I think that’s important - the grieving; it’s an acknowledgment, I think? But I’m glad to know a little more now and to finally be able to look back on those years with understanding and self-compassion. 🩵 (still hard though) 🥹
Thanks once again, Rebecca, for giving voice to what so many of us neurodivergents feel. I remember walking long stretches of my university campus, terrified I'd run into someone I knew, or accidentally make eye contact with someone. I've learned to move through life with more grace towards myself, and to look people in the eye, but I am often tired. I mask less, and that feels good.
I love the combination of the Dunbar, the Hughes, the Eliot. It makes my heart sing. (And Bishop too!)
I love for you the freedom of not having to make eye contact while teaching. It's been a while, but I'm pretty sure when I was teaching, I did not try to make eye contact. Gosh that sounds exhausting. I don't know where I looked, but it wasn't very often into my students' faces. I'm usually fairly oblivious about that social obligation. The only time I think about it really is when checking out at stores. I'm not sure why, but I feel a strong need to make eye contact with cashiers.
" I knew never to let anyone know I didn’t know what they meant about any given thing; I could look up the answer later." This feels so familiar.
For me one of the most excruciating things is to have someone assume I know something... forget they hadn't told me? Refer to something as if I already knew or as if it were common knowledge? Instead of saying: Oh I didn't know, I pretend I already knew. Even if it's something huge. (Right, I already knew you were pregnant. Of course I knew they had cancer. Of course you already told me about your new job.) and then wonder if they'd really told me and I'd forgotten. Why don't I feel comfortable saying I didn't know? It's like I'm trying to save them the social embarrassment of being told they'd made a mistake? I'm embarrassed that I'm not really in the number of people who are in the loop and they've mistaken me for knowing more than I do. I also pretend I remember who people are when they come up to me in public and talk to me like they know me. I assume I'll eventually figure it out. I'm too embarrassed to admit I can't remember them. I hadn't really thought of these as masking behaviors. But oh, yeah, I guess they are.
Melanie, GOSH I feel that impulse to pretend knowledge AND pretending I know who people are. So many stressful interactions with people, wondering how I know them and what I'm supposed to know about them. I suspect I have some measure of face blindness. There are some faces that will not lock into my memory, even when I've had multiple interactions with the person. I have honed "friendly happy to see you face" to cover for it, but I hate the experience.
That's so interesting about cashiers--I wonder what it is about that one type of interaction? I feel like there could be something beautiful there, potentially, seeing the importance of those you barely cross paths with. Or ease of scripted interactions? But it could go the other way, too.... a felt need to painfully meet a social expectation?
I envy your obliviousness about eye contact, otherwise. That aspect of my mask is part of a fawning response from childhood trauma. It's so automatic for me to go overboard trying to please whoever I'm with--even students--to keep interactions feeling happy and safe. It's harder to drop the fawning response than the autism mask. I think I've got years ahead of me on that.
It was good to read this essay again now that I know you in deeper ways. You are brave to cast aside the mask and what a gift you gave those students. I love the connections you made with the poets, particularly the Harlem Renaissance ones. There is a musical setting of a Hughes poem by composer Florence Price that I play in music history class. It reminded of me of you swinging your arms and snapping your fingers. "To fling my arms wide / In the face of the sun, / Dance! Whirl! Whirl! / Till the quick day is done. / Rest at pale evening . . . / A tall, slim tree . . . / Night coming tenderly / Black like me."
It is so good to be known by you, my friend. That poem is perfect. So many poets seem to get stimming, which makes one wonder... :) I'll see if I can find the music to listen to.
I am finding that lately the thing I want to hear about most is what masking is and what is going on cognitively for us the actual internal reasoning experience. It is fascinating all the different ways we arrive at coping. Thank you for this deeply beautiful offering.
This is so beautiful.
Cindy, thank you. ❤️
The term “social vigilance.” Yes. I think this is part of the exhausting invisible work. 🩵
Gosh yes, Kara. It is exhausting, always being heightened. Always on guard. I grieve that for us.
