It says something about my state of mind when a close friend of mine (originally from Hungary)has to look up 'vituperative' on her iphone in order to understand my apology for my behaviour. I also wanted to see if I was using it correctly, or if quite possibly, I had made it up.
"Vituperative: bitterly sarcastic, harshly abusive censure." Her phone said it better. But some synonyms would be: abusive, contumelious, invective, opprobrious and scurrilous."
In plain English, I have been a real bitch lately.
The problem is I don't know how angry I am until I open my mouth.
This has been the month of such gems as:
"Well, of course they don't have a gifted and talented team to send to the F1 competition. What are they going to do, send the Indians? They can't do that; they sent them last year." (This about our old school and about the four boys they sent last year, three of who were recent migrants to Australia.)
The fact that I retain my racist comments for my closest friends, use them sparingly, and then only to bitterly criticise the Queensland state schools, isn't really much of an excuse. Neither is the fact that the racism is POSITIVE for the darker race and condemning of the white Australians.
Vituperative, right?!
It's also been the month of:
"You don't HAVE to be Australian to be stupid." (This from Damon!)
But me even thinking, "but it helps", is, once again, vituperative.
(In Damon's defence, he was just saying that people OTHER than Queenslanders can be..oh dear, that explanation isn't helping any is it?!)
We can insult people more specifically as well.
"I swear my IQ drops by at least 50 points when I cross over the bridge into Lawnton." This said by a friend of ours a while back, but admittedly something I think about every single time I cross that bridge.
I KNOW! I KNOW!
Look, I haven't posted and I've tried to hide it from myself. Because I DO love it here and I DO think the people here can be among the greatest, kindest and most generous in the world.
Some of the kindest people I know are German too, though, and I don't have trouble tearing down their system, do I?
It's what happens after a few years, my other immigrant friends tell me. You don't see it at first, because everyone IS so kind and because things DO work better here than in most other places in the world. This is a phenomenal place to live and we are all grateful to be here.
But it doesn't mean you don't start noticing some things after a while.
This is a nonconfrontation nation and they will tell it to you with a smile, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be reading beyond it. Perhaps it's a British thing. There are unwritten social niceties that a blunt German or straightforward American aren't going to get. One thing you can say about Germans is they DO tell it like it is! And Americans are raised on confrontation and argument; we call it critical thinking. I thought the whole nonconfrontation thing - meaning one thing but saying another, just not saying anything and hoping it goes away - was passive aggressive (or something limited to the military and politics) but I think, here, it is just a way of being polite and avoiding conflict. Again, something Americans really don't worry about.
In short, this is what Australians (or maybe just s/e Queenslanders) REALLY mean:
"We work to live, not live to work," means " I don't want to work."
"Family first," means "I am taking care of myself."
And, "no worries, mate" means "Fuck it."
And, oh dear, THIS is EXACTLY what I mean by 'vituperative.'
And if our education system was working better, you could have read the title of this blog and saved yourself the bitter acrimony.
But then again, you've already heard the crappy education rants.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Would I Medicate My Child?
Halfway through the whole ASD diagnostic process, when comorbid ADD (and less strongly ODD) came into the picture, someone raised the question of medication.
Why was I getting a diagnosis? Did I think medication would cure her?
Was I trying to cure my child?
Do I even consider autism a disease in the ordinary sense?
It is not only part of my daughter's genetic make-up but a large part of her personality. She is who she is in part due to her autism.
Would I change her? No.
Would I like her to be more easy to deal with sometimes. Absolutely.
Is this a reason to medicate? Absolutely not.
Would it make her situation easier? Probably not. Her doctor would only suggest it if SHE thought it would help her with attention difficulties later on in a classroom setting. But she does fairly well - has always done fairly well - without medication. Well enough that she escaped detection all these years.
What my daughter needs is understanding, acceptance and alternatives to traditional teaching practices, not medication.
On the other hand I know a child who not only benefits from his medications, but cannot be himself without them. His mother, after pulling him out of the stresses of a traditional school and home schooling him, after gluten-free, sugar-free diets and everything that she was told she should try, had such success with his behaviour that they tried stopping his medication. Within a week he could barely function.
