Still, we had to go through the drama of having a formal review. In the end, I was excused completely—but during the process, I was certain my entire future had been trashed. I’d already been accepted to an extremely prestigious university for the next year, and was up for a myriad of awards at graduation. Yet in my eyes, this one tiny misunderstanding was about to wipe away the fruits of seventeen years of hard work. The school would find out and reject me. I’d never have a good job or interesting career. I’d probably be boring…a failure…alone. My life—I was sure—was over.
Not so much. Everything was fine, and the only one who got in trouble was the teacher. But I was expecting the worst. It was a drop of rain, and I was busy building Noah’s Ark II.
That’s catastrophic thinking. Basically, it means mentally going from zero to Mach 100 in no seconds flat. Your mind runs away with dire tragedies or utter failure, no matter how unlikely or ridiculous your logic. It’s imagining and getting completely stuck on the worst, most embarrassing, painful, devastating possible outcome of any little bump in the road. The kind of preoccupation that grabs a hold of your mind in the middle of the night and will not let go, mercilessly dragging you from one “what-if” to another.
NTs would call it “overreacting.” Now I don’t know about you, but I find that infuriating. If someone is mad or afraid, that feeling deserves respect. As Dr. Seuss (1954, p.47) said, “A person’s a person, no matter how small.” Or how Aspie. So I don’t care how “dramatic” your feelings seem to someone else—you deserve not to be made fun of or dismissed.
Besides, this isn’t “over-reacting.” It’s Aspie-reacting. Why? My opinion is that our either/or thinking and “my way’s the only way” certainty can cause us some major grief. We don’t see how any other (better) outcomes could possibly happen instead.
Take my situation, for example. I jumped from “My teacher wrote a referral” to “I will get kicked out of university before I begin and be forever humiliated,” which on its own, is clearly a completely illogical crazy leap. But if you break it down flowchart style, it’s not so implausible:
(1) Teacher Makes Referral to Principal → (2) Possible Disciplinary Action Added to Academic Record → (3) Final Records go to University → (4) Admissions Offer Withdrawn → (5) I Have to Explain to Everyone at School and Whole Family Why I May No Longer Attend the School → (6) I am a Public Failure and Object of Perpetual Ridicule. ARGH!
The secret to avoiding this craziness is stopping to realize that from one step to the next, our logic isn’t always correct. Or even particularly reasonable. And always, always asking: “Why might this not happen?”
Let’s use my own personal freakout to test the theory:
1. Teacher Referral: this happened. Ridiculous, but it was an actual event. So, we can’t debate it.
2. Disciplinary Action: here’s where the ACTUAL events didn’t keep up with my imagination. Let’s pretend we didn’t know that yet. So, besides my fear of being punished… “Why might this not happen?” The administrator might listen to all of the facts, check with the teacher who wrote me the original excuse, and decide that the referral was unfair, dismissing it.
3. Final Records: “Why might this not happen?” If the administrator dismisses the referral, it never becomes a part of my records. And even if it did, one blip in an otherwise awesome record would seem strange—and probably not very reliable or important.
4. Admissions Withdrawal: “Why might this not happen?” The admission to the university was already offered and accepted. It would take a LOT more than a small misunderstanding or mistake to undo all of that.
By this point…the rest of the chain falls apart, because I’ve shown myself how very unlikely the other consequences are. Even better, I’ve taken the time to remove the emotion from the equation and just examine the facts. That gives us the chance to take any action we might need to correct a mistake or prevent it from getting worse.
And that’s what I did. Before the meeting, I went to my tennis coach and asked her to write a note explaining that she’d excused me, and that I was right in following those directions. If the orchestra teacher had a problem with the excuse note, my coach pointed out, it should have been taken up with her—a peer—rather than taken out on me. I brought the explanation to the review meeting, and after listening politely to the orchestra teacher explain his point of view (not interrupting!), I presented my note and explained my perspective. I also apologized to the orchestra teacher if I had, in any way, been impolite (I hadn’t been, but by showing respect, it made him feel better toward me and less embarrassed about his outburst).
Into every life a little rain must fall, said someone somewhere. That’s true. When something goes wrong, it’s as if there is cold rain falling on your face. You feel the dampening “wetness.” But trust me—every raindrop is not the beginning of a hurricane. Evaluate the “Chain of Catastrophe” you’re imagining to see how logical it is, and think about what you can do to make things better. It may turn out that all you need is an umbrella, not a rescue boat, after all.
- 20 -
Temper, Temper
There Will Be More Apple Juice Tomorrow
Need-to-Knows
• All conflicts have history. The time to act is before meltdowns occur.
• NTs don’t understand that we melt down because we are feeling overwhelmed.
• We must clearly communicate and problem solve when we are calm. No one listens when we yell.
• Our bodies give us signals before a meltdown. Pay attention and choose to respond in a proactive way.
• Anticipate sensory overload and use your coping skills to relax and re-direct your energy.
• Tomorrow is another day.
