Thursday, October 26, 2006

What's in a Name?

I guess I should finally explain the name of this site shouldn’t I? It’s not really cryptic, but yet it is.. Whooaaa too close to Halloween for that it is.

It’s really simple. When I was registering the domain for my web site Bouncing off the Wall. I toyed with lots of different names. Then I looked down and was reminded that the shirt I was wearing that day, had a Tigger on it. Yea so what else is new. But this particular one also said bouncing off the walls. And the rest is history as they say.

When I designed this page, I was wearing my “It’s a stimmy day” shirt. For those of you who don’t know, “Stimming” is what autistics and a lot of you other Neuro typical people, do for comfort when things get a tad stressful.

Some of us flap, some rock back and forth, some spin. Some even bite their nails. Now just how many of you took your hands out of your mouth or hid them? And how many of you moms stopped rocking back and forth?. Just kidding. I’m sure stimming got that name from the word stimulation. I know I have sensory stimulation problems and when things overwhelm my senses, I feel uncomfortable. One therapy for sensory stimulation problems is to either remove the sensory input or counter it. Some with certain tactile stimulation problems benefit from being tightly hugged, some with auditory stimulation problems will hum to overcome the barrage of other noises. How many of you have had a bratty little brother put his hands over his ears and sing “la la la, I can’t hear you” to drown you out See we’re all around you. wha ha ha JK.

Anyway. That’s the story. It’s probably Good, I didn’t have my Elmo Rules Shirt on that day Huh?



Tuesday, October 10, 2006

It's a fine Line

I just want to share part of a poem I found the other day. It is by Elaine Popovich and was on a site dealing with language and the disabled. I think more of the other person’s book dealt with political correctness and such, but that’s not what struck me about this poem. It is about how the words change depending on who you are talking about and what you know about them. well just read this part first.

You and I
By Elaine Popovich

I am a resident. You reside.

I am admitted. You move in.

I am aggressive. You are assertive.

I have behavior problems. You are rude.

I am noncompliant. You don’t like being told what to do.

When I ask you out for dinner, it is an outing. When you ask someone out, it is a date.

I made mistakes during my check-writing program. Some day I might get a bank account. You forgot to record some withdrawals from your account. The bank called to remind you.

I wanted to talk with the nice-looking person behind us at the grocery store. I was told that it is inappropriate to talk to strangers. You met your spouse in the produce department. Neither of you could find the bean sprouts.

I celebrated my birthday yesterday with five other residents and two staff members. I hope my family sends a card. Your family threw you a surprise party. Your brother couldn’t make it from out of state. It sounded wonderful!

My case manager sends a report every month to my guardian. It says everything I did wrong and some things I did right. You are still mad at your sister for calling your Mom after you got that speeding ticket.

I am learning household skills. You hate housework.

I am learning leisure skills. Your shirt says you are a “Couch Potato.”

After I do my budget program tonight, I might get to go to McDonald’s if I have enough money. You were glad that the new French restaurant took your charge card.

My case manager, psychologist, R. N., occupational and physical therapist, nutritionist and house staff set goals for me for the next year. You haven’t decided what you want out of life.

Someday I will be discharged . . . maybe. You will move onward and upward.

Now what gets me is that if the first person had never been diagnosed and sent for treatment, then the words ascribed to the second person, would be also used to describe her. I know you might think but wait, she must have been really sick or messed up in the first place, but that’s not necessarily so.

Consider 2 points. Some of you will remember the presidential race when Tom Eagleton of Missouri was Mc Govern’s running mate for a time. Now I am not going to get into a debate over who was better or any of that stuff, but if you can remember , when Eagleton admitted to having been treated for depression, he was suddenly totally unfit and was dropped from the ticket. So we were worse off with some one treated rather than someone who wouldn’t seek treatment?

Case 2. Two couples go over seas to adopt. The first couple admits to being recovering alcoholics and sober for 12 years. They are rejected as prospective parents. Couple #2 has never undergone treatment for alcoholism, but regularly get toasted with the family all of whom regularly get toasted, if you get my drift. They just don’t mention it, and come home with a baby. So in this case, Couple #2 would come home and have a celebration and get loaded while couple #1 would “fall off the wagon”

How many times can someone with any disability or mental condition have a “normal” reaction to everyday life, and the so called “normal” people use “sick” terms to describe it.

Am I just angry, or am I manic. Am I frustrated or am I “having a meltdown”

Where is that line. and who gets to draw it

Oooh I hate it when I get this serious this early in the morning. Time for my coco puffs