He told her that he couldn't find himself, that he couldn't see without his medication. His condition was clouding his ability to see himself.
He was losing himself without medication.
That, for me, would be the gold standard with which to judge whether or not to medicate my child.
Those of us who do medicate our children do it because the symptoms the medication alleviates hinder our child from finding himself. We don't do it to make our children more manageable or because we are too lazy to apply proper parenting techniques. We do it because proper parenting techniques don't work.
We do it because we lose our child without them.
Medication or not, what all children on the autistic spectrum need are acceptance and understanding.
If we could put that in a bottle and sell it to the world we'd cure a lot more than autism.
 |
| Ryan and Ian on the way to Sports Day in June. (This IS our chilly winter weather gear!) |
Why was I getting a diagnosis? Did I think medication would cure her?
Was I trying to cure my child?
Do I even consider autism a disease in the ordinary sense?
It is not only part of my daughter's genetic make-up but a large part of her personality. She is who she is in part due to her autism.
Would I change her? No.
Would I like her to be more easy to deal with sometimes. Absolutely.
Is this a reason to medicate? Absolutely not.
 |
| Sports Day at Kurwongbah State School |
Would it make her situation easier? Probably not. Her doctor would only suggest it if SHE thought it would help her with attention difficulties later on in a classroom setting. But she does fairly well - has always done fairly well - without medication. Well enough that she escaped detection all these years.
What my daughter needs is understanding, acceptance and alternatives to traditional teaching practices, not medication.
On the other hand I know a child who not only benefits from his medications, but cannot be himself without them. His mother, after pulling him out of the stresses of a traditional school and home schooling him, after gluten-free, sugar-free diets and everything that she was told she should try, had such success with his behaviour that they tried stopping his medication. Within a week he could barely function.
He told her that he couldn't find himself, that he couldn't see without his medication. His condition was clouding his ability to see himself.
He was losing himself without medication.
That, for me, would be the gold standard with which to judge whether or not to medicate my child.
Those of us who do medicate our children do it because the symptoms the medication alleviates hinder our child from finding himself. We don't do it to make our children more manageable or because we are too lazy to apply proper parenting techniques. We do it because proper parenting techniques don't work.
 |
| Did she KNOW there was a camera on her?! |
We do it because we lose our child without them.
Medication or not, what all children on the autistic spectrum need are acceptance and understanding.
If we could put that in a bottle and sell it to the world we'd cure a lot more than autism.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
ASD, ADD, AOK!
We had our last visit to the diagnosing paediatrician on Tuesday.
My daughter has Autistic Spectrum Disorder with comorbid symptoms of Attention Deficit Disorder: Inattentive Type.
It is a permanent, non improving condition listed under legitimate disabilities by the Australian Government. This, among other things, means she qualifies as special needs for schooling, and that we are entitled to free long distance state education and extra financial help for home schooling a child unable to be traditionally schooled. Our family also qualifies for a carer's allowance from the government - irregardless of income level - to compensate for the extra time it takes to care for a special needs child. Ryan also qualifies for a health care card that entitles her to almost free medical care including medications as well reduced rates for public services such as transportation and also for reduced entry into attractions such as amusement, water and animal parks.
I shouldn't need the government to legitimise what I already knew but the acknowledgement is more important to me than the small financial compensation (although it helps, it does not drastically alter our life-style or our choices). It is acknowledgement of the extra work that goes into raising Ryan as a contributing member of society.
It is acknowledgement that she is different, that it has been harder for us than for most, and that spending the extra effort to home school her is worth something to the community as well as to her.
It means that I wasn't just an overambitious mother looking for excuses for my daughter's lack of success at school or with personal relationships.
It means that my daughter CAN learn and CAN go to university, so take that and stick it up your asses, you pricks.
Oh sorry. Still a little anger there!
No better cure for anger than a big "I told you so." In third grade math you pricks.
