Category: autism

Managing Change and Autism: When There’s No ‘Back to Normal’

I returned to work after a four-week baby leave, thinking I’d re-adjust to my gig and get back to normal.

That didn’t happen.

“This is why I don’t take time off work, ever, for any reason, for any length of time,” I joked.

For obvious national security reasons, I’m going light on details, but I returned to a flurry of changes whirlwinding me under a new team, new manager, a new direction on my role (possibly), and maybe a new role altogether.

You know how much I love change.

As an autistic professional—an autistic person—this was a bit to process.

When change happens to you, it’s tough enough for neurotypical people. With autism, those effects amplify. They blast the hyperintrospective signals from sound to screech. They’re pitched at you like a taut fastball of steely twine that you at once try to untangle all while trying to recover from the shock.

It made for a week.

Routine and repetition are autistic foundations. We can operate through a lot of intraday and day-to-day stress. Having the same job, customers, tasks, people, and environment — that helps. I know where to go when things go sideways. I (usually) know what I’m doing as my day job, whether it’s tough sledding or downhill skiing.

But what about when that all changes on you?

It’s not easy, but here are some things that made it easier.

Advanced notice. I found out ahead of time, with ample time. That helped drain out a lot of the anxiety and unknowns with space to spare.

Sequencing. This was a complex move, and I didn’t find out everything all at once. While it was a lot to work through at each step, the bite-sized chunks were manageable.

Explaining the ‘why.’ I felt like this happened against me at first, but it helped to learn the logic and the why behind the change. Everyone was open, and it helped fill in the unknowns without me spinning off the track.

Talking out all the angles. This was the catharsis. I had to go beyond trite things like “look on the bright side.” That doesn’t help. What does help is looking on both the bright and the dark sides, to balance that holistic landscape, to acknowledge both the positives and negatives, and then to navigate the new landscape with a good understanding of all the landmarks.

Believe it or not, this kind of thing has happened before. I didn’t handle it well then.

I do better now.

I’m interested to hear if you’ve had to handle similar: whether you’ve had to make the change, or whether the change made you.

As always, thanks for stopping by! This was an interesting reflection for me to share, so I hope it was worth the few minutes of your time. If you want to learn more about autism from an autistic person’s perspective, follow & subscribe to The Life Autistic – or follow the more whimsical, spontaneous, and amusing content on Twitter / Instagram. Thanks!

How Autism Works in My Favor – If You Can’t Be Remarkable, Be *This*

“Hunter, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

It’s not often that I’m surprised — not because I’m “good” at predictions or smart or whatever. I just spin my autistic gears enough to map out the spectrum of human variables, and by and large, people just don’t deviate enough from their norms to dot my radar as an outlier. And that’s good; sometimes my autism works in my favor.

But that question surprised me.

I’ve made an over-practiced art form of interviews – whether it’s for jobs or informational sessions. For the latter, I never expect people to ask questions of me. Like, I’m the one who’s looking to learn — what could possibly be worth asking about me? 

“Wow, uh, sure?” I said.

“Do you always wear clothing with your initials on it?” she asked.

I laughed and looked down: I’d been wearing my Helly Hansen® vest.

“As I’m fond of telling myself,” I replied, “if you can’t be remarkable, be memorable.”

I’m not remarkable. I can’t get by on skills alone. I’m really bad at a lot of things. If I talk without a pre-planned agenda in mind, I unspool after five minutes. I’m well outdone by many in terms of capability. I’m doing the best I can at the table being dealt a 7-9 offsuit hand.

But I can be memorable. 

Autism works in some oddly beneficial ways at times. We’re different out of the box. We’re going to sound different, use different words, think in strange and different ways. We’ll communicate in a way that won’t sound like others.

People remember different.

Since I stopped caring about fitting in, I’ve doubled down on fitting out. I grow out my hair out because it’s a conversation piece. My word choices and diction are unlike most others, to the point where I can’t write “example copy” anymore, because people know it’s mine. I have the coolest custom email alias at Apple. I wear my Helly Hansen® attire because people either recognize the brand or they think it’s because of my initials.

I’m not an autistic savant. No one is going to notice me for prodigious feats of memory, skill, or formidable intellect.

But I am different, and that’s memorable.

What’s memorable to you?

 

Oh, by the way: thank you for taking a few minutes to read this post. You could have spent that time doing something more enjoyable, but you chose to read this blog, and that means a lot. If you want to learn more about autism from an autistic person’s perspective, follow & subscribe to The Life Autistic – or follow the more whimsical, spontaneous, and amusing content on Twitter / Instagram. Thanks!

Autism Speaks, Long and Short: How Leo Tolstoy Gave Me Hope

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A work colleague once criticized the length of some winding, baroque piece of communication as being “Tolstoyan.” 

As both a literature aficionado and connoisseur of words, I chatted her on the side and said, “At that length, I’d say it’s probably more Proustian!” 

Here’s something about Tolstoy, though. He doesn’t deserve the stereotype.

It reminded me of a sad episode in my career.

One of my former bosses gave me feedback about my questioning and speaking style.

He didn’t know I was autistic, and I was afraid to disclose or even hint at it.

But he noticed that I’d posit questions to others in Daedelan artifice, unfurled labyrinthine inquiries in rich and winding tapestry. I’d walk around the proverbial garden with them, frontloading and picking, packing florid petals of context to circumnavigate others together in my thoughts so they’d get it like I got it.

He hated that.

He offered me feedback with the grace of a punch couched in a boxing glove. I could hear the grating, detesting tone as he described what I did, like I was flaying the back of his mind with claws.

I felt like a doomed man, doomed to long thoughts.

As an autistic person, I wanted to be able to speak both long and short. 

In comes Tolstoy.

If you ever have the chance, read Hadji Murad – it’s Tolstoyan in art, not length.

Brevity is beautiful. Bountiful is beautiful.

Why not appreciate both?

 

Before you go: thank you for taking a few minutes to read this post. I spend a lot of time saving you time by keeping these brief – that’s extremely intentional! If you want to learn more about autism from an autistic person’s perspective, then feel free to follow & subscribe to The Life Autistic – or follow the more whimsical, spontaneous, and amusing content on Twitter / Instagram. Thanks!