Pretending to be Normal

by Liane Holliday Willey

  Old habits are hard to break and sometimes I notice myself echoing even though I work at home now and rarely feel compelled to fit in at all. Interestingly enough, I do not think anyone else realizes I am echoing, not even the people I am copying. Everyone that is, except for those who know me quite well. A few very observant friends have noticed an occasion or two when I had lost myself in the shadows of someone else, but no one has ever noticed as quickly or completely as my AS daughter does. She recognizes the moment I bend my voice or my motions to match someone else’s and it drives her to distraction. In no uncertain terms she will demand I stop acting like whomever, that I quit walking this way or that, that I stop pretending to be someone I am not. Though she does not yet fully understand the weight of her words, there is little that keeps me from comprehending the fact that she is right on track with her observation. Funny that she, another Aspie, is often able to see my pretence before I am.

  I have come to the conclusion that even though I need to stop doing it, it is simply easier to echo, more comfortable and typically more successful superficially to pretend to be someone I am not. It is like putting myself on automatic pilot and free floating without lending a care to whether or not I am fitting in with the crowd. I must be if lam momentarily someone else. It’s a free ride until someone else notices. But it is a ride I have decided I need to get off. And with the help of my daughter and a few of my closest friends, I think I will, mostly because when I am with the people I really understand, the people whom I trust implicitly, I never have to take a free fall.

  The people who have proven they will stand by me no matter what I say, think or do, have given me a finer gift than they will ever realize. They have given me the real gift of freedom that allows me to experiment with my development as I continue to refine and sharpen my instincts and actions. These are the friends that do not wince when I fracture a social rule. The people who offer immediate dispensation should I offend them with my words or actions. The colleagues who call me to offer their support before I have a chance to tell them I am falling apart. I am aware these are the kinds of acquaintances everyone treasures, but for AS people, they are much more. They are our barometers and our mirrors. By their actions we see how we are doing and in their eyes we can find who we are.

  My two closest friends, Maureen, who has known me almost forever, and Margo, who found me during the last part of my most obvious AS years, help me to know what acceptable is, not just because they are always willing to offer instructions on how to act or advice on how to perceive things, but more important because they are so loyal in their affirmations that I am fine just the way I am. Through their eyes I am perfectly fine. Each of them dismisses my idiosyncratic ways with a smile and a wave of the arm, as if to say, You’re okay. Keep your head up. You can do this. They are confidence builders, confidants, cheerleaders, and advisors. They rein me in when I travel too far, they protect me from obvious blunders, and they applaud me when I stumble onto some part of me that is particularly worthwhile. But most important, most endearingly, they protect me, whether they realize it or not, from those who do not afford me so much grace.

  They are quick to come to my defence, perhaps with just a word or a look, should someone begin to judge me for something I have said or done. And yet, they never condescend or patronize me. They simply illuminate that which is made better by my AS, my straightforwardness and assertiveness and creativity and tenacity and loyalty. Because they see me first as someone who possesses many good qualities, and only then as someone who is just a tiny bit different, they give me the notion to begin to see myself in that light as well. And though I cannot explain why this happens, their belief in me fosters my own belief in myself, which in turn helps me to become less apprehensive and more able. Maybe I just see myself as more able. Maybe I have just learned how to put my best foot forward in public. It does not matter what the reason, for the truth is, Maureen’s and Margo’s influence is substantial to my self-esteem, so important that when this invisible difference that is my walk with AS comes home to stay me, I am quickly comforted and buoyed by the fact that my friends will be there for me, no matter what, no matter where.

  When I am with my closest friends, I can feel what it must be like to have a bunch of other friends, and for a moment I think I might just be over the old hang ups and anxieties. Sometimes, I will even try to do a really big friendship thing. I will host a lunch or show up at a function or even ask someone to go shopping with me. But, unless the person is extremely straightforward and blunt, I usually end up climbing back on stage, reciting the old lines and the old jokes, as my stomach starts to knot and my thoughts remind me how difficult this all is for me. I worry about this inability of mine, not so much because of how it affects me, but more because of how I think it might affect my children or the people whom I do not seem to grow close to. I do not want my children to grow up thinking they need to be loners, just because I am. I do not want the kids to be embarrassed because their mom would rather stay at home than join other moms for coffee or a girls’ night out. And I do not want the people whom I meet to get offended if I turn down their invitations or never offer one on my own. I wish people could understand that I can soak up all I need from most friends in just a few minutes, then walk away happy and content, knowing I have just spent time with a friend. I am not trying to be at all evasive or unfriendly, I just fill up fast.