It also means that Ryan is now starting to show more obvious signs of being different now that she is a teenager. It means she won't be acting like a normal teenager, that she might not make friends like the rest of us, that she will need help with everyday tasks that take you through a day. She might not marry (Temple Grandin says this is okay: deal with it Mom!) or make a brilliant career out of her many talents. She might ride her horses for fun but never be able to make a business out of it or teach others. She might be a brilliant artist but never get that work out of her sketchpad. She will make beautiful music that no one ever hears, dance beautiful dances for herself alone.
She might need my support - and be my little girl - forever.
I have come to accept this gradually over the past year and so no tears fell at the final say. Let's face it, we knew she was different; were relieved last November when a new friend pointed out the obvious, were relieved when all of her signs exactly matched what was printed in the literature and on the internet (I mean, honestly Leute, HOW did you miss this in Germany?! When I CAME to you with suspicions of ADD?!). What it means for the future is still unclear, but it only shows me that nothing is certain, that I can take nothing for granted and that Ryan's future is hers, not mine.
Faces fall when you tell them you are home schooling an autistic child. They are so impressed. But there is nothing new about my situation, or about Ryan's, other than an official diagnosis. We have both been struggling with this since she started showing signs around the age of five - even before that now that I know what to look for - and the only difference is that now we can give ourselves credit for our struggle.
We have both done amazingly well; so well that Ryan doesn't come across as autistic at a casual glance. She is lucky; she will do quite well in the adult world, on her own terms and in her own way. She won't be able to fit the mold, play by the rules, be like everyone else; mostly because she doesn't see the need to.
How awesome is that?!
How great is it that God saw exactly what I needed - a daughter who can't and won't fit the status quo - for me to finally be brave enough to escape from it myself?
And that Ryan, in turn, got a mom who is stubborn enough to fight for her, to advocate for her, to work with her even when it means working against her sometimes, a mom who loves doing it - despite the exhaustion and the burden - more than any other job she could do right now.
What does all this mean for Ryan? Does she know what it means, what it will mean?
It's hard to say.
All I know is that she has been happier this week, since the diagnosis, than she has been in a while. She has settled into her school work, babbles incessantly about the personalities, real and imagined, of the horses at the barn and jumps around - mostly joyfully - with her brothers. She struts around the house with her hot chocolate in a travel cup like she owns the place; like any other normal teenager in fact. (Although the turban on her head might be a bit out of the ordinary!) And then struts around the shops with a ball of yarn tucked under her shoulder looking like Quasimodo and attracting the stares of everyone walking towards us because she doesn't want to interrupt her crocheting while we shop. NOT like a normal teenager,
Like Ryan.
My daughter has Autistic Spectrum Disorder with comorbid symptoms of Attention Deficit Disorder: Inattentive Type.
It is a permanent, non improving condition listed as a legitimate disability by the Australian Government.
And that's okay.
It is a permanent, non improving condition listed under legitimate disabilities by the Australian Government. This, among other things, means she qualifies as special needs for schooling, and that we are entitled to free long distance state education and extra financial help for home schooling a child unable to be traditionally schooled. Our family also qualifies for a carer's allowance from the government - irregardless of income level - to compensate for the extra time it takes to care for a special needs child. Ryan also qualifies for a health care card that entitles her to almost free medical care including medications as well reduced rates for public services such as transportation and also for reduced entry into attractions such as amusement, water and animal parks.
I shouldn't need the government to legitimise what I already knew but the acknowledgement is more important to me than the small financial compensation (although it helps, it does not drastically alter our life-style or our choices). It is acknowledgement of the extra work that goes into raising Ryan as a contributing member of society.
It is acknowledgement that she is different, that it has been harder for us than for most, and that spending the extra effort to home school her is worth something to the community as well as to her.
It means that I wasn't just an overambitious mother looking for excuses for my daughter's lack of success at school or with personal relationships.
It means that my daughter CAN learn and CAN go to university, so take that and stick it up your asses, you pricks.
Oh sorry. Still a little anger there!
No better cure for anger than a big "I told you so." In third grade math you pricks.
