soulless? I think not.  It would be honest, lively and liberating.  The old adage of Equity over Equality would have no meaning:  The barriers would not exist.  No-one would feel alienated, or need to be lifted, propped up or rescued.

Stranger in a Strange Land

My world is changing.  I suppose this simple statement is open to many different interpretations but, I assure you, my world has never shown any signs of changing in the most important way.  Until now.

I speak of the gradual unveiling of the NT world that is accompanying my deepening foray into Rich Hall's and Peter Flowerdew's particular brand of TA (Transactional Analysis). The reason why my usual cynicism about the possibility of such change is absent?  Because this actually works.  It makes sense to Aspie and NT alike.  It provides common ground where before, there was none and, unlike other 'therapies' and 'techniques', it is accessible to everyone.

I am experiencing a process of profound revelation, unfolding itself in exquisite slow motion, one realisation at a time.  I am using it to shed light on the most inaccessible constructs of my life - places where I have feared to tread, because of their fragility:  My sense of self, my professional persona, my relationship with my husband and son.

I have always sought empirical evidence for the veracity of all things, and this form of TA was in no way immune to my exacting standards.  The first course I attended was filled mainly with participants who were professionals in the field of psychotherapy.  Although the beneficial effect upon the attendees was plain to see, the full potential was not clear to me until I attended the most recent course.

Rich and Peter actually ran two courses simultaneously - one written for NTs (professionals and non-professional) and one, a 'translation' for Aspies (from similarly varied backgrounds).  Peter is uniquely skilled to incorporate Rich's insights and to see the obstacles to communication between the NT and Aspie worlds, and he expertly navigated his way though, dealing with all manner of input from the various perspectives of the mixed group.  Their sincerity and confidence in the findings, and the efficacy of their application were borne out by the changes I saw played out in that room over three days.

Day One saw a large group of people, demonstrably representing every part of the AQ (Autistic Quotient) scale, from empaths (like so many of the therapists) to extreme systemisers, (like Rich and I) all butting heads and struggling to understand and to be understood.  No-one had felt comfortable (including Rich and Peter, I suspect) and everyone had mixed feelings about Day 2.  However, half way through the second day and it was already evident that something in the dynamic of the group had changed.  A dizzying parade of observations, insight and demonstrations from Rich and Peter generated meaningful questions and heartfelt answers from NT and Aspie alike. It was exhausting and inspiring.

At the start of Day 3, the enthusiasm in the group was palpable...  Everyone had identified the common ground and the potential for this gift of translation.  The excitement was obvious:  Here was the start of real understanding:  The promise of progress, the possibility of connection, a beginning of real change.

I have waited for the 'welcome' that Peter speaks so passionately about, all my life.  It seems so close now, I feel I can almost taste it.  I cried when my (NT) husband asked if he could attend the course. We have a good marriage (25 years, next year) but there has always been a wall between us, that I have longed to remove.  If we can really connect with each other after all these years - there is hope for us all.  I think now, that perhaps that welcome has been there all along - just waiting to be discovered....

The Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation Map - It was always there - One scientist predicted it but couldn't find it - another found it, but initially dismissed it as interference caused by messy nesting pigeons in their radio receiver...  Turned out to be the long-awaited evidence of the Big Bang....

Friendly fire

I am often told that I am talented.  I am aware that this is meant as a compliment, but I struggle with the concept of compliments.  I am aware that the 'normal' response to a compliment (apart from acknowledgement and reciprocation) is to 'feel good about oneself, and thankful to the compliment-giver.'  It is almost entirely an intuitive interaction. With my logical, cognitive mind, I understand this to be the main purpose of a compliment.

In people such as myself, compliments are not given or responded to intuitively.  I have been known to wax lyrical about how uneasy compliments, in fact, make me feel... I know I have described them as being almost like physical blows, when I am feeling particularly vulnerable.  It is when you experience this without intuiting the good feeling, that a compliment can appear as an unsolicited demand for acknowledgement and reciprocation.

