To Brian Bojanowksi—thank you for hours of sketching my crazy ideas and sometimes funny words into life. Thanks to Wendi and the boys for loaning you out, and thank you all for sharing the belief that this was never about us to begin with.
To my dear friends, Aileen, Lori, Amanda and Elizabeth, for continuing to encourage and support me always in all ways—no matter what life is throwing at you. I am inspired by each of you every single day.
To my mom. I know foreign languages were never your thing. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for trying so hard (for me and the kiddos) to learn to speak “Aspie.” I love you and am so proud of you. Pink roses, Daddy. I miss you.
To my Asperkids, Maura (great cover idea!), Sean and Gavin (my little men): you rock. You are each such unique, precious bits of tomorrow. I fully expect you to change the world. Thank you for being mine.
Last, to my husband and best friend, John. I love you, Asperguy. Here’s to a lifetime more of comfy routines, label-maker vs. Diet Coke can battles, and utter geek chic contentment. When it comes to being BFF, John, we wrote the book.
“Where was this Book When I, Like, Needed It?”
1990
Dear Journal,
What the heck? How is it possible to be so smart and so clueless at the exact same time? It seems like everyone else speaks a language that I don’t. I watch them. I listen. I imitate. I act—a lot. Have you heard my newest nickname? The tennis team has taken to calling me “Happy Head.” They actually mean it to be nice. I think I’ve become the seniors’ pet. The cute little redhead with the smile plastered on her face—it’s plastered, all right. And plastic. I’m completely petrified of feeling left out. Again. It’s probably just a matter of time, though. We both know that I always manage to blow it somehow. Just give me long enough and I’ll screw up any friendship. Seriously, I wish someone would just give me some rules on how to be “normal”…let me know when THAT book comes out. It seems to be the only one I haven’t read.
Love,
Jenny
2012
There wasn’t a Rule Book, then, like I wished. There was no peek into the secret rules that I knew had to be there, but couldn’t ever figure out. There were rules, I was sure of it. Everyone else seemed to get them. But not me. Over and over, I’d mess up without even realizing it. Then try to cover it up. Then have to find new friends. For thirty-four years, that was the cycle, until I learned a new word: “Aspergers.” And all of a sudden, I made sense. It all made sense. No, there wasn’t a rule book then. But there is now. Part code-cracking, part doodle pad. Completely honest and all yours. Well, ours…
Welcome to the (Secret) Rule Book.
- Introduction -
Rules, Posers and Speaking a Foreign Language
We Aspies have a weird relationship with rules. In some ways, we love them. They kind of act like those organizing tubs you see in container stores. Sort this here, this does NOT go here, and move this out of the way. Rules aren’t about telling us what NOT to do, as much as they tell us what we SHOULD do. They prevent chaos and confusion and stress. They create calm when the world feels messy and unpredictable. Rules, you might say, can be an Aspie’s best friend.
On the other hand, we can take them a little bit overboard. “Rules” about healthy eating can become “food rituals” that restrict social activities; “rules” about homework can become perfectionism that causes great anxiety. Which is why the number one rule about rules is that they are almost never absolute. Confusing, but true. There are variables, exceptions and escape clauses, and you know what? No one gets this stuff right all the time. It’s just that we Aspies like either/or a lot better than “sometimes” or “maybe.” No big surprise that so many of us love games, hobbies and stories with predictable patterns and logical construction. Even our imaginations prefer facts and good versus evil basics: sci-fi, fantasy or historical fiction. What can I say? “Maybe” is just not our thing.
You’ve probably noticed by now that I’m saying “we,” not “you.” That’s because I, too, am an Aspie. Although, if you’re reading this, and you’re an Asperkid, you have a major thing going for you already. You are SO lucky to already know what kind of mind you have. I didn’t find out that I was an Aspie until I was an adult and learned that my own three kids (and husband) were Aspies, too. That means that I spent thirty-four years pretending to be just like everyone else. Which I wasn’t. Growing up, I was “the brain.” There was no word “Aspie” or “Asperkid,” or anything else other than “dictionary head” and “know it all,” and that kind of thing.