It also means that Ryan is now starting to show more obvious signs of being different now that she is a teenager. It means she won't be acting like a normal teenager, that she might not make friends like the rest of us, that she will need help with everyday tasks that take you through a day. She might not marry (Temple Grandin says this is okay: deal with it Mom!) or make a brilliant career out of her many talents. She might ride her horses for fun but never be able to make a business out of it or teach others. She might be a brilliant artist but never get that work out of her sketchpad. She will make beautiful music that no one ever hears, dance beautiful dances for herself alone.
She might need my support - and be my little girl - forever.
I have come to accept this gradually over the past year and so no tears fell at the final say. Let's face it, we knew she was different; were relieved last November when a new friend pointed out the obvious, were relieved when all of her signs exactly matched what was printed in the literature and on the internet (I mean, honestly Leute, HOW did you miss this in Germany?! When I CAME to you with suspicions of ADD?!). What it means for the future is still unclear, but it only shows me that nothing is certain, that I can take nothing for granted and that Ryan's future is hers, not mine.
Faces fall when you tell them you are home schooling an autistic child. They are so impressed. But there is nothing new about my situation, or about Ryan's, other than an official diagnosis. We have both been struggling with this since she started showing signs around the age of five - even before that now that I know what to look for - and the only difference is that now we can give ourselves credit for our struggle.
We have both done amazingly well; so well that Ryan doesn't come across as autistic at a casual glance. She is lucky; she will do quite well in the adult world, on her own terms and in her own way. She won't be able to fit the mold, play by the rules, be like everyone else; mostly because she doesn't see the need to.
How awesome is that?!
How great is it that God saw exactly what I needed - a daughter who can't and won't fit the status quo - for me to finally be brave enough to escape from it myself?
And that Ryan, in turn, got a mom who is stubborn enough to fight for her, to advocate for her, to work with her even when it means working against her sometimes, a mom who loves doing it - despite the exhaustion and the burden - more than any other job she could do right now.
What does all this mean for Ryan? Does she know what it means, what it will mean?
It's hard to say.
All I know is that she has been happier this week, since the diagnosis, than she has been in a while. She has settled into her school work, babbles incessantly about the personalities, real and imagined, of the horses at the barn and jumps around - mostly joyfully - with her brothers. She struts around the house with her hot chocolate in a travel cup like she owns the place; like any other normal teenager in fact. (Although the turban on her head might be a bit out of the ordinary!) And then struts around the shops with a ball of yarn tucked under her shoulder looking like Quasimodo and attracting the stares of everyone walking towards us because she doesn't want to interrupt her crocheting while we shop. NOT like a normal teenager,
Like Ryan.
My daughter has Autistic Spectrum Disorder with comorbid symptoms of Attention Deficit Disorder: Inattentive Type.
It is a permanent, non improving condition listed as a legitimate disability by the Australian Government.
And that's okay.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
What Fills the Emptiness?
I had a great talk with a friend at soccer a few weeks ago: we were discussing the mania of afterschool activities and how difficult it is to slow down and just start appreciating being with family without the constraints of practice here and a game there and a race to run on Sunday and two birthday parties and a large homework assignment to get done, swim classes starting up and do we or don't we join Little Athletics because that means Friday nights out and Sunday AM runs are great but that means Sundays out and if we do baseball that's all day Saturday shot again and....
What would happen if we didn't sign up for activities this term? What would happen if the boys didn't learn to shot put and high jump and they didn't train for long distance? How terrible would their lives be without baseball for a season?
What would fill the emptiness?
I'm only beginning to discover what fills the emptiness, but it's great already. What fills the emptiness is building forts out of bed linens and building cities out of Legos. What fills the emptiness is starting up a band (with Matthew on piano, Aidan on recorder, Andrew on drums and one of the many girls they are auditioning at recess at school as lead singer!). What fills up the emptiness is tying up a string in the backyard to make our own badminton court. What fills up the emptiness is meeting friends - cousins really, right Bobbi! - for a 2 km fun run as a family and watching the seven years olds, the same seven years olds that whinged the entire time last year - break out of the pack and leave their parents in the dust.
What fills the emptiness is the beginning of spring, the smell of sunscreen and mozzie spray, towels and togs on the clothes line, trips to the beach, surfing in the waves.
What fills the emptiness is bike rides and weeding the garden, home-made pizza and home-made sushi.