"What?  How cynical!" I hear you cry.  But I assure you, it is not cynicism that negates the positive effect of compliments.  It is merely an effect of applying logic ahead of emotion.  Let me explain:  To say I am talented, is no different (in my world) to telling me that I am above average in some way, at painting, singing, writing.  I know I can paint - I have spent more time than is usual in practicing painting techniques and have become quite proficient in certain aspects.  My immediate response to what is clearly a compliment, is one of confusion.  And herein lies the difficulty.  I will try to break down my thought process to make the outcome clearer: The Compliment:

"You are very talented" (Looking appraisingly at one of my paintings)

I am aware that stating something graciously, like "How nice of you to say!" whilst smiling appreciatively, would be ideal, but this is a false response which is dishonest, and cannot be entertained. The true response is more along the lines:

Oh God! A vague, subjective compliment! Right!  Don't panic!  What does talented mean?  Special? Better? Clever? Blessed? Gifted? Lucky?  Well, I'm none of those...  I just work hard.  There are many more able and innovative artists than me, so she's clearly mistaken.  Hang on, perhaps she's more qualified to tell the difference than I am... I wonder what her credentials are?  I would ask, but that might sound rude.  No, I don't recognise her - I assume she's just 'being nice'.  Is there a hidden agenda here? Right - that means I should say something nice back, and perhaps explain. "Thanks, but I'm not really - It's just something I do to stop feeling overwhelmed or bored."  Hmmm.  That didn't seem to be very well received... Smile your stiff, fraudulent smile and move away.

In my experience, compliments are not the inert selfless gift that they are considered by most.  In my experience they are potentially dangerous ordnance, that should only be handled by qualified experts. If they do find their way into the hands of rank amateurs such as myself, they need to be accompanied by detailed instructions for their safe disposal or deployment.

This may seem a little extreme, but please do not assume I do not appreciate compliments.  They just need to be reasonably well informed and specific.  I will find it much easier to engage with a compliment if it offers some new perspective for me to consider, new data to assess.  Compliments I have heard, and preferred include: "I have seen lots of this type of thing, but none of them quite capture the urban setting as well...", I could walk into your skies" and, (my personal favourite) "I like the dirt and the lamp-posts".

(I can engage with the the first, by asking what other similar pictures they have seen and how they differ; the second, by investigating the reason for this: The geometry? The light? The colour? The third is a statement I cannot argue with - it is a simply stated observation and preference pertaining to an aspect of the painting I had actually planned.)

Of course when they become more thoughtful and specific, they are no longer mere compliments -  they have become meaningful acknowledgement, considered observation and intellectual appreciation.  And these, Euler and I know what to do with...

"Gentlemen, that is surely true, it is absolutely paradoxical; we cannot understand it, and we don't know what it means. But we have proved it, and therefore we know it is the truth." (Bejamin Peirce)

A special sort of kind

I heard some excellent advice recently; this from someone who's judgement I have come trust in a remarkably short time.  He said : "Surround yourself with kind people."  This chimed with another piece of advice I read many years ago; a little snippet of wisdom from Ashleigh Brilliant: "Be kind to unkind people - they need it the most."

A little background....  A friend (and I use that phrase accurately for the first time in many years) was involved in a workshop/seminar about transactional analysis (TA)  which will probably be meaningless to many, but not so to psychotherapists of any ilk.  I first came across the idea years ago, after a recommendation from a psychiatrist led me to Eric Berne's book "The Games People Play" which seeks to demystify the mechanics of social interaction.  It did so, firstly, by identifying "Ego States" such as the 'Parent', the 'Child' and the 'Adult'.  The book was interesting, but I found the practise of using the theory to structure my interactions difficult and tiring.

I looked at the slides my friend was hoping to use during this workshop, and found them interesting. However, I didn't really see anything groundbreaking, mainly because I assumed, (incorrectly) that this was the same sort of thing as the ideas set out in Berne's book all those years ago.  I had recently had an exhibition of my work in central Bristol, and the Evening Post had done a story about it, with regard to Asperger's.  My friend asked to borrow a couple of pictures to take to his workshop to demonstrate the detail-oriented and systemising nature of the Asperger's brain.  I agreed and offered to help in any way I could at future workshops.

The workshop was a great success, and another was swiftly organised.  I was invited to attend in the capacity of co-presenter, which inferred a level of participation I wasn't sure I was ready to provide, but I was intrigued and went along...  I'd offered my help, after all.