Asperkid Logic
Forever ago, when I was a domestic violence counselor working for the police department, a strange report came across my desk. Like the stack of others on my desk, it was from an officer who’d been called to manage an argument that had gotten physical—but what made this particular report stand out was the officer’s comment, written in marker. “What the ??” he’d written, with an arrow pointing to the following words, “the complainant stated that this argument took place over a tomato.”
Really? I can see why the officer would’ve been upset. Here he is, voluntarily suiting up to go out there and put his life on the line, protecting those who need it from…tomatoes? What a colossal waste of time (and tax dollars), I’m sure he was thinking. And if the argument had really been about a tomato, he’d be absolutely right to feel so indignant. The thing is, though, that no one comes to blows over a vegetable (or fruit, if you’re being picky).
Before the whole fight began, this couple was struggling with communication issues—who would spend whose money on what, when, who would be responsible for particular domestic tasks, and what fair expectations of one another might be. A tomato wasn’t the issue. It was just a little, red representation of a much bigger problem between them.
Camels and Plate Tectonics
All conflicts have history. No war started “just because.” And no camel’s back broke under the first “straw.”
Quarrels and strife don’t spontaneously appear—they spring from actions taken one step too far or words inflicting one hurt too many. Your mom doesn’t freak out because you’ve left toothpaste in the sink once. It’s the hundred-and-seven times she’s asked you to clean up before and the consistent disregard for her requests that makes her feel unimportant and upset. And you probably don’t go ballistic because one person in one class gives you a hard time one day. Today’s meltdown may be the product of years of relentless teasing by people who are nowhere in sight right now.
People are a lot like plate tectonics: before a volcanic eruption or an earthquake, there’s a build-up of friction and stress. If we pay attention, there’s a chance to escape the chaos. Yes, an explosion vents the energy—but it causes great damage and pain in the process.
The same is true betw
een people and inside of a person. Before we “erupt,” there’s a build-up of tension—of misunderstandings, unrealistic expectations or (for Aspies) sensory input. And while that release of feelings might feel good in the short term, it does nothing but damage in the long run.
Which is why it’s so important for all of us to practice our listening and communicating skills, and to say what we mean and mean what we say when tempers are calm, not when boiling points are breached.
We are Experiencing Technical Difficulties
The particular snag for Aspies, though, is that our emotional seismographs don’t read very accurately. It’s as if our little internal-stress-measuring equipment is experiencing technical difficulties. Because we struggle with interpreting body language, facial expressions, tone of voice and anticipating others’ ideas, our perceptions of impending trouble can be off.
You might say we detect underground friction in Mexico, when the real eruption is about to occur in Japan. Or, we may not clearly communicate our own struggles with enough lead time for anyone to help. Our display gauge says everything’s fine, when actually, there’s a major internal combustion about to blow, and we’re about to lose our cool.
When an Aspie melts down—cries, yells, runs and hides (and yes, I’ve done all of those)—it’s because we are overwhelmed with emotions that we don’t have the words or tools to handle at that moment. That’s a legitimate problem. But, like the “tomato couple,” to anyone watching, we just look ridiculous. NTs don’t see (and may not care) about the frustration, panic or hurt that came first. They just see us freaking out. And it’s not our best look.
I’ve heard it said that people cry not because they are weak, but because they’ve been strong for too long. Holding in your frustrations, hurt or fear doesn’t make it go away—it just guarantees a bigger problem later…like stuffing all of your dirty laundry into a small closet. Eventually, you are going to open it and have the entire stinky pile fall on your head.
We have to face problems when we are calm, not when tempers are flaring. And throughout this book, we’ve already covered a lot of what you’ll need to avoid those Dreaded Meltdowns: reflective listening, self-advocating, giving a good apology, and working with others. That’s a start. But what about the solo meltdowns? How do we prevent those eruptions?
The trick is to:
• Clearly communicate and problem solve while we are still calm (so others will want to help).
• Learn to listen to our bodies.
• Know how to calm ourselves down when we feel the temperature rising.
It isn’t a Temper Thing, But It Sure Looks That Way
Most of what the world sees as Aspie anger isn’t anger—or temper, or rage. We usually melt down because we are feeling overwhelmed sensory-wise or have some expectations that aren’t being met (regardless of whether they are realistic). Let’s see what we can do about addressing those problems before they get too big to handle.
Sensory Stuff
This is a pretty easy fix if you take the time to anticipate what you can ahead of time. Make life a little smoother:
1. Choose shirts without tags.
2. Dress in layers: being able to cool down quickly will actually cool your emotions.
3. Earplugs can be pretty discreet, if you need them.
4. Keep a smooth “worry stone” or fidget in your pocket or desk.
5. Get permission to chew gum or suck on sour candies whenever you need them.
6. Arrange a “safe spot” with teachers, where you can go without stopping to ask for permission. It can be an outside swing, the nurse’s office—I used a hidden corner of a dark, deserted hallway when I was in high school and needed to escape.
The goal is to shut out as much offensive sensory input as possible AND give your body whatever sensory input (often tactile or oral) it does need to bring it back down.