What fills the emptiness is meeting friends for lunch or at the park.
I've been so afraid of the emptiness: but doing nothing means I'm not enough. I have to do more for my family; I have to do more for myself; I have to do more to be worthy, more weight loss, more running, more laundry, more cleaning, better. healthier home-made meals.
The emptiness has been expanding. Time I used to chase - but there isn't enough of it to clean the house AND weed the garden AND get the kids' assignments done for school let alone take a break and go to the beach - is now expanding.
It's amazing how much of our so called "good-for-you" after school and weekend activities involve more time spent in the car than anywhere else.
Oh. So THAT'S where the time goes.
We've got all weekend to enjoy ourselves. This despite - or because - I've been to the gym Saturday, Damon cooked the kids omelettes, they built forts and badminton courts while I read and napped, we then had a leisurely (well, with seven kids leisurely) visit to friends where we swam in the pool and had awesome Hungarian food before dropping Ryan off for a sleepover before she and her friend got up at 4:45 AM today for their dressage competition today. This morning the entire family (minus Ryan) ran 2 kms - again with friends - and is now playing, making their own brunch, while Damon does a dump run and groceries, the laundry is going and I am chilling out writing.
It is 11:00 on Sunday and the whole weekend still lies before us! Andrew has a friend coming to pick him up for the beach. Damon and I want to hang up some more family photos. (A fact Damon is not yet aware of!) The twins can weed the garden. And maybe, just maybe, I'll finally get the bathroom and kitchen pantry organised.
Or not.
Don't worry about Ian. He just runs around in the middle of all this, almost 2 years old going on 7. When he gets tired, he pulls himself a bottle of milk out of the fridge and puts himself to sleep on the couch. Good parenting technique? Maybe not. Good survival skills: definitely!
And so the emptiness grows. And as it expands, time expands with it. The less we do, the more we are doing with it. How we get more out of less, with less work, is still beyond me. It's all a bit too Zen for me to comprehend. How am I trying less, working less, and accomplishing more? How is it that by stopping the struggle, the goal is already achieved?
My friend, a Christian, defined it in terms of God versus Satan, that it is important to know WHICH being is filling your empty spaces, which activities are being proposed by which entity.
I realise that Satan, for me, wouldn't be in the activities themselves or in what he is telling me to do or not to do, but in a disproportion of activities, in a focus or emphasis on the wrong thing.
Satan, for me, would be unbalance. Satan is the struggle, the striving to achieve, the expectation of perfection. Wow. All this time I have been trying to be perfect so that I would be worthy of enlightenment, nirvana, a better reincarnation, God. Who would have thought it was Satan making me strive for perfection? Sneaky little bugger, ain't he?!
God is not perfection. God is balance.
God is the emptiness. God is the breath.
I am sure Lao-Tzu would say that God is already here.
Go out and play with the kids and get over it!
What would happen if we didn't sign up for activities this term? What would happen if the boys didn't learn to shot put and high jump and they didn't train for long distance? How terrible would their lives be without baseball for a season?
What would fill the emptiness?
I'm only beginning to discover what fills the emptiness, but it's great already. What fills the emptiness is building forts out of bed linens and building cities out of Legos. What fills the emptiness is starting up a band (with Matthew on piano, Aidan on recorder, Andrew on drums and one of the many girls they are auditioning at recess at school as lead singer!). What fills up the emptiness is tying up a string in the backyard to make our own badminton court. What fills up the emptiness is meeting friends - cousins really, right Bobbi! - for a 2 km fun run as a family and watching the seven years olds, the same seven years olds that whinged the entire time last year - break out of the pack and leave their parents in the dust.
What fills the emptiness is the beginning of spring, the smell of sunscreen and mozzie spray, towels and togs on the clothes line, trips to the beach, surfing in the waves.
What fills the emptiness is bike rides and weeding the garden, home-made pizza and home-made sushi.
What fills the emptiness is meeting friends for lunch or at the park.
I've been so afraid of the emptiness: but doing nothing means I'm not enough. I have to do more for my family; I have to do more for myself; I have to do more to be worthy, more weight loss, more running, more laundry, more cleaning, better. healthier home-made meals.
