"We Didn't Have Autism In My Day"

If you browse articles on autism, or follow any social media discussion on it, someone will show up and tell you that autism is new. This someone will usually be a 50+ bloke, who thinks it's all a load of old codswallop; poor parenting, too many chemicals in foods, vaccinations, labelling every kid who's a bit odd. Autism is new. Autism is a new invention that doesn't really exist, except in the Rain Man savant stereotype.

Autism isn't new. Autistic behaviours have been described in individuals going back at least 500 years. Just as epileptics were considered possessed by the devil, autistic people were considered soulless demons. Until relatively recently, disability was widely categorised as deaf, blind, crippled or imbecile/insane/feeble minded. Autistic people were broadly defined as mentally subnormal, where it obviously disabled them, and weird or criminally insane where it was less disabling. It was formally discovered and named almost simultaneously by Hans Asperger and Leo Kanner separately in 1938 (hence the confusion between Aspergers syndrome and Autism - they are the same disorder, described slightly differently by two people on different continents at the same time). Autism was initially thought to be the result of distant parenting, and was classified as "infant schizophrenia" until the 1980s. This idea of autism being the fault of parents, or a psychiatric disorder, still resonates in public discourse. But autism is not a psychiatric disorder, although it is usually grouped as a mental health condition - it is a pervasive developmental delay, pervasive because the person cannot 'grow out' of it. One significant change in the last twenty years has been a fine-tuning of diagnostic methods, which has enabled more subtle cases to be differentiated, diagnosed and helped. I know several adults who have discovered, sometimes to their great dismay, that they score highly on autistic diagnostic tests - the stereotype of the mute, asocial autistic person is not really accurate now. 

I read a comment from a man on twitter who said that there was nobody autistic at his school, and he was 37. I am five years younger than him and I went to a large primary school, and a large secondary school. There was at least four autistic people in my primary school yeargroup and many more in secondary school. Once you have an autistic person in your life, you begin to recognise the signs in others, but when you don't know the signs, you just think they're weird. The autistic people in this man's school would be the ones who were bullied, the ones nobody hung around with because they were strange or said the wrong things, the ones who never went to birthday parties, the ones who were regularly out of class, the ones who turned up for two terms and then disappeared. Jimmy's classmates know and broadly accept that he's different, but they don't necessarily know he's autistic - autism isn't a common word in an 8 year old's vocabulary. Autistic children are supported more obviously in mainstream schooling now, and there is far more help available if you qualify for it. 

But formerly, the only real option for autistic children was residential institutions. 

For those of us born in the last forty-ish years, institutions are a distant spectre. Huge Victorian asylums still stand in most towns, often converted into flats or hospitals, the residents broadly unaware of their history. But for our ancestors, institutions were a normal, if feared, part of life. If you had an obviously disabled child, you were encouraged to send it to an asylum as quickly as possible. Autism isn't usually apparent until toddlerhood at the earliest, but children were still sent away to residential hospitals. Parents were not encouraged to visit - a relative of mine was put into an asylum in early childhood because she had Downs syndrome, and lived forty miles from her parents. Her mother visited once a week until her death aged 13, in 1952. This is recent history. In the 1980s, the people who had lived in institutions for most of their lives began to be released as part of the Care in the Community Act. Many ended up in sheltered housing, having never been taught the skills to live independently. The issue with living in an institution is that you become institutionalised. Ironically, this rather suits autistic people, although it has the potential for horrific abuse. 

If Jimmy, my beloved eldest boy, had been born in 1949 instead of 2009, he would have been institutionalised by now. He would be living on the site of the old District hospital, in the vast Victorian workhouse and asylum complex that has been completely redeveloped. He would be considered dangerous and insane. 

Autism is not a new disease, and the reason older people claim they didn't have it in their day is because it was hidden away, concealed behind huge walls and gates, in stigmatic buildings, buried under sedation and restraint. There should be no pride in claiming autism wasn't around in the good old days - it shows how invisible and suppressed disability was, and how uncomfortable it makes some people that it's now 'mainstream'. 

Nurture, nature, both, or neither?

What makes us who we are? That's the question of the last part of my mini-psychology course. I had an argument/debate/ramble with my atheist boyfriend about the existence of souls on boxing day. I know - we REALLY know how to live. I believe we (and all animals) have souls, he believes we are a combination of nurture and nature.

