Divorce and an autism spectrum diagnosis: a case for therapy

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BobY
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Joined: 5 Jun 2011
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19 Jan 2013, 1:10 pm

DIVORCE AND AN AUTISM SPECTRUM DIAGNOSIS: A CASE FOR THERAPY

They say you can only take people as far as you have gone; so it is important for clients, colleagues, and friends to know that I have traversed great distances within my inner-landscape, through self-work and spiritual searching, as well as more formal individual therapy. I’ve had many mentors and therapists along the way, and each of them has held up a mirror. Often, I felt seen; but I also felt strongly that I was different than the majority of people in the world. The knowledge of being different, compounded with the actuality, can have profound impacts on a person. I share part of my journey, in an effort to reach those that may be considering therapeutic support as they encounter their own difference. A friend suggested I share more about how my brain works and how I came to grips with that. I realize that this essay is more of a biographical sketch and introduction to possible clients and colleagues than it is a contribution to the fields of Aspie and giftedness theory.

As I finished my coursework in graduate school and was faced with the prospect of years of laboratory research about biological perchlorate reduction, I told my academic advisor that I would visit the counseling department at Notre Dame in order to get more clarity. I met with an intern for two sessions. We discussed my campaign to increase sober kissing, and I asked him to review some of my journal entries. He gave me feedback that I did not sound like other engineers he had met; I took this as confirmation that I needed a career change. In hindsight, I think the part of me that always felt different benefited from that recognition. I still did not know the nature of my difference.

As my peace-building focus shifted from clean drinking water to communication skills, I became involved with Nonviolent Communication (NVC), a social skills process designed for conflict resolution. NVC provided a way for me to use my logical abilities to gain social skills and provided algorithms for empathy that helped me hone my nurturance and compassion skills. Soon, I was a trainer and being mentored by leaders in the field. I found myself supporting people in intense situations. I noticed not only the familiar moments of everybody but me laughing, but also of everybody but me crying. Many autistics face similar loneliness. I focused on the strength in my difference: I could be present for intensity without being overwhelmed with emotion. (My partner suggests that a key intelligence I have is paradoxically related to theory of mind: I can put myself in another person’s shoes with enough emotional detachment to notice what may be very subtle.)

In 2010, I went to therapy school to attempt to firm up all of the relevant skills for how to both hold people with care and push them to be their highest selves: it was a new idea that there was more than NVC in the world. I worked with a therapist for six months, and I slowly came out of a shell of very rapid self-reassurances that everything would be okay: I grew to face discomfort. I was forced out of a marriage to a fellow gifted Aspie, and friends gave me feedback about how nonchalant I was about that loss. More significantly, I was shoved into one of the first times I was caught by pain and surprise. I always identified as brilliant; all of a sudden I identified as autistic. Is high-functioning a downgrade of genius? It sure felt like it, and there were so many areas where my functioning was abysmal. I struggle to describe that new awareness. As I learned how to say “Some things are hard for me,” I shed tears and held them to my shirt and saw the wetness while working to remain present with feelings for more than four seconds. I cried with the joy of recognition because of the peace of self-understanding, and I also cried with the sorrow of mourning because my self-created inner world of everything being alright was slowly letting in parts of reality that were challenging for me.

I attended Asperger’s self-help groups, where I was encouraged to offer NVC for the Aspie community. Many people experienced hope about bringing clarity to a process of human connection that had previously baffled them, and many gave me feedback that for the first time they had a template to describe their inner world. I jumped into this work precociously; I was integrating what it meant for me to be autistic at the same time that I gave workshops in the autism community. During this time, I worked for a year and a half with a different therapist who focused on body awareness and the Hakomi tradition. She would point out if a hand was in a fist, and we would consider what messages my body was sending me. I worked on my hopes in relationship, and looked for middle ground between over-eager grasping and over-rapid shoulder shrugging disinterest. I began to face the struggles of Asperger’s in romantic relationships. Unlike many Aspies who mourn that their first marriage ended because of differences in functioning from their neurotypical partner, I realized that my Asperger’s did not end our marriage, but that our shared Asperger’s began it. We were so used to being lonely that when we first encountered somebody familiar and had a chance to be understood, it felt like love. My divorce and my diagnosis came up at the same time, and that was complex for me. I handle complexity by pacing back and forth and thinking. Sometimes, if I play a song over and over again or repeat a tough sentence, I can connect with feelings and cry. I am grateful to my therapists for helping me slow down and narrow my thought processes to take in those feelings and let them flow with acceptance and patience.

More recently, I attended therapy to focus on something other than my difference. I realize that I have paid enough attention to my giftedness and autism that I am now able to narrow in on the next steps in my development, and at this time my focus is my response to anxiety. My therapist pointed out that I have a very fine-tuned nervous system: the same ability to observe subtle preferences in myself helps me detect nuances in other people that may not have been fully heard before. I want to use my fine-tuned nervous system in a way that serves me, handle with gentleness my preferences, and manage my own anxieties in a way that does not require more than five percent of my thought energy. I want to use my powers for good.

I hope something in this essay encourages hope and acceptance about receiving professional support. I have decided to buy Jackson Browne tickets because they were cheaper than an additional session for my anxiety tune-up. I’m not worried.