The emptiness has been expanding. Time I used to chase - but there isn't enough of it to clean the house AND weed the garden AND get the kids' assignments done for school let alone take a break and go to the beach - is now expanding.
It's amazing how much of our so called "good-for-you" after school and weekend activities involve more time spent in the car than anywhere else.
Oh. So THAT'S where the time goes.
We've got all weekend to enjoy ourselves. This despite - or because - I've been to the gym Saturday, Damon cooked the kids omelettes, they built forts and badminton courts while I read and napped, we then had a leisurely (well, with seven kids leisurely) visit to friends where we swam in the pool and had awesome Hungarian food before dropping Ryan off for a sleepover before she and her friend got up at 4:45 AM today for their dressage competition today. This morning the entire family (minus Ryan) ran 2 kms - again with friends - and is now playing, making their own brunch, while Damon does a dump run and groceries, the laundry is going and I am chilling out writing.
It is 11:00 on Sunday and the whole weekend still lies before us! Andrew has a friend coming to pick him up for the beach. Damon and I want to hang up some more family photos. (A fact Damon is not yet aware of!) The twins can weed the garden. And maybe, just maybe, I'll finally get the bathroom and kitchen pantry organised.
Or not.
Don't worry about Ian. He just runs around in the middle of all this, almost 2 years old going on 7. When he gets tired, he pulls himself a bottle of milk out of the fridge and puts himself to sleep on the couch. Good parenting technique? Maybe not. Good survival skills: definitely!
And so the emptiness grows. And as it expands, time expands with it. The less we do, the more we are doing with it. How we get more out of less, with less work, is still beyond me. It's all a bit too Zen for me to comprehend. How am I trying less, working less, and accomplishing more? How is it that by stopping the struggle, the goal is already achieved?
My friend, a Christian, defined it in terms of God versus Satan, that it is important to know WHICH being is filling your empty spaces, which activities are being proposed by which entity.
I realise that Satan, for me, wouldn't be in the activities themselves or in what he is telling me to do or not to do, but in a disproportion of activities, in a focus or emphasis on the wrong thing.
Satan, for me, would be unbalance. Satan is the struggle, the striving to achieve, the expectation of perfection. Wow. All this time I have been trying to be perfect so that I would be worthy of enlightenment, nirvana, a better reincarnation, God. Who would have thought it was Satan making me strive for perfection? Sneaky little bugger, ain't he?!
God is not perfection. God is balance.
God is the emptiness. God is the breath.
I am sure Lao-Tzu would say that God is already here.
Go out and play with the kids and get over it!
Monday, August 19, 2013
Am I Special or Do I Have Asperger's Syndrome?
I honestly don't think I'd be labelled as Asperger's. There has to be some level of dysfunction that interferes with work, school, personal and social life that I don't know that I'd qualify for. I do fairly well, even if I am faking it.
On the other hand, if Steven Spielberg has it. How dysfunctional can he be?
There are obvious signs once you know what to look for: for starters, girls with Asperger's tend to come across as "little philosophers" as opposed to boys who sound like "little professors."
Think and analyse and try to find the underlying meaning and connection much? Who me?!
I also don't get a lot of everyday social skills.
That people don't say what they do or do what they say, for instance, just kills me. I accept this and I don't condemn it, but I just don't understand it. Why lie to yourself? How can you DO that? Don't you feel guilty? How can you just forget about it?
Sigh. I wish I could do that.
I also don't get when or why not to butt in on two people in a conversation. If you are all standing around together and thinking the same thing, why not share it? I don't get the one on one connection. I have spent my whole life trying to include others, trying to make others feel comfortable and welcome.
When I was six I apparently stopped a race I was winning to turn around a cheer the others behind me on to victory.
It's only recently occurred to me that not everyone needs to be made to feel comfortable. Most people already are.
If this overly social nature doesn't sound like the typical Asperger's person, just note how much thought goes into my social interactions. They don't come naturally. They come through intense study and determination. This is why Asperger females are so often underdiagnosed and slip through the cracks. We work really hard at it. And our Asperger's strength and obsession can paradoxically be social interactions: we study them to the point of excellence at the same time that we don't intuitively understand them.
