An insight into what autism is...

[SimonSays]

...for me.

When I was a kid, I felt something was different, but for ages I just assumed everybody was similar. It was quite a shock when life revealed that actually, no, they aren’t thinking like me, in fact they are quite different to me.

Without knowing there was an explanation, I attempted to live in a world that for the most part seemed hostile in almost every area. I learned to protect myself, because clearly these were the people, this was the way they treated me, how they spoke to me, and they also seemed affected by what I said to them. It only took a few experiences of feeling extremely hurt as a sensitive and imaginative kid, for me to unconsciously put on a mask and try to be like them.

And it did make me feel better about myself and that seemed to be what mattered. It didn't help me find friends, or know what to do when I was in another kid’s company. I just played by myself, so I always let them take the lead, because at least they would know what it was they wanted to do. I was just happy having some interaction. Most of this was arranged by my mum who spoke to other parents and arranged for me to go over and play with some of my school 'friends'. Some of those kids did not really want to play with me this way.

So I slowly learned to fit in. I wasn't encouraged to be who I was. I was hiding so they just encouraged me to be what they thought I was, especially my mother. I would usually just go along with what she wanted, because I couldn't provide a good reason why not. I knew some things weren't right for me but it was easier to go along with her then it was to resist and have to explain why and justify it, or be made to feel bad as a result of disappointing her.

This was me as a kid, in my innocence, in my inner world, feeling something I could not articulate. I didn't have the language skills yet, but I felt it, and was aware of myself at a very young age.

I remember being young enough to be carried, and one night feeling like I didn't want to be on my own; I'd been put to bed and could hear my aunt in the front room enjoying something on the telly. I wanted to be with her. So I called out, feigning a pain in my ear, and she picked me up and took me into the front room and put me next to her. She was watching what I discovered years later was an episode of Steptoe and son. And I sat with her, and I watched it, and I found it funny; I understood what was going on (I loved it when I was an adult for the same reasons). But I wasn’t supposed to be enjoying something that I wasn't supposed to be old enough to understand or even get to see, and shouldn't have even been there because it was bedtime and this was adult stuff. So when I couldn’t stop myself from laughing, I had to quickly cover it with a cry, just to show her that I was in pain. She would then give me sympathy, which I didn't want. There was no way for me to say to her: “I like this show, aunty. It’s really good. Can I watch it with you?” I was far too young. How was I supposed to be me like this? Who was there to see me? Nobody, they couldn't. How could they? And yet I still needed them to, and if they had, it would've made all the difference.

I felt loved. I felt protected. I was looked after. I just knew I had to learn quickly and eventually I would be able to lie convincingly whenever I needed to, because the mask could do that, because it wasn't me, even though I knew deep down it wasn't right. I could get away with something when I’d been found out, and at school especially. The mask was working well. It was protecting me. I could still feel the truth of who I was inside, but I wasn’t being who I was.

This is Autism for me. I couldn't express the difference I felt as a child in a way that wouldn't make me feel like I had to shut down quickly, as I did not know how to deal with the unexpected responses and reactions that came back.

When I was older, and helping to raise a daughter, I saw how she interacted with the kids she played with, especially the home schooled ones; they were so much freer. She was being brought up like they were, guided to becoming aware of herself as soon as she was able to be, to not be ideologically imposed on, just supported to know who she was by being given a way to be herself and listened to from a very young age.

It explains why I struggled to relate to her when she got to be an older teenager, because I still wasn't being who I was. I was still behind my mask when it came to everyone else. I hadn't taken the journey that I was about to take that would release it. Yet, I could be much more of who I was with my daughter, when we were on our own. She’d grown up seeing me. I miss her a lot.

 

[Major Tom]

I can totally relate.

 

[MyLifeAsAnAspie]

Hostile world . Yes, this is what going up autistic is all about from our perspective. The more parts of our world that are hostile the poorer we will do. School was inevitably hostile to us growing up before the spectrum was acknowledged. Family experience can vary a lot. Mine was mixed, some support, some neglect, occasionally hostile. As adults we can never fully avoid the hostility but can often keep it at bay.

 

[SimonSays]

I grew up in a Jewish family, and was sent to an orthodox Jewish primary school. There were many bright kids, and we were constantly told what our position was in class as far as ability was concerned. I was consistently ranked around the mid to high 20's, in a class of 35. But it was only when I couldn't stand the indoctrination any longer, feeling forced too learn things I didn't want to learn, like Hebrew and the Torah, and do this without being able to question it, I rebelled. I stopped taking them seriously. I stopped caring about what they told me I should care about.

I then discovered there was this...other class. Where those who didn't fit were put into, so that they didn't have to do what the others did, as much to avoid any disruption to the others as anything, but where we could be more...creative, do some art, be different. I met what I now realise were my fellow autistics there. And one or two became some of the kids I would be told I was going round to play with. They were from very well-off families, big houses, massive gardens, which was such a contrast to my home situation where my bedroom was also the dining room.