That's how I ended up in a comfortable study, discussing TA with two PHD engineers, both trained in TA and one of them; a leading practitioner in using TA as a tool for psychologists working with Asperger's clients.  I could count on one hand the number of NT people who I have met in my lifetime with a detailed understanding of the nature and effects of Asperger's.  To meet someone who (despite being NT) has such an insight into the neurological differences, and the consequences of life with Asperger's, is exceptional.  To attend the workshop created by Rich Hall and Peter Flowerdew, and see the theories explained, and see them translated for NT and Aspie alike, is profound.  It is this inability to understand one another's worlds that is the root of much of the anxiety and frustration surrounding NT/Aspie communication.

I should pause here, to acknowledge the overwhelming kindness I experienced during this weekend. I would say it was a rare privilege, but that would be incorrect, as I have never experienced the like: A room of people who were genuinely interested in my experience, who were sensitive to my sensitivities and appreciative of my honesty.  They called me brave and extraordinary, and made me believe it.  They were a special sort of kind, and I include Peter and Rich in this description.  I was truly moved.

It's taken me a long time to process everything I saw and learned at the workshop, and I'm still absorbing and evaluating some of it.  However, it is clear to me now that the key to NTs and Aspie's understanding each other is the architecture of language.  This workshop centres on the different world-views of Aspies and NT and appears to cut straight to the key differences in the way we experience - everything.  It manages to translate these theories so that they can be used by NT therapists who are desperate to better understand and help their Aspie clients.

I won't go into details, as I am no expert, but one part in particular struck a chord that has kept me thinking on it ever since.  That is the striking realisation that the traditionally understood "Ego State" Models differ markedly for Aspies and NTs.  One particular slide which made a lasting impression, was that of a diagram showing the transaction of  conversation that I recognised from any number of exchanges with ex-employers.  The Parent and Child ego states take much from learned past experiences, and the Adult state is purely based in the present.  The way it is expected to go sees the Parent (Boss) asking the Child (employee) to do a task.  The Child is expected to respond to the Parent, (a parallel interaction) however, in Aspies, it is the Adult that responds, confusing the now 'Disparaging Parent' (Boss), and eliciting an assumption of a response from a 'Petulant Child' (employee being difficult and disrespectful), and not the 'Adult' state response it actually was. The startling connection that has made here, is that there really is no Parent or Child ego state for Aspies.  We really only interact in the Adult state.  This of course would cause enormous confusion in social interaction, and clearly does.  It was immediately clear to me that is is the dynamic behind many of the failed interviews, premature redundancies and abortive social interactions that have plagued my entire adult life.

This is surely worthy of much study, and as if to prove the point, workshop bookings are increasing exponentially.  I am keen to pursue this and help in whatever way I can, as it seems to be a huge leap along the way to mutual understanding between Aspie and NT, and promises more natural interaction without the expectation of the Aspie conforming to NT models.

To put it another way: "There is common ground, it's just not where we thought it was, so put down the net and the cattle prod, and let's talk..."  And it's the kind people who will oblige first...

Learning with the Experts

When I explain to people that I have Aspergers, the response can be somewhat polarised.  I am met either with a knowing smile and a slow nod, (as if this is mere confirmation of a long suspected fact) or with utter consternation and denial.  However, both camps can easily be united in disbelief when I mention the fact that I work in a school.  With teenagers.  Front of Class. As a cover teacher.  And in my spare time, help out at my son's primary school and with the local Cubs and Scouts.

It's too noisy, surely?  Too much social interaction?  How can you empathise?  Communicate?  Too stressful? What? No timetable?  Constant change?  Different students and different subjects every lesson?  Nobody on the Autistic spectrum would choose to do this!

I suppose it does seem strange, but let me explain:  I like working with kids.  I prefer to spend my time talking to kids than to adults.  Kids make much more sense.  They are honest (to a fault, like me).  They prefer honesty, but if they do lie, then it can't be hidden (like me).  They are full of wonder and curiosity (like me).  Their potential knows no bounds. They are brave, have amazing resilience, humour and kindness.  They do not judge.  They can always change their minds.  They don't dismiss anything as boring or valueless without trying it out.  They feel everything keenly and react honestly, feeding back instantly.  I could go on and on.