We are great mimics. We can even fool ourselves.
On the other hand, Asperger's Syndrome is this nice disease that carries with it implications of intellectual brilliance.
If I feel guilty about giving such a strong version of it to my daughter, I am also more than aware that the strengths of my sons stem from the same source.
I wouldn't be who I am without my over philosophising. I would not be able to become who I would like to become without it.
Labels, letters and syndromes: what do they all mean?
No one in my entire life - from my early childhood on - has ever told me I was like every one else. I was always told I was special, different, not like everyone else, not average.
I always thought that was a good thing.
And there's no reason to think any differently just because my uniqueness has been listed under autistic disorders in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM IV).
On the other hand, if Steven Spielberg has it. How dysfunctional can he be?
There are obvious signs once you know what to look for: for starters, girls with Asperger's tend to come across as "little philosophers" as opposed to boys who sound like "little professors."
Think and analyse and try to find the underlying meaning and connection much? Who me?!
I also don't get a lot of everyday social skills.
That people don't say what they do or do what they say, for instance, just kills me. I accept this and I don't condemn it, but I just don't understand it. Why lie to yourself? How can you DO that? Don't you feel guilty? How can you just forget about it?
Sigh. I wish I could do that.
I also don't get when or why not to butt in on two people in a conversation. If you are all standing around together and thinking the same thing, why not share it? I don't get the one on one connection. I have spent my whole life trying to include others, trying to make others feel comfortable and welcome.
When I was six I apparently stopped a race I was winning to turn around a cheer the others behind me on to victory.
It's only recently occurred to me that not everyone needs to be made to feel comfortable. Most people already are.
If this overly social nature doesn't sound like the typical Asperger's person, just note how much thought goes into my social interactions. They don't come naturally. They come through intense study and determination. This is why Asperger females are so often underdiagnosed and slip through the cracks. We work really hard at it. And our Asperger's strength and obsession can paradoxically be social interactions: we study them to the point of excellence at the same time that we don't intuitively understand them.
We are great mimics. We can even fool ourselves.
On the other hand, Asperger's Syndrome is this nice disease that carries with it implications of intellectual brilliance.
If I feel guilty about giving such a strong version of it to my daughter, I am also more than aware that the strengths of my sons stem from the same source.
I wouldn't be who I am without my over philosophising. I would not be able to become who I would like to become without it.
Labels, letters and syndromes: what do they all mean?
No one in my entire life - from my early childhood on - has ever told me I was like every one else. I was always told I was special, different, not like everyone else, not average.
I always thought that was a good thing.
And there's no reason to think any differently just because my uniqueness has been listed under autistic disorders in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM IV).
Sunday, August 18, 2013
About The Gym
There are a few things I realised at the gym this morning.
One: I like going. Even if I was my ideal 65 kg weight, I'd still want to keep going.
Two: People at my new gym are nice too and I need to get over all this bullshit about missing my old place and move on. People move through our lives at a certain time for a certain reason. When life tells you it is time to move on it is because you are ready for new experiences. Embrace the change. This does not mean you don't treasure your old friends or the time you had with them. It means you are accepting that there are good people and good experiences left to meet. SURRENDER!
Three: Sleep is important.
Four: Balance is important.
Five: Saying NO is important. Realising that maybe now isn't the time to start getting up at 4:45 again is important. Even if that new class looks really really great.
Six: Balance is really hard for someone like me. I want it all.
Seven: This has to be FUN, not about weight loss or about building muscle mass but about FUN!
Has anyone else noticed that I spend way too much time thinking while I am working out?! This is why belly dance class on Thursday nights has been so good for me. I only started recently, and our first dance is relatively straightforward but when my mind wanders - when I start thinking about how great this would be to write about or about how good I feel and maybe, just maybe, I should do that pump class at 5:30 AM tomorrow - I forget the steps. I have to focus on the dance. It is forcing me to be present in the moment.
Margaret also tells us that if it isn't working, or if it hurts, that we are trying too hard. This is totally different from what I hear at the gym. Push harder. Try harder. You can do it. No pain, no gain.
