Tag: autistic

Autistic People Talk to Themselves, So What? – The Real Talk on Self-Talk

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Oh my goodness, you found my blog! You’re going to love my writing, but I hope you check my YouTube channel out as well. Here’s one of the videos my subscribers enjoy – check out more on The Life Autistic. Thanks in advance!

Judging by the latest two posts, you’d be right to assume I’ve been on a 80’s British synth-pop/new wave kick. But no, that’s not it.

While changing a diaper (which, that’s my life now), my daughter Mo asked me what I was doing.

“I’m changing a diaper.”

“No,” she said. “You’re saying something.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m talking. To myself.” 

I wasn’t aware I was doing that until she said something.

“Why?”

This is a good question.

People talk to themselves. Autistic people talk to themselves.

Like, actually talking aloud. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.

There’s a difference in intentionally talking to yourself and doing it subconsciously. The former is something you probably do, and you know it, and it’s completely voluntary.

But what about when you don’t know you’re doing it? When your 4 year old has to bring it up and interrupt yourself from yourself?

Welcome to The Life Autistic.

I’ll tell you what we’re up to.

Rehearsal. This is probably the #1 reason why I talk to myself and when I’m least aware of it. It’s a certain stimming, coping, preparatory mechanism that kicks in when I’m thinking of conversations I need to have with people, whether real, upcoming, or imagined. It can be hard for us to have “live conversations in the moment,” so it’s our way of laying pipe, roadways, and getting some sort of neural groundwork for when it has to happen.

Reinforcing a sequence. It’ll usually start with “So what I need to do is . . . ” It’s usually when I’m stressed, and when I know I have some crucial things that I need to resolve, do, get right, and comment on. It’s a bit of an inner monologue that needs to be spoken, and thus heard, and if I remember hearing it, I’ll process it like someone is telling me what to do. It’s nice following my own orders.

Losing my memory. My steel trap memory has rusted, so I have to work up some kind of mantra to remember things that I know I’ll forget by the time I’m going downstairs or elsewhere. So if I mutter “Cinnamon Toast Crunch” over and over, it’s not as if I’ve some sugary cereal fixation — it’s that I’m in trouble if I forget to get it for Mrs. H2 on the way up. 🙂

Odd glossolalia. Sometimes I’m stimming on “Planet Hunter” and apparently I’ve narrated or otherwise interjected things aloud that’d only make sense to me and whatever I’m deep in thought and pacing about.

There are other self-talk topics, like positive motivation (which I can’t bring myself to do) and negative self-scourging (which I don’t do out loud). Others like me will do more self-arguing and conversing in dialogue, and I do more of that on the inside.

But as they say, know thyself – and in this case, I know my self talk.

Thanks for reading my talk about my self talk, as if I don’t talk about myself enough! That said, if you still 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!