I have my two little boys. I saw them the moment they drew breath (well, slightly after that moment with my little, as he was all tangled up behind me) and looked into their eyes. An endless depth of blue and intelligence and humanity. A newborns eyes are not blank, there is something there. Someone.
You would expect two children, of the same parentage, born merely two years and five weeks apart, to be similar infants. But within hours, their personalities were taking shape. My younger baby is what we like to call 'zen'. From birth, he was happy to sit back and watch the world go by. As he's growing up, he's changing all the time, but he remains fundamentally laid back. My eldest has always been much harder to please. From the moment, aged 16 hours old, he decided he'd had enough of sleeping and wished to eat, he has been demanding my attention. These slight differences in babies were apparent within 24 hours of delivery. How much of that can be blamed on me, as their mother and single common factor?

Of course, I had two wildly different pregnancies. With Child 1, I was sick from conception. I was paranoid, bled frequently, spent most of my time analysing every single kick and twinge and gave birth, after a lengthy pre-labour, pretty much bang on time. With Child 2, I didn't feel particularly pregnant apart from brief hyperemesis in the first trimester and once his father had buggered, I didn't give a crap what was going on most of the time. He eventually emerged, two weeks late, without much fuss. Perhaps my maternal negligence contributed to his easy going nature. Perhaps my first-baby paranoia contributed to my eldest's demanding ways.

Perhaps it's that they have different combinations of me and their dad's personality. I am fairly laid back, it takes a long time to wind me up enough to snap, but when I do it's volcanic and I hold a grudge. Their dad is constantly on the very edge of flying off the handle. His temper is short enough to be considered non existant, but doesn't last and then is forgotten. I am happy just to sit, where their dad has to be on the go at all time. I certainly see aspects of both our personalities reflected in the children. But they are far from mere shadows of their parents. They are themselves and nothing less.

I worry about, and actively fight against, the stigma and emotional issues of coming from a broken home. There will be awkward questions asked, for which we have to try and get the answers right to stop them thinking it was ever their fault. And me and their father need to work together to try and stay stable. I've made it a point of honour to never fight with him in front of them, to never badmouth him in front of them, and to act like the whole situation is normal. I hate it when parents being divorced is used as an excuse for unacceptable behaviour. It is too easy, when divorcing, to become more childish than the children involved. Too easy to become petty, for it to all become a game of one-upmanship and taunts and vicious verbal swipes.
Not on my watch.


I'm very conscious of two things currently. One is that my eldest's surgery was postponed to the 13th of January. That is a mere 7 and a half days now. The second is that my OU course starts in 30 days. For my next preparatory trick, I'm going to poke a stick at a module on psychology in the 21st century. I'm considering doing a few psychology/neurology related units to top my degree up (in about four years, I don't know WHY I'm thinking about it now). But we shall see. It does not do to think too far ahead.

Groups

I was a skater boy.

Ha! In my dreams!

I spent most of the time between the ages of 15 and 22 wishing that I could skate. Alas, I have neither the balance nor skill to stand on a wheeled board and whizz around town, let alone make the thing jump and flip. I have spent my life since the age of 22 wishing that I could do free running.
I am 26. I have had two children. I weigh...too much, according to my BMI and indeed, clothing size. I will never be a free runner.

But it is with the skate scene that I have always most strongly identified. I wore the big, baggy jeans, the skate trainers, the band shirts. I still do, most of the time, though my jeans have become more fitted at the waist and my shirts less immense. I used to bleach my (already fair) hair regularly, until one day it went horribly wrong, and I dyed it bright purple to cover up the...greyness. This left me with a pinkish tinge for about six months and put me off dying my hair. I did recently dye it bright red. It looks awesome, but damn it's high maintenance. I will never be as scene as I used to be. This should be a blessing.

At school, I knew everyone, had very few real friends and a whole LEGION of bullies. I had that sort of face, you know - an ugly one. I grew into it eventually, but it took til I was about 16 for most boys to recognise that I was actually a woman, by which time I was in my DOOMED relationship with my future husband. I put my faith in computer games and books. Still do.

It wasn't until I met my future husband's peer group (and thus, him) that I found myself fitting in at all. I had two lives for a time, half with my exciting, punkrock boyfriend and company, half with my intensely academic schoolfriends. Then I ditched school at 17, and gave myself wholeheartedly to the skate scene and accompanying music. It was the first adult decision I ever made.

