I’ve been trying this new approach where I mimic standard neurotypical behavior. I was inspired by a book I recently read, The Journal of Best Practices, by David Finch. So far, the results have been encouraging.
For example, I have added, “Good afternoon. How are you doing?” to my verbal repertoire. It replaces the phrase, “Good morning,” which till recently was my all-purpose greeting; I felt it conveyed a sense of whimsy, especially since it was rarely morning when I used the phrase. The other benefit of the original phrase is that omitting the follow-up question effectively implied that I required no more than a reciprocal greeting in return. However, I’ve learned with the new expanded greeting that people seem to appreciate being asked how they are doing, even if they generally only respond with good or fine. Which is fine with me, because if they ever actually tell me how they are doing I may find myself in a conversation I am not prepared to have!
Another thing I did recently was apologize. We Aspies tend to have meltdowns over things that don’t really warrant a strong reaction. Or any reaction. My trigger is when my wife asks me to take the dog out to do her business. The meltdown consists of me clenching my fists, furrowing my brow, breathing loudly, and glaring. It’s immature, irrational, oh-so-passive-aggressive, and, I’m certain, looks ridiculous, but for the sake of clarification it happens for two reasons. First, Carol is interrupting the show I’m watching, the book I’m reading, or the train of thought I happen to be having; an interruption is akin to an abrupt change, and people with autism struggle hard with change. Second, an evil voice deep inside tells me that Carol believes I am not competent enough to take the dog out without being told. I’ve been perceived as incompetent by so many bosses in my past that I just assume that’s how people see me.
My solution with the dog has been to take her out automatically every few hours (It’s almost as though my wife has been training me all along. Hmm…). Yesterday I was caught up in my writing and forgot about the dog. Carol, of course, reminded me, and, of course I reminded her just how juvenile I can be if I set my mind to it. Normally I begin feeling guilty about half an hour after a meltdown. I then make up for my behavior via some grand gesture, as opposed to talking about it, because talking about it requires talking. Talking is not my strong suit. Nonetheless, yesterday, after psyching myself up I walked up to her and said, “I apologize.” I waited, expecting the worst. A deep emotional discussion. Some melodramatic catharsis. Tears. Something beyond my capacity to process.
Carol said, “Oh, that’s okay.”
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