I think that’s important - the grieving; it’s an acknowledgment, I think? But I’m glad to know a little more now and to finally be able to look back on those years with understanding and self-compassion. 🩵 (still hard though) 🥹
This was lovely to read today! Thank you 🩵
Oh Kara, very much the same here!
I loved this piece when I read it in Midstory. It's good to see it again.
Thank you so much, Christina!
Thanks once again, Rebecca, for giving voice to what so many of us neurodivergents feel. I remember walking long stretches of my university campus, terrified I'd run into someone I knew, or accidentally make eye contact with someone. I've learned to move through life with more grace towards myself, and to look people in the eye, but I am often tired. I mask less, and that feels good.
Carri, I am so with you. So with you on these things.
I love the combination of the Dunbar, the Hughes, the Eliot. It makes my heart sing. (And Bishop too!)
I love for you the freedom of not having to make eye contact while teaching. It's been a while, but I'm pretty sure when I was teaching, I did not try to make eye contact. Gosh that sounds exhausting. I don't know where I looked, but it wasn't very often into my students' faces. I'm usually fairly oblivious about that social obligation. The only time I think about it really is when checking out at stores. I'm not sure why, but I feel a strong need to make eye contact with cashiers.
" I knew never to let anyone know I didn’t know what they meant about any given thing; I could look up the answer later." This feels so familiar.
For me one of the most excruciating things is to have someone assume I know something... forget they hadn't told me? Refer to something as if I already knew or as if it were common knowledge? Instead of saying: Oh I didn't know, I pretend I already knew. Even if it's something huge. (Right, I already knew you were pregnant. Of course I knew they had cancer. Of course you already told me about your new job.) and then wonder if they'd really told me and I'd forgotten. Why don't I feel comfortable saying I didn't know? It's like I'm trying to save them the social embarrassment of being told they'd made a mistake? I'm embarrassed that I'm not really in the number of people who are in the loop and they've mistaken me for knowing more than I do. I also pretend I remember who people are when they come up to me in public and talk to me like they know me. I assume I'll eventually figure it out. I'm too embarrassed to admit I can't remember them. I hadn't really thought of these as masking behaviors. But oh, yeah, I guess they are.
Melanie, GOSH I feel that impulse to pretend knowledge AND pretending I know who people are. So many stressful interactions with people, wondering how I know them and what I'm supposed to know about them. I suspect I have some measure of face blindness. There are some faces that will not lock into my memory, even when I've had multiple interactions with the person. I have honed "friendly happy to see you face" to cover for it, but I hate the experience.
That's so interesting about cashiers--I wonder what it is about that one type of interaction? I feel like there could be something beautiful there, potentially, seeing the importance of those you barely cross paths with. Or ease of scripted interactions? But it could go the other way, too.... a felt need to painfully meet a social expectation?
I envy your obliviousness about eye contact, otherwise. That aspect of my mask is part of a fawning response from childhood trauma. It's so automatic for me to go overboard trying to please whoever I'm with--even students--to keep interactions feeling happy and safe. It's harder to drop the fawning response than the autism mask. I think I've got years ahead of me on that.
Thank you
It was good to read this essay again now that I know you in deeper ways. You are brave to cast aside the mask and what a gift you gave those students. I love the connections you made with the poets, particularly the Harlem Renaissance ones. There is a musical setting of a Hughes poem by composer Florence Price that I play in music history class. It reminded of me of you swinging your arms and snapping your fingers. "To fling my arms wide / In the face of the sun, / Dance! Whirl! Whirl! / Till the quick day is done. / Rest at pale evening . . . / A tall, slim tree . . . / Night coming tenderly / Black like me."
It is so good to be known by you, my friend. That poem is perfect. So many poets seem to get stimming, which makes one wonder... :) I'll see if I can find the music to listen to.
https://youtu.be/LRTL6mtS9cI?si=Ut6DQdGgyqXfMfce
Thank you!
I am finding that lately the thing I want to hear about most is what masking is and what is going on cognitively for us the actual internal reasoning experience. It is fascinating all the different ways we arrive at coping. Thank you for this deeply beautiful offering.