Eight: What I have to realise is that personal trainers are trained to work with normal people. I am not normal. A normal person apparently hears these words and ignores them if they feel like it. No thanks, I don't need to push that hard today. No thanks, I don't need that extra effort.
I take every word to heart. Why would they be saying them if they weren't meant to be taken literally?
It's an Asperger's thing. Why do normal people keep saying they want one thing and then continually do another?! I don't get it.
So today I had fun and ignored the instructor if I felt like it. Like a normal person.
I've been pushing myself so hard that a few of the trainers have told me to slow down and sleep in a while. Note to self: having five kids is not an excuse to ignore, but a reality to appreciate.
Nine: I still had problems breathing at the end of the class and it's not all in my head and it's not all about stress. And when I have problems breathing then I do start to breathe more in my chest because that is where I can't breathe. It's not horrid, but it is uncomfortable. And it is a sign of high blood pressure. My vanity tells me to ignore it: I AM working out, I AM eating well, I AM NOT remarkably overweight or underfit. But the reality is that 150/100 might need medication. And how awesome would it feel to be able to run again without feeling so horrible at the end of it?
How much less stressful would my life be if I could breathe again?
How much less stressful is it once I realise that it isn't about getting there, but about enjoying being where you already are!
One: I like going. Even if I was my ideal 65 kg weight, I'd still want to keep going.
Two: People at my new gym are nice too and I need to get over all this bullshit about missing my old place and move on. People move through our lives at a certain time for a certain reason. When life tells you it is time to move on it is because you are ready for new experiences. Embrace the change. This does not mean you don't treasure your old friends or the time you had with them. It means you are accepting that there are good people and good experiences left to meet. SURRENDER!
Three: Sleep is important.
Four: Balance is important.
Five: Saying NO is important. Realising that maybe now isn't the time to start getting up at 4:45 again is important. Even if that new class looks really really great.
Six: Balance is really hard for someone like me. I want it all.
Seven: This has to be FUN, not about weight loss or about building muscle mass but about FUN!
Has anyone else noticed that I spend way too much time thinking while I am working out?! This is why belly dance class on Thursday nights has been so good for me. I only started recently, and our first dance is relatively straightforward but when my mind wanders - when I start thinking about how great this would be to write about or about how good I feel and maybe, just maybe, I should do that pump class at 5:30 AM tomorrow - I forget the steps. I have to focus on the dance. It is forcing me to be present in the moment.
Margaret also tells us that if it isn't working, or if it hurts, that we are trying too hard. This is totally different from what I hear at the gym. Push harder. Try harder. You can do it. No pain, no gain.
Eight: What I have to realise is that personal trainers are trained to work with normal people. I am not normal. A normal person apparently hears these words and ignores them if they feel like it. No thanks, I don't need to push that hard today. No thanks, I don't need that extra effort.
I take every word to heart. Why would they be saying them if they weren't meant to be taken literally?
It's an Asperger's thing. Why do normal people keep saying they want one thing and then continually do another?! I don't get it.
So today I had fun and ignored the instructor if I felt like it. Like a normal person.
I've been pushing myself so hard that a few of the trainers have told me to slow down and sleep in a while. Note to self: having five kids is not an excuse to ignore, but a reality to appreciate.
Nine: I still had problems breathing at the end of the class and it's not all in my head and it's not all about stress. And when I have problems breathing then I do start to breathe more in my chest because that is where I can't breathe. It's not horrid, but it is uncomfortable. And it is a sign of high blood pressure. My vanity tells me to ignore it: I AM working out, I AM eating well, I AM NOT remarkably overweight or underfit. But the reality is that 150/100 might need medication. And how awesome would it feel to be able to run again without feeling so horrible at the end of it?
How much less stressful would my life be if I could breathe again?
How much less stressful is it once I realise that it isn't about getting there, but about enjoying being where you already are!
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Worth Repeating!
There are no bears out there trying to get you.
There is only the life you asked for.
(Pause. Moment of silence.)
Breathe.
There is only the life you asked for.
(Pause. Moment of silence.)
Breathe.
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