Dressed up as rage.

Scream

Vulnerability rears its head in many ways and as an autistic woman I continue to navigate the multitude of ways that I experience whether I want to or not. This morning offers up a case in point, and I am grateful for the ability to write it out as it desperately needs an escape hatch. It took me almost 27 minutes this morning to process that I was not about to have a meltdown, but instead, a rage state was building and oh my did she want out of the cage. Let me explain in as raw of a way as I can what led to this moment so I can explain in a more coherent way the conflict that arises in me when I find myself mired in situations such as this.

I am not a morning person. I’m not usually a huge asshole morning person either, I just need time and ritual to enter the day and get myself grounded, before I open my mouth and allow the untethered monkeys out of my brain who will, given the opportunity, say something unfiltered that is rarely received well by, well, anyone. My husband is familiar with this aspect of my personality and since my autism diagnosis a few years ago and with a better working understanding of how my brain functions, I have created rituals that if they are followed, lead to a better day for everyone.

Too much information alert!

My alarm starts at 8am and depending on the pain I wake up with, a series of stretches and snooze button presses begin. Once I am confident that I can get out of bed and not fall over, I pet whatever cats are lingering and head to the hall bathroom. I do what one does in a bathroom, I then read the days offering from Mark Nepo’s “The Book of Awakening” and remove pj’s to get weighed. I stumble naked and jiggling (I am 53 years old with a history of weight issues. I am a walking jello advertisement) into my little sanctuary room where I proceed to get weighed and then head to our bathroom to put some clothes on. By some, I mean my green Nike shorts and my smiley sweatshirt that is bright pink and green and covered in obnoxious smiley faces and plant graphics and has the power to make me smile – always. I then head down to kitchen where I prepare my pour over of Rarebird Coffee w/ cinnamon (for ADHD and simply awesome!) and my little mouth spray of bee pollen which I have convinced myself helps with my immune system. Whilst the pour over does its magic, I walk back and forth from small room, prepping vitamins/pills and generally distracting myself until coffee is ready to go. Once coffee is ready, I head to room and settle in to take pills, journal and come up with my plan for the day – which, if I am lucky, I have written out the night before ensuring better odds of it occurring. Once done, I am ready to jump into my day in a usually happy and relatively calm manner. The whole system takes anywhere from 15-25 minutes typically so really, I feel it’s a good practice and allows my brain to engage its filter. I admit it seems silly that the ritual is so important but trust me it is. Without it my adhd tends to rule the day and the filter I struggle with already, is spotty at best. Back to this morning 8:27 am…

I have now hit my snooze button approximately 5 times and stretching is going well. I have 2 of our fur babies in bed with me which I relish in the morning as they are more amenable to pets and eye contact. I can hear my husband on the phone with his beloved grandson and although the acoustics of our house make it feel like he is next to me in bed noise wise, I know he is stressed he is from the prior day and an incident his youngest brother has experienced, so I tell myself to suck it up as it is his house too and these two experiences can coexist. However, as I am giving chin tickles to our eldest feline, I can hear his voice getting closer. The (I am assuming) video call is making its way down to our bedroom.

Oh, hell no.

Of course, I am in bed, and my filter is at least engaged enough for me to know I have zero interest in being rude for all on the call to experience, so I muster the best expression I can to convey same. It works. I think. As my husband takes the tour back towards the kitchen I stumble over to the bathroom to begin the morning practice. This however has not changed the acoustics of the conversation being had, so I sneak quickly to my room to grab my beloved Bose headphones to quiet the noise. This does take the edge off. Slightly. The tour is making its way back down the hall. What in the ever-loving fuck is happening? I close the bathroom door and realize I am sitting on the toilet, still in pj’s, wearing headphones as the cat tour makes its way not only to our bedroom, but a glimpse into my little sanctuary room as well.

A switch in me gets flicked.