As I got older, I created myself on stage. Having started dancing at two, being on a stage in front of hundreds of people was, in many ways, a whole lot easier than being in a room with one person. If you have a script or choreographed dance steps, you just follow the plan. You can’t really mess up—in fact, a very strange thing happens, or at least, it did for me. More and more, my real self popped through on stage, and the roles I played leaked into my daily life…until often I couldn’t even tell when I was being real and when I was acting. I had enough scripts memorized and body language programmed into me that not only did I “act” well enough to blend in, I even became somewhat of a social butterfly.
Let me tell you, after all of that, I am one heck of an actress. I wore costumes in real life: cheerleader uniform, sorority letters, big hair (that was a good thing in the 1990s), and got so good at playing the “social game” that I earned the nickname “the flirt.” At the time, that felt pretty cool—looking back, though, it was pretty sad. I didn’t know I was an Asperkid. I just knew I’d spent enough years getting pranked, left out, made fun of and taunted. Enough nights crying at having to go back to school in the morning. Enough lunches hiding in the woods outside my high school rather than try to find a seat. So once I had the chance to play the role of “vamp” and “glamour girl,” I took it for all it was worth—to extremes. Going from “nerd” to “hottie” felt like a promotion. It wasn’t though, because either way, I was defining my self worth by someone else’s label. I had no idea how to be authentic (a little nerdy, a little flirty) AND happy. So I’d play my “role” pretty well…but never convincingly enough to fluently “speak” neurotypical (NT). With no idea that I’d done something wrong, I’d bother, embarrass, annoy, hurt or disappoint someone. Through college, and in job after job afterwards, no matter what I achieved or where I managed to fit in, I always felt like a “poser,” just waiting to be outed for the “fake” normal girl I was.
Less than two years ago, when I was identified as an Aspie, everything changed. Turned out, I wasn’t defective, I was different. Being down on myself for making social blunders was as dumb as if I got mad at myself for having red hair or being a girl. We Aspies are hard-wired differently. Without trying, we can focus for hours on the tiniest details that other people seem to miss, and we understand wrong versus right down deep in our hearts. Being Aspie isn’t bad or good, it just is. I will never be a brunette. I won’t ever be male. And I am totally OK with both of those things. I’m also never going to be NT. It’s not my normal. And if you are an Asperkid, it’s not your normal either.
Part of understanding Aspie meant that I could forgive myself for messing up along the way. That was great. As my daughter said, “It means I’m not a dumb-bunny when it comes to people.” No, she’s not, I’m not, and you’re not. But it also means that in order to get along in this world where most people’s minds operate differently, we have to learn their rules. The problem is that nobody bothers to explain those rules to us—they just expect that we will “know” them, too. We learn manners, of course…or at least we should. Simply put, good manners make people more comfortable around us. They make other people feel good when they are around us—which means they WANT to be around us more. So? Sooo…if people want to be around us, it’s easier to get help from teachers, find small group partners or gym teammates, get a date for the prom, even get hired for a job. Only as Asperkids, we don’t
think or learn or play like other kids. So we don’t understand “manners”—or “secret rules”—the way that others do.
What Comes Naturally, and What Doesn’t
Mind-Blindness
“Manners,” generally speaking, are the traditions or customary ways a particular group has to guide the way people treat one another. Their purpose is to make social interaction smoother, less chaotic. Less about “me” and more about “we.” And they change from society to society. So, in the Middle East, for example, to even show the bottom of your shoe to another human being is considered deeply offensive and rude. In Japan, not to take off your shoes upon entering a home would be the insult. In Bulgaria, nodding your head means “no” and shaking it from side to side says “yes,” but the opposite is true most everywhere else. Argentinians expect you to arrive about thirty minutes after a set arrival time; many other cultures would find that disregard for time to be costly and arrogant. And in the United States, driving five miles over the speed limit is technically against the law—yet it’s also expected, and sometimes even necessary if you don’t want to tie up traffic.
