You make me sick...

Often when I'm watching the boys, I'm reminded of myself and my own childhood; particularly when they're having difficulties with certain aspects of life, such as food textures, making friends or crowded situations. I relate far better with them than I do most of my peers - whether that's because they're children on the spectrum or just them being children in general, I don't know. Perhaps my own immaturity lends a hand in this; though I do still struggle with talking to them (especially trying to explain, well, anything to them - I'm often a bit too "adult-like" or formal for them to understand much of what I mean, I forget I'm talking to a 6 year old and end up discussing politics or psychology experiments with him - much to his curious amusement) I find their company so much more enjoyable than I do people my own age. I have far more patience for children, and find their bluntness very refreshing indeed. 

Autistic children, I've found, bring about even more joy and comfortability; their autonomy meshes so very well with mine. My partner's middle child, a non-verbal almost 5 year old with quite severe sensory issues - I'll call him The Wanderer - him in particular I could spend hours with and not once feel the need to escape and be alone. The comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional verbal stim, makes for a beautiful companionship indeed. Not only is he a joy to be around, but I feel a deep understanding for some of the issues he faces - despite him currently being on the "severe" end of the spectrum, we have a lot in common; probably more so than I do with "neurotypical" people.

As a child, I ate very simple meals and drank only water. My mother tried in vain to get me to be more adventurous in my food, but even if she tried to pair two foods I would actually eat together to make a "new" meal, I'd just separate them. Plain, "orange cheese" (Red Leicester) sandwiches with margarine only (I hated the taste of butter) on the same bread every time, toast, salted crisps/chips, billy bear and occasionally some sweetcorn, and bizarrely enough, marmite and olives. I refused juice and only ever asked for water - despite many desperate friend's parent's attempts to get me to accept juice ("surely you don't want water, we have juice you know, are you sure you wont have some juice? There's plenty of it! Well, I'll make some for you anyway, it's very nice..." who would think such a thing would be so important to people?) although I'd have warm sweet milk if I was feeling reckless ;) 

Still to this day, I'll only usually drink water, and, when I'm sad or unwell, the only thing I'll feel up to eating is a plain orange cheese sandwich. As a child (and often as an adult) if pushed to eat something I wasn't up for, threatened with nothing else for example, I'd simply not eat. I'd starve myself for days, weeks even, rather than eat whatever's being forced. Luckily these days I'm far more adventurous, but there are still some textures/tastes I just can't eat without gagging. I won't even try any more; I'll have the occasional impulse to attempt to eat one of my "no list" foods once every few years, and each time I've regretted it. Usually it's down to texture - beans, nuts, rind, and anything cold and a little slimy, such as ham or fish (especially salmon) being the worse culprits. I can't chew any of these things without having a physical response to them, so to bypass this in otherwise edible meals, I often swallow whatever it is whole. Perhaps not the perfect solution, definitely not good for my digestive system, but it's made eating adventurously a real option. 

I mostly stick with what I know and love (which now includes more options, thankfully) but thanks to my parents backing the f**k off (to put it bluntly) when I reached school age and just letting me try foods in my own time and on my own grounds, I've managed to expand my taste buds independently and without anxiety making it that much harder. I can't stress enough how pressuring certain children into eating foods they're simply not able to eat without discomfort can do this - anxiety already rules our lives for the most part, adding more is just asking for explosives to go off.  

Obviously I'm not talking all children, and of course there'll be plenty of situations a little bit of pressure/bribery works. I'm talking when the child is becoming so distressed they're hurting themselves, or when they're showing that they'd rather go without eating altogether than try the thing you're offering - even if it's the only thing offered all day, or the day after that. I'm talking when they gag or clamp down so violently you'd think you were trying to force dettol down their throat, not a jam sandwich. I feel your pain, I know your worry - and of course there are many children that won't even eat ONE thing - that must be terrifying to experience and I don't wish to say you're doing them harm - in this situation, I believe an exception should be made. Better a living, anxious child than a calm, dead one. But if your kid can't handle more than a handful of different meals, just stick with what works and offer a new meal once a week - even if it's one you've offered before that's been turned down. I only tried mayonnaise (despite it being offered previously) for the first time at 15, then again a year later - I hated it. I tried it again aged 22 and love it now. These things just take commitment, trial and error and a lot of patience. A decent cook helps too ;)

Routine Parenting

I've always been a pensive person. Most of my free time is taken up on thinking. It's my favourite pastime. During these "thinking sprees" I often recall *other* thinking sprees from times past. Today was much the same - post meltdown and at my rawest, my need to think overrides all other usual necessities; communicating, moving, seeing/hearing, or rather, paying any mind to those inputs. Everything else shuts down, as there is no room amongst all these thoughts. 

Today, I recalled a thought process I had in my late teens - a time long before I really understood Autism Spectrum Disorders. I'd been reflecting on how, as a younger teen, I had lived with each of my parents for varying lengths of time, and found that despite my father being far more strict (enforced bedtimes were, for example, still a "thing" even at the age of 15) I wound up being far less prone to meltdowns and, dare I say it, happier with him. This was not because I hated my mother, or loved my father more - though no doubt I've said or thought as much at some point. This, I believe, was a result of living with a man who also depended on routine; a man who enforced said routine without even realising it, because to him, it was just life. As a younger teen, I was unable to process this idea, to even consider it really. I just *felt* better. 

I am in many ways my father's daughter; this is apparent on paper as well as by spending time with us together - we're both introverted book lovers with emotional and social difficulties. He, like me, feels both half and double his age at the same time. We're peas in the proverbial pod. Our need for routine is just one of many traits we share. 

Most if not all of us need some routine in our lives to feel "normal" or safe. The need for predictability is, by and large, a human trait; it allows us to function within our own little set perimeters, to feel secure, to know what's coming (at least, partially). But what separates my father and I from the majority is that without routine we simply can't function. The intensity in which a change in routine effects us is likely beyond belief - who would think a 23 year old woman could behave in such ways as a result of such minor changes? I'm an otherwise "highly functioning" adult and yet have reactions not unlike that of a 2 year old's in response to change (and of course emotional and sensory overload) - often over things that most others would simply shrug off. Back then, I had absolutely no explanation as to why I thought, acted and felt the way I did - as did other people (bipolar, depression, and post traumatic stress disorder to name a few ideas) but nothing ever "fit" or explained all of my behaviours. 

These days I'm more than aware of the Autism Spectrum and understand far more about myself and how my brain works. The need for routine is, of course, one of the most well known associations with autistic people. Unfortunately, my very limited understanding of "high functioning" autism was "Rainman" style, and indeed I'd never met/heard of a female with autism back then - I just hadn't ever felt the need to research autism until I met my partner, and even then I just read about male children/adults on the spectrum. I definitely noticed the similarities even then, and very luckily mentioned this in passing to my mental health nurse - who agreed, discussed the similarities with me and did some initial assessing, later referring me for diagnosis. This prompted me to delve even deeper into the world of autism - including the still largely unknown female population. What I discovered, and what I'm still discovering to this day, has changed my entire perception of self. My relationships. My life on a whole has changed dramatically, and yet I'm still almost exactly the same. I've always been autistic - it just took longer than it should have to find out. 

My life isn't as rigid as some are, and for the most part, my routines don't interfere too much with living - luckily I'm in the very fortunate position of living independently (to an extent). But they have interfered with relationships (both personal and with friends and family) and often cause extreme distress if the things I've come to expect don't come to be. 

I began writing this post because I needed to get my thoughts out of my head and into the world - at the time I of writing I'd become mute and had no way to let them escape. I'm going to end it here, as I have no conclusion.