The school didn't know what to do with us, so they just contained us, and I could see how wonderfully individual these kids were. They were not wearing a mask. They were just who they were. They weren't trying to fit in, they were just doing their own thing. I'm sure one or two were geniuses. I was in awe of them. I didn't really belong with them either (maybe 8 kids, mostly boys), yet didn't belong with the mainstream either.

I seemed to be living in-between worlds. I didn't feel I could let my creative/autistic side be what I focussed on, and I felt this pressure from everyone around me, who kept telling me I was so bright and so capable and they had high hopes for me. They were expecting me to get good grades, so I would become the good lawyer, accountant, doctor, etc, just like everyone else was. I liked science, a lot, especially experiments, but just could never maintain enthusiasm to keep learning it and anything else they taught me. I might enjoy it one moment, then bored to bits the next. ADHD probably.

But because this was a Jewish school, and there were many lessons devoted to that, I had no patience for anything I did not feel was relevant for me to learn. That 'special' class was ok, but we should have had more than just a bored teacher reading the newspaper while we were kept out of the way of the others. We were the rejects, whereas I saw genius.

I do wonder sometimes what became of those kids. I can't even remember their names.

 

[Gift2humanity]

...for me.
When I was a kid, I felt something was different, but for ages I just assumed everybody was similar. It was quite a shock when life revealed that actually, no, they aren’t thinking like me, in fact they are quite different to me.

I bet it was.

Without knowing there was an explanation, I attempted to live in a world that for the most part seemed hostile in almost every area. I learned to protect myself, because clearly these were the people, this was the way they treated me, how they spoke to me, and they also seemed affected by what I said to them. It only took a few experiences of feeling extremely hurt as a sensitive and imaginative kid, for me to unconsciously put on a mask and try to be like them.

I get the hostile world bit.
Shame the spectrum was not acknowledged then, there would have been no need to mask.
We can get lost in the masking and grow up with identity issues.
I know the misery of what trying to be like them felt like.

And it did make me feel better about myself and that seemed to be what mattered. It didn't help me find friends, or know what to do when I was in another kid’s company. I just played by myself, so I always let them take the lead, because at least they would know what it was they wanted to do. I was just happy having some interaction. Most of this was arranged by my mum who spoke to other parents and arranged for me to go over and play with some of my school 'friends'. Some of those kids did not really want to play with me this way.

Yeah, playing with other kids, wanting acceptance by the bullies, rejecting the nice different ones.
I liked to play alone, yet I yearned for acceptance. I now know self acceptance is key.

So I slowly learned to fit in. I wasn't encouraged to be who I was. I was hiding so they just encouraged me to be what they thought I was, especially my mother. I would usually just go along with what she wanted, because I couldn't provide a good reason why not. I knew some things weren't right for me but it was easier to go along with her then it was to resist and have to explain why and justify it, or be made to feel bad as a result of disappointing her.

At least you kept that awareness that some things weren't right for you.
Shame you felt that to be your authentic self would disappoint Mother. It sounds like you did not lose that authentic self deep down.

This was me as a kid, in my innocence, in my inner world, feeling something I could not articulate. I didn't have the language skills yet, but I felt it, and was aware of myself at a very young age.

Precociousness.

I remember being young enough to be carried, and one night feeling like I didn't want to be on my own; I'd been put to bed and could hear my aunt in the front room enjoying something on the telly. I wanted to be with her. So I called out, feigning a pain in my ear, and she picked me up and took me into the front room and put me next to her. She was watching what I discovered years later was an episode of Steptoe and son. And I sat with her, and I watched it, and I found it funny; I understood what was going on (I loved it when I was an adult for the same reasons). But I wasn’t supposed to be enjoying something that I wasn't supposed to be old enough to understand or even get to see, and shouldn't have even been there because it was bedtime and this was adult stuff. So when I couldn’t stop myself from laughing, I had to quickly cover it with a cry, just to show her that I was in pain. She would then give me sympathy, which I didn't want. There was no way for me to say to her: “I like this show, aunty. It’s really good. Can I watch it with you?” I was far too young. How was I supposed to be me like this? Who was there to see me? Nobody, they couldn't. How could they? And yet I still needed them to, and if they had, it would've made all the difference.

Steptoe and son was good.
How old were you? Were you pre-verbal?
If so, your awareness shows highly gifted.

I felt loved. I felt protected. I was looked after. I just knew I had to learn quickly and eventually I would be able to lie convincingly whenever I needed to, because the mask could do that, because it wasn't me, even though I knew deep down it wasn't right. I could get away with something when I’d been found out, and at school especially. The mask was working well. It was protecting me. I could still feel the truth of who I was inside, but I wasn’t being who I was.