Rules are relative, from one place to another. Expectations change over time (like women going to work), and from one situation to another (talking on a cell phone is fine, but not in the middle of a restaurant).
All this “fuzziness” confuses the heck out of us, right? Is someone being rude or just sarcastic? Or are they being sarcastic AND rude? Argh! Why can’t this stuff just be simple? Why are these ridiculous “rules” secret to us, and not to the NTs?
Mostly, our trouble stems from two main challenges. The first is called “mind-blindness.” That means that we have an awfully tough time figuring out someone else’s point of view. Oh, we THINK we know what they are thinking…but usually, we don’t, without actually asking.
Please get this. Mind-blindness doesn’t mean Aspies are uncaring. Once we find out someone has been hurt, or is afraid or alone, we can be the most sympathetic people around. That’s compassion: feeling sorrow or pity for someone else’s misfortune. Heck, I couldn’t even read Charlotte’s Web (White 1952) as a kid, and I still have to actually get up and run to turn off the television if a commercial for hunger relief or animal safety comes on. My heart can’t take the ache I feel. Strangely, my own son, an Asperkid, does the same thing when he knows the plot of a cartoon will involve a character’s feelings being hurt. He runs. My dad, definitely an Asperguy, used to walk out of a room if anyone cried. He wasn’t cold. I think it was the opposite. The feelings were just too big.
As for me, my first job out of college was as a social worker helping kids in violent homes and then as a teacher for students who felt lost, dumb or left out. The underdog was always my favorite, and probably always will be. So never ever let anyone tell you that Aspies don’t feel great love for others. They couldn’t be more wrong. We may look like we aren’t feeling a thing, but you and I know that couldn’t be further from the truth.
On the other hand, sympathy and empathy are very different things. Sympathy we’ve got in spades. Empathy, which is the ability to sense, be aware of and share another’s feelings is, let’s admit it, not our collective strong point. Compassionate though we may be, we Aspies usually have to really ponder or even be directly told what someone else’s perspective might be. It’s not something we’re naturally aware of. That doesn’t make us bad or mean or uncaring. It means that we have to think about what NTs just “get.”
On the flip side, we often “get” things that NTs have to stress over, study and try desperately to memorize. Neither brain is better. They’re just different ways a mind can work. And just like an NT might have to buckle down to even have a chance at remembering a timeline or equation or factoid you know by rote, we have to “do our homework” to learn the social rules that run our mostly neurotypical world.
Impulsivity—AKA “Oops”
I’m speaking from personal experience when I say that we Aspies can be, shall we say, a tad bit impulsive? Ever open your mouth, say exactly what you meant not to say, and then spend the rest of the day beating yourself up for it? I have. Frequently.
So even when we do figure out another person’s perspective and how we may be affecting her, we often react before we give ourselves time to think. And usually, speaking or behaving impulsively doesn’t come out the way we want. Those would be our “Oops, I over-shared again” or “I cannot believe I just said that” socially awkward moments.
When my daughter was little, I taught her a trick with mazes. Start at the end, then work your way backwards. If you know where you’re going, you can plan your route much more effectively. It’s true for most anything in life. If you want to visit China, a guide to traveling through Costa Rica isn’t going to be much help.
If you want to make a fabulous dinner, you’re going to have a much better chance of getting the necessary ingredients from the grocery store if you know that your end product should be curried chicken and not spaghetti and meatballs.
That’s just real. For us, “playing well with others” isn’t impossible at all, it just takes a whole lot more thinking, strategizing and planning than it does for NTs. But if we’re not careful, our impulsivity can sabotage our best social efforts before we’ve really begun.