I love learning - It's essential to me, and I will never stop.  To be around people who are as honest as me, as open as me, as full of wonder as me, as fallible as me, as energetic as me, as silly as me (as anyone who knows me and my penchant for giant inflatables can testify!), and as much fun as a barrel of puppies, too - well. It makes adults seem a stuffy lot..

Ah, but those of you who know my previous incarnation of 'Graphics Specialist' working in Environmental Engineering, will wonder why I haven't always worked with kids...  Well, I worked with scientists then, and in my book, that's almost the same thing:  Wonder... curiosity... lack of social sophistication... sound familiar?

Yes of course, it's exhausting, yes it can be frustrating, heartbreaking, infuriating, but at school and cubs, I can be myself with the kids, and I know where I stand with them.  They don't placate, humiliate, undermine, dismiss.  They praise when they are impressed, they criticize when they are not.  It is clear to me when I have inspired them, when I have upset them, when I have amused them, when I've made a difference to them, and I collect the experiences eagerly.  It is easier than being around adults, and I learn more from them than I can in adult company.  I am learning about social interaction as they do - It is more inspiring than anything I have ever done, and when I see them growing up and learning how to manage in the world, it gives me hope for myself.

Charley shows off his Viking ship homework

A little knowledge...

"We're all on the spectrum somewhere, aren't we?" I hear this phrase a lot from people who are well meaning, well-read and reasonably aware of Autism.  I used to accept it without question but, over time, my annoyance at the phrase grew until it was more likely to be met with angry disagreement.  People might as well have been saying: "Well it's nothing really, is it?"  or "It's no different to anything the rest of us have to put up with is it?" I have recently passed beyond this phase and now bask in the zen-like calm of someone truly at ease with the ignorance of others.  Too blunt?  Too judgemental?  Quite possibly. Let me explain:

It is widely understood that the Electromagnetic Spectrum comprises radiation of different wavelengths and frequencies.  They all have different characteristics, but they are all still radiation.  Most of us have heard of some of them:  Radio, Microwave, Infrared, Ultraviolet, X-Ray and Gamma Ray.  They are all invisible, but there is a small section in the middle of the Spectrum that is visible to the human eye.  The colours that make up this visible 'white' light are visible when white light is 'split' by a prism. This small part of the spectrum comprises most people's experience of light. We know the familiar colours of the rainbow and their characteristics - we see the effects of their wavelengths with our eyes as they are absorbed or reflected by different materials around us.  Everyone knows where they are with visible light.... Few ever feel the need to study the parts of the EM Spectrum which are less 'tangible'.  These are things that cannot be understood by looking in the same way we see visible light.

The Neurological Spectrum poses a similar problem - Everyone knows where they are with Neuro Typicals (NTs) even though they encompass a huge variety of different characteristics and behaviours. People with Autism, however, exist firmly in the less well known parts of the Neurological Spectrum; indeed we occupy our own 'Spectrum'.  As an Aspie, I find it hard to see things from the perspective of any one who doesn't share my little chunk of the Spectrum.  I now suspect it is practically impossible for most NTs to see things from my perspective.  How can someone who is NT begin to understand how someone with Autism experiences the world when the very tools we use to experience it are so different?  Try to convince an Aspie that you share their experience when you are NT, and you will probably meet some resistance.

In short - someone who is NT may share similar difficulties as someone with Aperger's, but the experience will differ enormously.  They may both get overwhelmed at a party, become tired and want to leave, but the Aspie may be so overwhelmed it brings on a meltdown....  They might both enjoy a walk in the countryside, but the Aspie might become so overwhelmed by the beauty around them that are driven to tears.  Stresses at home or work may get them both down, but the Aspie may be more likely to suffer a severe bout of depression.  Similarly, both may enjoy a well made film, but the Aspie may dissect it to the nth degree to fully appreciate the craftsmanship and recite volumes of observations to anyone available whether they watched it or not.