Good you felt loved and protected.
Shame about feeling you had to lie, not your shame, shame as Hans Asperger discovered the syndrome in wartime, medicine never acknowledged it and a whole generation of adults grew up feeling different, not knowing why.

This is Autism for me. I couldn't express the difference I felt as a child in a way that wouldn't make me feel like I had to shut down quickly, as I did not know how to deal with the unexpected responses and reactions that came back.

Eloquently put.

When I was older, and helping to raise a daughter, I saw how she interacted with the kids she played with, especially the home schooled ones; they were so much freer. She was being brought up like they were, guided to becoming aware of herself as soon as she was able to be, to not be ideologically imposed on, just supported to know who she was by being given a way to be herself and listened to from a very young age.

Yeah, mainstream school, no place for us.
Great you brought her up free. Great that you guided her to be self-aware, Great you guided her not to be imposed on and allowed her to be herself and listened to her, my generation was more adult orientated.

It explains why I struggled to relate to her when she got to be an older teenager, because I still wasn't being who I was. I was still behind my mask when it came to everyone else. I hadn't taken the journey that I was about to take that would release it. Yet, I could be much more of who I was with my daughter, when we were on our own. She’d grown up seeing me. I miss her a lot.

I am sorry you struggled to relate to her in her late teens as you weren't being who you were.
I am glad for you that you took that journey though.
Cherish the memories of your time alone with your her.
Yes, you will miss her. I wonder, you obviously love her dearly, if, this love can be remotely sensed. For example, during these covid times, when loved ones are separated, can this love be sensed?

I can totally relate.

Yeah I masked.
Continued on next post...too many characters

 

[Gift2humanity]

....Continued from previous post

Hostile world . Yes, this is what going up autistic is all about from our perspective. The more parts of our world that are hostile the poorer we will do. School was inevitably hostile to us growing up before the spectrum was acknowledged. Family experience can vary a lot. Mine was mixed, some support, some neglect, occasionally hostile. As adults we can never fully avoid the hostility but can often keep it at bay.

School churns out future drones, and the odd lawyer, doctor, etc. We are the trailblazers. Maybe Princess Diana was autistic, she did not fit in, but radiated love. I saw her in a car, we knew she was coming, I picked up that radiance even though she was in a car. Sorry for slight derail of thread.

I grew up in a Jewish family, and was sent to an orthodox Jewish primary school. There were many bright kids, and we were constantly told what our position was in class as far as ability was concerned. I was consistently ranked around the mid to high 20's, in a class of 35. But it was only when I couldn't stand the indoctrination any longer, feeling forced too learn things I didn't want to learn, like Hebrew and the Torah, and do this without being able to question it, I rebelled. I stopped taking them seriously. I stopped caring about what they told me I should care about.

Hmmm Religious Orthodoxtrination.
At least you realised you were being indoctrinated.
As an aside you might already know, Hebrew was not created by man. "Sacred Language" before Orthodoctrinators got hold of it. (again sorry for slight derail)

I then discovered there was this...other class. Where those who didn't fit were put into, so that they didn't have to do what the others did, as much to avoid any disruption to the others as anything, but where we could be more...creative, do some art, be different. I met what I now realise were my fellow autistics there. And one or two became some of the kids I would be told I was going round to play with. They were from very well-off families, big houses, massive gardens, which was such a contrast to my home situation where my bedroom was also the dining room.

I'd have liked a class like that.
Dining room as bedroom must have been difficult from a privacy point of view for an autistic boy.

The school didn't know what to do with us, so they just contained us, and I could see how wonderfully individual these kids were. They were not wearing a mask. They were just who they were. They weren't trying to fit in, they were just doing their own thing. I'm sure one or two were geniuses. I was in awe of them. I didn't really belong with them either (maybe 8 kids, mostly boys), yet didn't belong with the mainstream either.

What a gift to be placed among a multicolour patchwork of diverse kids, rather than the drones-in-the-making in the main class.

I seemed to be living in-between worlds. I didn't feel I could let my creative/autistic side be what I focussed on, and I felt this pressure from everyone around me, who kept telling me I was so bright and so capable and they had high hopes for me. They were expecting me to get good grades, so I would become the good lawyer, accountant, doctor, etc, just like everyone else was. I liked science, a lot, especially experiments, but just could never maintain enthusiasm to keep learning it and anything else they taught me. I might enjoy it one moment, then bored to bits the next. ADHD probably.

It's great you realised you were creative at such a young age.
ADHD and mainstream school also don't mix. Scolded for being bored.

Jewish school, many lessons devoted to it, I had no patience for anything I did not feel was relevant for me to learn. We were the rejects, whereas I saw genius.
I do wonder sometimes what became of those kids. I can't even remember their names.