  I like the friends I have, the few-minutes-a-day kind and the going-out-to-lunch-together kind. But I think it is important to acknowledge that there are many AS people who might never develop close friendships, even when they have learned how to be less egocentric, how to read nonverbal messages, how to express their wants and needs at the appropriate times and in the appropriate manner, and how to appreciate the nuances of proper friendship etiquette like secret keeping and personal space boundaries. I simply mean to say that truly close friendships are often very difficult to find, no matter who you are, and if I were counseling someone with AS, I think I would be very honest and objective about that possibility. I would try to explain that sometimes, no matter what we do and no matter how wonderful we might be, things happen to interfere with friendships. I would lead them, for example, through elaborated stories that illustrate people moving to far away towns, people getting wrapped up in their busy schedules, following different routines, having different interests, enjoying different kinds of play, and having their own set of difficulties and responsibilities. I would try to explain that sometimes time and place and sets of circumstances all work against real friendships. If this kind of open honesty is not a part of the total social skills counseling, I worry that an AS person’s literal minded thinking might lead them to believe in a magic friendship equation that says being nice + sharing toys + keeping secrets — friends and invitations to parties. I worry, what will happen if the equation does not work out?

  If it were me, I would want to make it very clear that life can be great with or without a large group of friends, but I would still try to help the AS person to understand that friendships come in turns out differently, strong and enduring. I think I would try to help them look for friendship circles that would be most likely to include people they would enjoy. People who share the same interests, ideas, morals, beliefs and general lifestyles. I would encourage them to join special interest clubs. I would advise them to cultivate a few moments with people they see in their neighborhood, at work, at school or on the regular routines. I might suggest they find a four legged friend to keep them company, not just for the therapy animals can provide, but also because pets can often bring out the best in all kinds of people and because they can bring strangers together. It is my opinion that with good and honest social skills training and follow-through counseling that works to help the AS person find appropriate social circles, all AS people can find friends. The question I cannot answer is, will they?

  My deep, dark fear, the one that makes my bones scream, is that there are AS people in search of friendships wh
o will never find any, no matter what they do, solely because of their AS. With those people on my mind, my heart breaks, for I know the reality that will wound them as they stumble forward, deeply lonely and ever more estranged from others. I hope that, as society continues to break the boundaries of normal, the boundaries so many cannot see and so many cannot find, this blight which robs good people of growth and happiness will ebb into a distant hollow, unseen and forgettable. And then, maybe then, the world really will welcome all people.

  5

  Crossing the Bridge

  I mark my life by moments in time,

  captured like morning glories at dawn,

  small and simple, yet fine and real.

  Moments define me, they make me complete.

  I envision the times that come together to form who I am.

  Each vison finds me nearing a bridge,

  some slippery and unstable made of ropes and broken planks,

  some certain and solid and well worn beneath iron gates,

  all of them promising a worthy journey,

  should I only have the will to follow their lead,

  and my friend to hold my hand as I cross.

  As most of my AS traits continue to fade away, I have noticed the most tenacious of the lot scatter like bubbles in the breeze, popping up here and there and usually at the most inopportune moments, teasing me from the thought that I will ever be anyone else’s normal. Try as I might to catch and contain them, these are the qualities I will never lose and only rarely hide. I would not mind, so much, these reminders of my unique character, if they were of a different sort. For instance, I feel no shame over my poor spelling or my central auditory discrimination problems because the consequences they provoke are easily explained and largely benign. But when I discover I have let my guard down and wandered into a place that provokes my sensory integration dysfunction or my inability to cue in on someone’s point of view — I lose my footing and find myself dizzy, shaken, nauseated and hot — acutely hot, so hot it hurts to touch my face or focus my eyes. When this happens, I desperately look for the only person who can almost instantly save me from reeling beyond control. I reach for my husband.

  No matter how many times I say it, I cannot overemphasize how important a strong support system is for people with AS. Friends and family members are of course crucial members of that support team, but I have to think that the majority of influence comes most naturally from the person we with AS choose to share our lives with, that is if we choose someone. I marvel at those in the Asperger’s community who find wonderful success seemingly without the support of someone close, for I know I would never have come this far if my husband had not been by my side. Not that our life together has always been easy. Like all married couples, we have had our share of problems, particularly when it comes to the one big issue that tears most marriages apart. The stuff of communicating.

  By the time I met my husband I was pretty well convinced I would never understand anyone well enough to maintain something everlasting. The men I had been dating were nice men who shared some of my interests and hobbies, but with each of them there was always an unspoken and unseen something that stood between us — like the curtain that kept the truth of the Wizard from the people of Oz. I never gave much thought to what the curtain was hiding because when I did, it led me to distraction. I could not intrinsically or intuitively fathom what lay in the shadows, things I can now identify as the cornerstones for patience, flexibility, empathy and objectiveness. Before I came to terms with myself, these emotions were held at bay, nearly in my vision but just beyond my reach. It took years with my husband before I could swim to each one. Years before I could catch them and store them safely in my heart. My AS behaviors — the sensory integration problems, literal mindedness, perseverance and rigid thinking tendencies — acted like arrows tipped in poison that stood poised and ready to pierce every relationship I ever found.