Open Letter to the Workplace

This was written by a friend of mine. read it it’s good, Tigg

by Jane Meyerding

This is a strange era in the history of autism because, for the first time, many autistics are discovering their own autism as adults. From the early 1940s, when autism first became a named condition, until the mid 1990s, only children were diagnosed. And those diagnosed tended to be the children with the most incapacitating manifestations of autism. Most of today’s adult-diagnosed autistics survived childhoods full of pain. They were labeled stupid, retarded, crazy, or simply “bad.” School was a torture chamber of teasing, bullying, and often physical violence. When help was sought from adults, the undiagnosed autistics were told to stand up for themselves, change their own behavior in order to fit in, and stop being a tattle-tale. Just “act normal,” act like the other kids, and they’d be fine. Unfortunately, very few young autistics are able to put that advice into practice. Being neurologically normal makes it hard for a person to understand what it is like to be otherwise. Most seeing people assume they can imagine what it would be like to be blind. But how many can imagine what it would be like to lack the “vision” that enables them to perceive and interpret non-verbal communication? According to Dane Archer, a professor at the University of California at Santa Cruz, nonverbal communication
includes facial expressions, tones of voice, gestures, eye contact, spatial arrangements, patterns of touch, expressive movement, cultural differences, and other “nonverbal” acts. Research suggests that nonverbal communication is more important in understanding human behavior than words alone–the nonverbal “channels” seem to be more powerful than what people say. []
Autistics, limited by their neurology to “what people say,” are “out of the loop” in almost every situation where non-autistic humans are chatting, negotiating, competing, or net-working, all the while using and interpreting the full range of nonverbal communication without even noticing it. The skills are so basic to their neurology as to be invisible to their conscious minds. Meanwhile, the autistic in the room is struggling to keep up, using whatever interpretive skills he or she has acquired through hard work over the course of years. And “work” is the operative word. Having to do on purpose what everyone else does automatically requires a lot of energy. It is like working two jobs at once, especially given that nonverbal communication is expected to go both ways. Non-autistics automatically interpret whatever nonverbal signals they believe they are receiving from other people. If the other person happens to be autistic, s/he must generate those signals consciously or risk being misinterpreted, sometimes in quite drastic ways. A job interview, for example, is stressful for most people. Now imagine what it’s like for someone with decades of painful experience in “getting it wrong” as far as nonverbal communication goes. Strong eye-contact is seen as a sign of honesty; failure to engage in that aspect of nonverbal communication is taken as a sure sign that the person has something to hide. That stereotype “works” because neurologically typical people in U.S. majoritarian culture grow up including eye-contact in their repertoire of taken-for-granted communication habits. For most autistics, eye contact is worse than not automatic; it can be painful or, at best, so distracting that one is unable to take in what is being said. The sad choice becomes: Do I look the interviewer in the eye and fail to understand the question s/he is asking me? or do I obey my neurology, look past the interviewer, and thus become able to respond in a way that illustrates how well-suited I am for this position, simultaneously branding myself “shifty” and “unreliable”?

Without a diagnosis, all such dilemmas remain personal and all failures to “fit in” and “make the grade” are considered proof of individual flaws. Diagnosis can be a huge relief, because it explains so much of what has happened (and failed to happen) over the years. An explanation is not an excuse, and few autistics would use their autism as an alibi for bad behavior. On the other hand, many of us are coming to see ourselves as part of what might be called a neurological minority group composed of those diagnosed “some kind of autistic” (including the controversial Asperger’s Syndrome). “Rather than conceiving of autism as a deficiency,” writes Professor Simon Baron-Cohen (Cambridge), “autism might be better characterised as a different cognitive style.” An intriguing idea, but one that should be matched with this quotation from Yale’s Professor Fred Volkmar: “Many troubled with Asperger’s are really quite bright, especially in terms of their verbal skills…. What is harder for people to appreciate is how impaired they are in other areas.” Just because autism isn’t “awful” and “tragic” doesn’t mean it’s negligible or non-handicapping.

Many of the nicest neuro-typical people “deal with” difference by proclaiming that it doesn’t exist. Or, if that doesn’t work, they will claim that it “doesn’t matter.” Their generous natures cause them to feel that “You’re just like me” is about the nicest thing they can say to someone who, for whatever reason, actually isn’t. While I admire the good intentions behind this kind of generosity, I can’t help squirming at the way it allows so many assumptions to go unchallenged. Unchallenged assumptions have a way of riding roughshod over those who don’t match up to them. Misunderstandings go unnoticed; expectations that are not met (because of the differences hidden behind “universalizing” assumptions) cause unfair conclusions to be drawn — and hiding those conclusions behind politely repressed disappointment does not clarify matters one whit. Most of all, we lose, again and again, the opportunity to experience what it would be like to acknowledge differences and allow them to be visible among us. I suspect that counting on “we’re all alike” as our main tool for getting along together also makes us less open to those whose differences cannot be “overlooked.” Rather than be “nice,” it might be better (in terms of ethics, though perhaps not easier) for us to stop making “sameness” part of our value system for humans.

As an adult-diagnosed autistic, as an autistic with a unique constellation of abilities and deficits, some of them autism-related, many not, I happen to be able — to have learned how to be able — to “pass” in many situations. I am not altogether happy about the fact that “passing” has become what is comfortable (though tiring) for me when I am in public, but it may be too late for me to effect radical changes in my coping mechanisms at this point. (I am 55 years old, after all.) What I want most for my fellow autistics, and especially for those “coming up,” for the younger ones, is for them to find a world and a workplace where they will not have to “pass” as other than they are. Getting to that new reality will require a lot of hard advocacy work on the part of autistics and their friends. Mostly, however, the change will depend on non-autistics being willing to accept and live with difference rather than forcing it underground by denying its reality or isolating it in “special” areas as something to be tolerated but not engaged. The difference between autistics and non-autistics can feel cultural; hence Temple Grandin’s description of herself (made famous by neurologist/writer Oliver Sacks) as “an anthropologist on Mars.” What autistics, whether we can “pass” or not, are asking for is that other people leave room for us. Us as we are. Even if we “look autistic” or “act autistic” or use alternate means of communication. Don’t require that we look and sound like you, because some of us can’t. Don’t judge us on the job (or during the job interview) according to how well we perform the social dance. Give us a chance to show what we can do when who we are is allowed to help shape the world we share with you.