I am now sitting with a massive barrage of emotions flooding into me wondering if a meltdown is heading my way and realize I am trapped. I have given up on my polite inside-voice my mother brainwashed into me, the one that excuses anyone’s behavior and tells me I need to be polite and smile. I realize there is no way in hell my morning ritual can now occur in any way. I try waiting a few minutes to see if the tour will exhaust itself on this end of the house and give me a window to acquire clothing and it’s not happening. I text my husband to please move the tour back to the other end of the house. My window presents itself and I flee back to our bedroom so I can strip, get dressed and escape the house to grab a coffee at Starbucks. My headphones are still on. I grab my sunglasses, wallet and car keys and escape to my car. I send my husband a brief text to let him know where I am going. I am not ready to talk. To anyone. I take a few deep breaths and head out to pick up coffee. One of the joys of having a coffee place with a drive through a mere 1.5 miles away is it is just far enough to get fresh air into the lungs and allow what is now a swirling vortex of emotions settle enough for me to better understand what is happening to me. I am not having a meltdown.

I am officially in a rage state. Hello old friend, it’s been a while.

My body is feverish, not sweating, but uncomfortably warm. I am literally vibrating because I am so angry my brain and body do not know how to work together to help me regulate what is happening and I feel literally as if my body might combust. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. A deep primal scream that I fear if let out would be heard for miles. I want to break something. I want to smash something until it is unrecognizable. Now, unlike when this old friend would show herself to me in my youth I now have not only years of therapy under my belt and countless books read to better understand what I am feeling, I have aged. I have survived this experience enough now to realize in the lizard part of my brain that I will eventually calm down and be ok. I also know that although I am angry and frustrated, what is really happening is I am scared. I do not feel safe in the only place I ever feel safe, my home. I felt like I did when I was a little girl and I couldn’t protect myself and knew even at that young age my parents didn’t understand and could not understand how my brain works so I was alone. The anger I was experiencing was not because of a phone call. It was not because my husband was entertaining a child and himself in a way to regulate himself through what has turned into a difficult week emotionally. Yes, some boundaries were crossed, and we will have a conversation about that, but those are simply details.

Part of why my morning ritual is so important isn’t the details of what I am doing that make it important. It is that it is a consistent start to the day that gives me an opportunity to feel grounded. Without grounding I am vulnerable to whatever emotions pop into my day first. How do I explain this so a neurotypical person might better understand? Part of my particular blend of my spot on the spectrum is that like many females on the spectrum I have spent a massive part of my life unconsciously imitating others as a means of survival. I mean that in its most literal definition. As a child I would mimic those I was around both in behavior and often speaking patterns. Now, because I did this off and on for 50 years, the last 3 years of learning and trying to reprogram my brain is merely chipping away at a lifetime of trying to be somebody else. When I was 49 before my diagnosis, I had a therapist finally ask me the question, “who is Christy Anne?” I couldn’t do it. When asked to look in the mirror and describe who I am I drew a complete blank, no reflection, almost like a vampire – but not as cool. So, I am working on that. But it is a part of why creating rituals for myself is so important, they help me to stay tethered when my brain wants to flee. This morning has also reminded me that whether anyone else, including my husband, understands or not – my home is a hard limit for me and the rituals and boundaries I create for myself are not only not unreasonable, but they are critical to my thriving in a healthy way.

Fucking vulnerability.

I am a 53-year-old woman who considers herself intelligent, kind, funny, loving and generous (I am not listing the negatives as they are legion in my brain and do not need reinforcing). I have survived a lot in this life of mine so far. Some with grace and some with my hair on fire and the scars to remind me for as long as I occupy the body. As much as I would also like to say I am a tough badass and can certainly play the part, I am in fact very much still the little girl who wants to hide in the corner and watch the world to better understand it. I have no genuine armor. I experience life like a child and as much as that pains me to admit it is both the albatross I carry and my greatest gift. Because when my fear is not triggered, I see nothing but joy and potential around me. Simple things still create wonder. Colors are brighter. Laughter is louder and I feel it in my gut like it did when I was 5. Therein lies the dilemma and the struggle. I know in my heart and mind that if I wish to maintain my joy and wonder in the world, I cannot attempt to construct armor. If being vulnerable is the gift/curse that I am led by for the rest of my life, so be it. I will take deep breaths. Headphones will be worn. Boundaries will be set and reminded of when needed.

Most importantly, however, is that I will not apologize to anyone (including myself) for who I am. Because when I look in the mirror now, that is who I see. A vulnerable human being, trying to do as little damage as possible and being ok with the fact that if no one ever understands me, that is ok, it’s not supposed to be about that anyway. It’s about experiencing all this life has to offer with an open heart and a soul delighted by wonder and maybe, just maybe, by sharing what I experience, will help others who can relate to know that they are in fact not alone.