Learning to Speak “Social-Ease”
All that thinking and planning and confusion may lead you to think, why bother? This is all just too much work. Forget it. I get that. I have been there. Actually, I still am there sometimes. It’s probably one of my favorite things about having (accidentally?) married an Aspie and having Asperkids. We understand one another without having to do a lot of explaining or figuring. But that sure wasn’t true of my life growing up. And it still isn’t true the minute I walk out my door.
So, the truth is that you don’t HAVE to learn the rules if you don’t want to. It’s really your choice. But…as with any choice, there are consequences. If you want a career, a date, an invitation, a friend or even to get along with the NTs in your family…you have to learn their language. “Social-ease.” You may never be fluent, and you may always have an “Aspie accent,” but at least you’ll know what to (try) to say.
Just imagine moving to some other country and being expected to speak their language, know the customs and follow every one of their super-complicated laws—without anyone ever explaining them to you. And if you mess up, you could (and probably would) get fired, be laughed at, left out, bullied, or even arrested. Would that be fair? Of course not.
But that’s what it’s like for us, trying to follow a set of hidden social rules without the rule book. To us, they’re not rules, they’re secrets. It’s no wonder we feel left out so often. You won’t just “know” things that are not part of the way you, as Asperkids, operate…any more than I will suddenly know what it’s like to wake up blonde. Someone’s got some explaining to do.
Social psychologists try. They are scientists who study the way people interact and develop connections, using fancy terms like “social norm” (think “normal”) to describe hidden rules. The scientists say that people observe each other, and then think about each other. Those thoughts lead to feelings. And then people behave based on their feelings. It’s a cycle: NTs observe, think, feel and act.
“Secret” rules are just part of that big cause and effect deal. How “well” you follow the rules (the cause) determines how most NTs will treat you (the effect). Do what others expect, and the reward is that you are accepted by the group. Do it any other way, and people (kids and adults) feel threatened, uncomfortable, even embarrassed or scared. So they freak. And all sorts of lousy consequences—bullying, teasing, practical jokes, etc.—act like a punishment. “Get in line or else” is the basic message. And it doesn’t change as you grow up.
Hold the Pillow
OK, we have arrived at our first “hold the pillow” moment. I know you have no idea what that means. Just stick with me. A psychiatrist friend of mine, Dr. Irm Bellavia, showed me a great v
isual. She’d ask an Asperkid to imagine that the little throw pillows on her office couch were important—but tough—things that he had to hear. Not mean. Not put-downs. Just real stuff. Then, she’d toss the pillows at him, one at a time. At first, they’d bounce off—he wouldn’t be expecting them. Maybe he’d then even throw them back. Eventually, she’d say “Catch it. Hold on.” And she’d just wait. And he’d hold the pillow. That’s what all of us have to be able to do—to hold on and hear that we might be wrong, or if not wrong, maybe not exactly helping ourselves out.
We don’t have the “Social-ease” dictionary programmed into our brains; NTs do. They are constantly “taking the social temperature.” Without even realizing it, NTs monitor each other’s body language and tone of voice—able to correctly detect what others think of them. If NTs sense they are causing uncomfortable or confused thoughts or feelings, they can change their own behavior in time to keep everyone comfortable and happy.
For us Aspies, that’s not a natural skill. We either don’t notice or don’t understand the thoughts we make others think about us. Growing up, I was bullied, teased, left out…you name it. Not my fault. BUT. (I am holding the pillow here!) Looking back, I can see that I did not help myself. In fact, without even realizing it, I absolutely can see that I did a lot of things to come off as a know-it-all, bossy, snobby, whatever. I didn’t understand how I made other people think about me.
When we act in ways that are unexpected, other people feel uncomfortable about us (that can look like frustration, uncertainty, embarrassment, confusion). And when they feel uncomfortable, they are going to behave in ways that will try to get the person who created that feeling to either go away or change.
The Asperkid's (Secret) Book of Social Rules Page 2