I still sit, from time to time, belting out Strung Out and Lagwagon, wishing that I could keep putting on gigs, meeting people from across the country, feeling part of my social group to the extent that I was the heart of it. Instead, I bring up my two kids, read far too much, cook and spend evenings looking at psychology courses on openlearn. Which is what I'm doing this evening, reading about how we classify ourselves into 'us' and 'them'.

As a teen, 'we' were the skaters, the misunderstood, the heroic and the artless. 'They' were literally everyone else. Parents, chavs, goths, adults, disapproving, accusing, wanting us to change, never understanding that to do so would be to deny ourselves.
Now, 'we' are the mothers, the homemakers, the people bedding into lives that we like to believe are solid and then crack open at a moment's notice. 'They' are the free, unshackled by children, by bills, responsibility and obligation.

Sometimes, I pity the teenaged for their lack of experience, and insight. Mainly I miss being that age myself, with the freedom and opportunity to do exactly what I wanted without fear of what might be.

I'm only 26. I feel twice that.

Breaking up is hard to do

Why do some couples stay together, and others fall apart?

I DON'T KNOW, OPEN UNIVERSITY. WHY ARE YOU TAUNTING ME IN THIS FASHION?

Ahem. The fact is, I know why me and my ex failed. A lack of communication. I wanted to settle down, be a family, raise my kids and do the whole 'grown up' thing. My ex was not. Not even close. He wasn't ready to stop being the focus of my attention, couldn't understand why I needed to give my time to my child/ren instead. We never properly discussed it, just tried to batter each others square peg into our own round hole. No innuendo intended.
Then, I finally got pregnant again and I think he saw that we'd be getting worse and ran the fuck away to someone who was more willing to be devoted to him. It's very narcissistic, although you could argue that so is reproduction. You like yourself so much, you play god and produce someone in your own image, then fight them until they're adults to try and make them just like you.

The truth is, with me and my ex, that we could've loved each other to the death, but neither of us would have been happy. We suffocated each other. We could've stayed together for the kids, but they would have had to witness our combustion on a weekly basis. It'll have been a year next week, a year in which I have moved away, become financially independant and had our second child. It's been a very rough, painful year.
It was like an amputation to start with; I felt like there was part of me missing, an empty hole where he'd been. And, as with an amputation, I felt the itch there all the time. It was like he was dead, because the man I married had gone completely. I didn't know him anymore, it was so disorientating. I couldn't rid myself of all the 'what ifs' and they do you no good at all.

Now? We still see each other regularly, because of the children, and we don't fight. We don't even argue. I'm not bitter - what's the point? I have my beautiful little boys, and they are reward enough. I know what not to do next time, I know what behaviour to watch out for in a partner.
And I know who I am now. I'm not just someone's other half, not just someone's mother, not just a cook and dishwasher. I'm me, and I quite like me.

Rules of attraction

Adult relationships. That's the latest part of my pyschology intro course. Ugh.
My history either points to me knowing FAR TOO MUCH about the natural lifecycle of an adult relationship or NOTHING, because I have failed. I am Getting Divorced. I have known the happiest day of my life and watched it fall apart, all for a lack of communication. I saw this unit coming up slowly and didn't know whether to dread or anticipate.
According to this, a relationship requires attraction, and attraction stems from similarity, proximity and physical appearance.

Now, proximity. I have had two significant relationships in my life, including my marriage. Both have started long distance. Now, my marriage started in a bar in Boston. We had mutual friends, who owed us a blind date favour. We were thrown together. There was attraction, and a vast amount of adolescent lust. My more recent relationship stemmed from going to the same school, but the courtship occured primarily online. Ah the internet. Is there nothing it cannot do? So I have flouted the conventions of finding the familiar more attractive.
Similarity. Well, that's obvious enough. If you share no interests, no common thread, what do you talk about? Music tied me to my husband, and a similarly puerile sense of humour. Other than that, we had some fiery disagreement and since we were young, pretended interest in each other's hobbies to get along better. My boyfriend and I have practically everything in common, except religion and politics (which must never be discussed between friends). Similarity should equal a self-esteem boost, reducing the process of attraction to something of an ego-trip.