We all experience the same difficulties, ups and downs. How we experience them, and how they affect us however, is very, very different. It is clear to me now, that only the most exceptionally open-minded or highly perceptive individuals can look beyond their own NT experience and acknowledge that it is different for us... Which doesn't mean we should stop trying, of course!

To me it's a raven - to others a rabbit...  but I'm right (hee hee!)

Happy New Year... (First published 5th January 2016)

Making friends and maintaining friendships has always been nigh on impossible for me.  I can only assume that there is some point where the interaction becomes intuitive, and no longer requires excessive effort on the part of the friends.  In my experience, this juncture in a relationship usually sparks an end to proceedings:  Either I have lost interest in the person, or they in me.  The other possibility is that the person becomes too close, and I begin to panic about the consequences of an ill-considered remark or forgotten appointment. I have read many books on the subject, including Eric Berne’s "The Games People Play" which has proven useful but the mechanics, when tackled on a purely intellectual level, are exhausting.  I do not prefer my own company – it’s just often easier to be on my own.

Christmas and New Year is especially exhausting in this sense.  Regardless of what they may say, people have high expectations around this time.  People must be kind, thoughtful, organised  and strive for perfection, (based on what criteria, I cannot fathom, but God forbid it's the TV adverts…) presumably under pain perhaps of being 'struck off the Christmas List'.

I enjoy the pomp and ceremony around Christmas time – I love singing carols, making and wrapping presents and decorating the house, so I keep the stresses associated with Christmas reasonably at bay.  The real test comes with the return to work in January: Remember to say ‘Happy New Year’, ‘How was your Christmas?’ and ‘Did you manage to get away?’ (my personal favourite as it always conjures up an image of Santa robbing houses and getting chased by the  police as he makes his escape on his sleigh!)

Keeping up with appropriate comments and responses when I have no particular interest in what other people have been doing is really challenging.  They might be surprised to learn that I have no interest in telling them what I was doing either.  I hold no ill-will towards anyone if they  forget to send me a card, and I would like to think the same is true for them…

I assume that, like much of what passes between people in everyday conversation, these exchanges serve to maintain and strengthen friendships and social ties.  I see no logic in treating people differently according to the time of year, but I confess to putting a great deal of effort into playing along!  I can’t help thinking that things would be a lot simpler and less traumatic if we were to go back to just sitting around picking fleas off each other…

On the subject of making sense... (first posted 2nd December 2015)

Hello. Let me introduce myself, or rather, my alter-ego, Talentless Liar.  "What?" I hear you say, (assuming anyone is out there) "That’s a bit negative isn’t it?"  Well,  no.  Or yes and no, to be more accurate.  Does it mean I’m talentless and a liar?  Does it mean I’m merely bad at lying?  Does it mean I’m lying about being talented?
Well, I’ll leave that up to you to decide.  Just to help though, I’ll give you a few facts to help you arrive at an answer:

• I am enchanted by quantum physics and theoretical mathematics, but struggle with simple addition.
• I know nothing about Art, but I paint and draw pictures constantly.
• My pictures are lauded for their detail and dismissed as photographs.
• I crave friendship but destroy or fail to maintain my relationships.
• I work to relax, progress to stay the same and pretend to be someone else in order to fit in.
• I can lecture on technical matters to a crowded conference hall, but panic at the prospect of an informal gathering.
• I can remember accurately a wide range of facts on a vast array of subjects, but I forget my husband’s birthday (and my own!)
• I am famously unthinking and tactless, yet fiercely loyal and a champion of fairness.
• I am a contradiction, yet the world makes less sense than I do.
• I seek truth at all times and in all things but fear trusting others with the truth about myself.
• People think me sad and pessimistic but I am am staggered by the beauty of a reflection in a puddle.

If you know about Asperger’s, then this will make perfect sense.  Read on.   If you don’t, it won’t make any sense.  Read on.

I will endeavour to write a little every week, some experiences, a little humour, some history, some pearls of wisdom from exceptional people I have met, some pictures and some interesting observations gleaned from my job in a busy UK Secondary (High) School… I hope it will make an interesting read, and if you learn a little about Asperger's too... then that won't be a bad thing either...

Strange weather... A rare UK Roll Cloud and the equally strange optical effects - there is interesting stuff out there  if you care to look...