Expect the Unexpected
Oh, how we Aspies like our structure—our routines. The comfort of knowing what will happen on Tuesdays, where the cereal boxes should (or shouldn’t) be placed, or how a shirt should or shouldn’t be folded. It’s how we try to control the great, big, crazy world of ours. Of course, it’s completely pointless, too. The more rigid we get in how we think things need to be, the more upset we’re going to be when (not if, but when) they turn out differently.
I’ve heard it said that the quickest way to make God laugh is to tell Him your plans. Now, whether you’re an Orthodox Jew or a devout atheist, the point is the same. What upsets people the most is not what actually happens, but when what we expect to happen, doesn’t. Now, if you stop to think about it, you know that the world doesn’t run on your schedule any more than it runs on mine. You may not have your doctorate by the age you expect and your second child may not be a girl whom you name “Molly.” In fact, as life moves on, you may decide to become a dentist and your children may all be boys. Plans change. Don’t waste your energy or emotions protesting people or circumstances outside of your control.
Life doesn’t actually have to work out the way you’ve imagined to be alright. You know that crazy-urgent feeling you get when suddenly, things seem to be going very wrong? That something has to change “right here, right now” or else disaster may ensue? You’re being duped. Unless there’s a fire, someone’s hurt, or someone’s about to be hurt, there is no actual emergency. The sense of urgency, of panic just means we’ve got that egocentrism thing happening again—we are seeing ourselves (and our wants/needs/ideas) as more important than others.
For example, my youngest son was in tears today—over apple juice. Well, not really over apple juice. You see, he drinks apple juice with breakfast every morning, but this morning, we’d run out. Now, even though I explained we’d have more by this afternoon, his expectations weren’t met, his routine was busted, and he lost it. Thermal meltdown. An outsider looking in would’ve thought the house was on fire or he’d lost his favorite toy. But no. We were just out of apple juice. And although I had two other kids to get ready for school and a dog barking for her breakfast, he was going to let the world know about the injustice being done unto his little self.
What to Do, What to Do?
The reason young Aspies have more visible outbursts is that they don’t have the words to express what they are feeling. When older Aspies haven’t learned to “use our words” very well, we don’t roll around on the floor, but we may lash out. We may snap at those we love, stomp off, slam doors, make snide remarks, hurt ourselves or just sink down into depression, heart disease or ulcers. Don’t like the sound of those options? Good, because you have another choice. You can choose to suffer, or you can practice taking your (emotional) temperature, self-advocating, and self-soothing.
The first thing to do is to jot down things that might be bothering you while you are calm. Then, use your self-advocacy skills and your “I feel” statements to bring your concerns to someone who will listen. If you only talk about problems when you are already upset, nothing will ever be solved.
If trouble is brewing already, remember plate tectonics. Geologists know that every earthquake is preceded by “P-waves” or early shock waves. Those are the same seismic waves that animals often notice, allowing them to escape the turbulence to follow. Well, our bodies give “P-waves,” too.
Take your emotional temperature:
• Are your palms sweaty?
• Is your face flushed?
• Does your stomach feel sick?
• Is your mind racing?
• Is your chest tight?
• Is your mouth dry?
These are your body’s “P-waves” telling you that you must take action, an explosion is coming.
Remember my little Asperdude and the apple juice? Now, he’s too young to be able to know what he needs when he gets upset, so it’s up to me to teach him how to calm himself. As he gets older, though, I will expect my juice-lover to begin to weigh what really matters—to “reframe” the situation and try to see the bigg
er picture. I’ll help him practice asking himself, “Is this small stuff or an actual big deal?” And eventually, he will be able to see that something like missing his favorite drink is disappointing, but not devastating.
But for today, my Asperkid’s rant looked like a classic temper tantrum—a spoiled preschooler who needs to get over the “I want apple juice!” already. Now as Aspies, you and I know it’s not that simple. Would yelling at him help? Or telling him to be quiet? No, that would be like pouring gasoline on a fire and expecting it to die down. When we are upset, we need to know that other people hear our complaint, even if they can’t or won’t fix it.
In the case of such a young guy, it was up to me to remain calm and say, “I’m really sorry you’re so disappointed. I don’t have apple, but I do have grape or orange. Which do you want, grape or orange?” He couldn’t answer me right away, so I repeated his options, twice. When he still couldn’t choose, I poured one glass of each and set them out for him (a safe distance away)—and in a few minutes, he sniffled, walked over and took the grape. The whole trouble was over.
But you’re old enough that it’s up to you to make yourself heard. And I promise you this:
A quiet, confident conversation echoes more powerfully than a loud, insecure tirade.
So, if you’ve recognized that you are getting upset, relax and re-direct.
• Relax: my kids learned from preschool to “smell the flowers and blow out the candles.” It sounds silly, I know, but it’s a proven fact that by altering your breathing patterns to become slower and deeper, you change the function of your body’s autonomic nervous system. The “off” switch is flipped on your fight/flight instinct, and you buy yourself valuable control.
The Asperkid's (Secret) Book of Social Rules Page 13