The most obvious basis of attraction is physical attraction. It's not ESSENTIAL, but it damn well helps. Apparently, men think women want financial security and women think men want sex. Me, I like security of a different kind. I like to know my partner won't bugger off with another woman. Maybe men interpret that as "I will be faithful to you, but if I'm not, I will buy you off handsomely".
Oh, I'm sorry, I'm doing that bitter thing again. Ahem.

Sexual attraction is all interlinked to fertility. A woman is most attractive (and possibly most viciously hormonal) when ovulating. She is also at her randy best. The human body is amazing at optimising fertility. Men, being fertile at all times, don't experience such fluctuations. LUCKY MEN. Apparently, men are attracted to women with a waist measurement that is approximately 80% of their hip measurement. Also, skinniness is only prized in cultures where food is not difficult to obtain. Suntanned skin is allegedly becoming unattractive due to the connotations of skin cancer. I knew my day would come again. Pale win!
We seek mates of similar attractiveness to ourselves. Idealism has little place in a long term relationship.

To summarise, your ideal mate is probably the guy you've been working with for two years, who always makes you laugh, who has pretty eyes and who shares your cultural references. Go on, ask him for a drink.

Improving memory

I have always been something of an adoring Derren Brown fan, since Trick Of The Mind was first shown when I was a teenager. It may all be sorcery and witchcraft, but he's mesmerising. I gobbled up both his mainstream books, having little interest in the practical aspects of magic. One thing that really stood out for me was the memory technique of linking things to remember with strong visual images. It was the basis of the more complicated memory palace, as described in Hannibal by Thomas Harris - at the time, one of my favourite books - only, I couldn't think of a single practical application for such a technique.

Last night, while idly working my way through another unit on the psychology course, the same memory technique was recounted, with an exercise to remember a shopping list. It gave the list of visuals to produce, so I quietly sat and thought about them, then utterly forgot about re-testing myself later on and dragged my exhausted hide to bed.

For some reason, the exercise came to mind again this afternoon. I have no idea why, I was just sitting watching Waybuloo with my boys, and I thought "Hmm, wonder if I can remember that list".

And I could. I remembered every single item on it, vividly. From opening the door with a banana handle, to a tap that poured chocolate instead of water; that list was imprinted on my memory by the simple act of thinking about some images.

If only I could actually apply it to real life, I might be able to implement it some way to benefit myself. As recounted earlier, my memory is pretty shocking. There are whole years of my adult life that consist of nothing more than wisps of fragmented memories wafting about my brain, lacking any cohesion. One of the only ways I recall many events is by the detailed diaries I've kept over the years. Where there's no diary, there's no memory. If I could adapt my memory into a more visual experience, I might actually retain information.

Huzzah!

How to think

I need to learn to think again.

When you have small children, your mind takes on a new routine. Mine centres around mealtimes, and how long til the next one. With breastfeeding a small, times between feeds are BUSY, feeding time is a nice sitdown in front of the TV. Feeding a toddler is more "how long do I have to entertain this demanding child before I can get on with the next meal?". Out of the twain, babies are definitely easier. Such is the joy of domestic drudgery, that I struggle to find the time to think of anything other than my children or basic housework/personal hygiene that needs taking care of.
This situation is exacerbated by being single. Sometimes, I go several days without having any face to face interaction with another adult. Watching Cbeebies all day drains me of any coherant thought. "Ah, Show Me Show Me...today we are learning about opposites. Oh good, I'm a little shaky on those now".
Also, memory loss. There is something about birth that mindwipes all that has gone before. I cannot remember being childless, even though it was less than three years ago. I cannot remember only having one child, even though that was less than five months ago! I cannot remember what it's like to be in a full time work routine, what I did to fill the hours, how I wasted all the free, childless time. Now my only childless time is about twenty minutes before I go to bed, when they are slumbering. But even that time is spent with me constantly on the alert, wondering which one will wake up first.

All this is not conducive to thinking.

So, to break me in, as aforementioned, I'm doing some courses on the OpenLearn part of the OU site. These are free short(ish) courses on various subjects at various difficulty levels, with no credits available. I've started with a course called Starting With Psychology. It has absolutely nothing directly to do with Health and Social Care, but it's something that I've always found interesting. It's supposed to be eight hours long, but I'm an hour in and up to the third part (of six). So far, I've learnt about dividing the corpus callosum, and now I'm on memory and memory improvement. Now, THAT might be useful!