  From the moment I met Tom, I sensed he was a great deal like me. He had an interest in virtually all of my favorite activities, even my favorite pastime that no one else had ever expressed an interest in. Tom was just as enthralled as I was by university campuses… their architecture and structure, their quaint museums and galleries, their landscape and athletic stadiums, and their research libraries and bookstores. Later, it came as no surprise to me when he expressed an interest in becoming a college professor. The university environment is the perfect backdrop for his personality and mine. Many things caught our mutual interest, but virtually every one was linked by a common tie to solitude. Like me, Tom dislikes crowds and social gatherings. He does not care for environments that are charged with emotion or chaos, and he does not care how he fits in with the rest of the world. Like me, he is a loner. Quiet and calm became our glue. Now, I know that sounds simplistic and maybe even too subdued to act as a catalyst for togetherness, but in our case it provided a strong bond. To this day, it is the very element that draws us together even when we are at our worst.

  When I try to list all the cracks in our communication, I immediately focus on how hard it is for me to follow Tom’s logic. He is a man of few words and I require grand elaborations, well calculated metaphors and strong visual images to understand language. For instance, if Tom were to tell me he was disappointed he had missed me at lunch, I would wonder if he meant to say he was sad — which is simply regretfully sorry; unhappy — which is somewhere between mad and sad; disheartened — which is a lonely sad; mad — which makes you want to argue with someone over what they had done; angry — which makes you want to ignore the person you are feeling this way towards; furious — which makes you want to spit; or none of the above. In order for me really to understand what people are saying I need much more than a few words mechanically placed together. A succinct speaking and writing style is not nearly enough for me. Words by themselves are too vague. Rich elaborations sitting along side colorful words come to life in my mind drawing pictures as they pull my thoughts together. But sometimes, even the most telling and detailed sentences are not enough to help me comprehend what is being said to me.

  For the first several years of our marriage, Tom had no idea I was misconstruing his thoughts because, from his perspective, he had been clear and articulate. He was left to think I had just failed to listen to him while I was left wondering why he did not care that he had confused me so. My friends tell me their conversations with their spouse can also become confused and exasperating, particularly when they are engaged in discussions that require any intellectualizing or philosophizing, maybe something to do with their morals or ethics or religion or their ethereal ideals and values. But our communication discrepancies came more frequently than once in a while. Even when we spun words around the mundane and the routine — movies we had seen, books we had read, chores we had to do and trips we planned to take — even this kind of small talk, anchored in passing a few ideas or a bit of time, could send my thoughts and contemplations into a swirl of disarray.

  I cannot adequately describe how convoluted our discussions became, back before we knew each other’s style of communicating was wreaking havoc on the messages we were meaning to convey. Suffice to say we would both argue for hours, all the while thinking to ourselves that nothing we were hearing was making any sense. I know that from my perspective it was almost as if my husband would begin to speak a foreign language. I would hear the words that came out of his mouth, but I simply could not attach any meaning to them. It was if they were random words pulled from a dictionary, placed in a sentence and then set before me as a complex and unsolvable word puzzle. I vividly recall many times when I would see my thoughts swirling in a tide, trying desperately to grab onto something familiar and safe. For years I thought this was the way it was for everyone. After all, isn’t this what popular culture and the mass media tell us, that men and women are unable to communicate, that they are wired too differently to ever connect? I came to believe our inability to communicate was the norm. I convinced myself every woma
n felt like each word from their husband’s mouth ran backwards, slipped through thresholds and hid under the surface never intending to be found. I even knew, was just positive, that wives across the world reacted like I did when their ears and mind were deceived. I believed each of them fought with their breathing for control of their speaking voice and their consciousness. Yet when I would ask other women if they could relate to my experiences, they would tell me they could barely even understand what I was trying to describe to them, much less relate to me. Of course they had arguments, they would tell me, but not like that. They never felt they were losing sight of the real world or that their husband was speaking in tongues. They simply reported that they and their spouse disagreed on an issue, told one another so, had their discussion and then either went their separate ways or got over the discrepancies. It did not take long for me to realize that once again, I was not following a normal path. Once again, I found myself face to face with my Asperger traits.

  Nowadays I try very hard to gauge whether or not my reactions are being manifested by AS or by something more discrete. For instance, if I find myself in the middle of an argument with Tom, I will consciously stop speaking and run the specifics of the conversation through my mind as if it was a computer that could seek, find, and sort out all the extraneous variables that I relate to AS. I then imagine in my thoughts, two stacks of index cards — one that contains commonplace variables like stress and sleep deprivation and hormones, and one that contains AS traits like my rigid thinking or literal mindedness. Piece by piece, I then analyze a few sentences at a time, methodically analyzing which category of variables influenced each verbal exchange. For example, I typically ask myself questions like: could my understanding of this statement have been influenced by my rigid thinking; am I just under too much stress right now to hear anything properly; did I take his comment too literally; or am I misconstruing the implication of his word or words. Once I decide which influences are at play, I can then sift through the exchange again, this time throwing out the pieces that I think my AS has affected. At that point, I can finally reevaluate the conversation and determine where things began to fall off track.