Yeah, sounds a bit like Catholic.
It was good that you could distinguish what was relevant to learn, from rubbish at that young age.
I am glad you didn't feel like a reject, so many autistics do, not realising their inner genius.

 

[SimonSays]

I think my dad was autistic. He had no idea how to relate to me. He barely spoke to me. He just did his own thing, spent hours in the garage maintaining his black taxi, or went off fishing by himself. Only after my mother's nagging insistence would he ever take me with him. I didn't mind fishing, as long as he put everything together for me, but I much preferred catching, as there was excitement in that, and just for a moment, father and son were doing it together. He'd grab the net, tell me to pull or wind, then once landed remove the hook. He'd keep these fish in a net in the water until the end then release them...we never ate anything we caught.

Most of the time I'd get bored watching a red float bobbing up and down, not realising how meditative it was and not appreciating how still he was. I was with my dad, and it was so rare for me to be, but he never talked, and at home only mum did.

The best forced outing came when he became a metal detectorist. I'd sometimes get to dig for buried treasure, and sometimes it was treasure. Muscat balls, WWII shell casings, old British coins, sometimes really old, like Roman, even a gold ring or two. He'd let me use the detector sometimes, but I knew it was his thing, and when I'd eventually do it myself later in life, I too preferred to do it alone.

Everything was done in silence. If he spoke he only said the barest minimum. He often seemed pissed off at having me there, but sometimes he might show something like acceptance, if the detector went off spirits lifted immediately. It could be some hours of nothing but ring pulls and bits of metal crap sometimes, a bit cold, slightly wet. He was always patient though. He never got mad. I needed to find things though, otherwise I'd start getting bored and make him remember how much alone time he'd lost by bringing me.

He didn't seem to have friends, outside of cabbie people he had tea with when taking a break. Yet I was still scared of him. He was never violent, but could suddenly get angry with me if I had pushed his buttons too much. I didn't know I was, but out of nowhere anger suddenly appeared and I was always shocked by it. Perhaps if I'd been able to be angry at his anger, respond in kind, idk, but I couldn't cope with anger, especially my dad's anger, because it meant I wasn't fitting in, and I wanted him to love me and this wasn't it. I did not want to get him angry, and so I put my mask on, and eventually let go of wanting to have anything to do with him.

I don't know if Autism is genetically passed down.

 

[Gift2humanity]

I think my dad was autistic. He had no idea how to relate to me. He barely spoke to me. He just did his own thing, spent hours in the garage maintaining his black taxi, or went off fishing by himself. Only after my mother's nagging insistence would he ever take me with him. I didn't mind fishing, as long as he put everything together for me, but I much preferred catching, as there was excitement in that, and just for a moment, father and son were doing it together. He'd grab the net, tell me to pull or wind, then once landed remove the hook. He'd keep these fish in a net in the water until the end then release them...we never ate anything we caught.

Most of the time I'd get bored watching a red float bobbing up and down, not realising how meditative it was and not appreciating how still he was. I was with my dad, and it was so rare for me to be, but he never talked, and at home only mum did.

The best forced outing came when he became a metal detectorist. I'd sometimes get to dig for buried treasure, and sometimes it was treasure. Muscat balls, WWII shell casings, old British coins, sometimes really old, like Roman, even a gold ring or two. He'd let me use the detector sometimes, but I knew it was his thing, and when I'd eventually do it myself later in life, I too preferred to do it alone.

Everything was done in silence. If he spoke he only said the barest minimum. He often seemed pissed off at having me there, but sometimes he might show something like acceptance, if the detector went off spirits lifted immediately. It could be some hours of nothing but ring pulls and bits of metal crap sometimes, a bit cold, slightly wet. He was always patient though. He never got mad. I needed to find things though, otherwise I'd start getting bored and make him remember how much alone time he'd lost by bringing me.

He didn't seem to have friends, outside of cabbie people he had tea with when taking a break. Yet I was still scared of him. He was never violent, but could suddenly get angry with me if I had pushed his buttons too much. I didn't know I was, but out of nowhere anger suddenly appeared and I was always shocked by it. Perhaps if I'd been able to be angry at his anger, respond in kind, idk, but I couldn't cope with anger, especially my dad's anger, because it meant I wasn't fitting in, and I wanted him to love me and this wasn't it. I did not want to get him angry, and so I put my mask on, and eventually let go of wanting to have anything to do with him.

I don't know if Autism is genetically passed down.

I don't know if autism is genetic, my Dad, I think was afflicted with narcissistic personality disorder.
My mum was quite quirky and his her talents if she was autistic she masked it a lot.

It's a shame my feel we have to mask.

From what you've written and my limited knowledge of my own condition, autism, your dad could've been autistic.

The metal detecting sounds exciting, I remember wanting to do that myself and find treasure.

Sorry to hear that you were afraid of your dad, me too.