I’ve written more than once about how I can get myself into longer-term trouble by deferring to someone in conversation just in order to escape from the short-term stressors which can abound in socially-performative communication.
There’s some correlation, as recently discovered, to the ways in which my autistic brain runs through the process of (1) encountering an external stimuluswhich (2) generates an innate reaction which then (3) results in an outward response. To wit: when the total collection of stressors in my environment is low, there’s often a temporal gap between innate reaction and outward response
Without that temporal gap, the innate reaction to the external stimulus can completely dictate and direct my outward response all on its own. With the gap, sometimes I consciously can step in and take control of my outward response.
(Meltdowns, for example, are the most psychically and sometimes physically violent responses when internal and external stimuli are too numerous, too simultaneous, and/or too severe. It’s almost as if there’s not just no temporal gap, but the outward response is the innate reaction, period.)
In the case of socially-performative communication, especially with anyone in a position of some degree of authority over my life, there often seems to be no time to consider the implications of simply escaping the immediate crisis. The pressure is high, I’m feeling cornered, and I accede to whatever suggestion or request is on the table before I even know what’s happening.
At issue in these cases, as suggested by how I describe that infrequent gap between reaction and response, is time.
So there’s a lot I recognize in “I need time. This is about accessibility.” over at Cussin’ and Discussin’.
And the time needs to be without pressure. Without judging me for needing more time. Without making me explain why I need time. Without treating me as demanding. Without acting like your time is so utterly valuable that to give me even five seconds is a giant favor. Without acting like cognitive accessibility is a favor at all. Without all kinds of bizarre conditions in order to qualify as worthy of your time. Without treating me like I’m asking for special treatment. Without using the fact you gave me extra time to demand other things of me later.
[…]
Time isn’t always easy to come by. But we can’t just make our brains run the standard way. We need more time than usual. Or we need the time we have used different than usual. Or something.
People need to give me time to process and work through things. The higher the stakes or the pressure, the more time they likely need to give me. And, yes, there needs not to be judgment.
Even before my autism diagnosis, I had gotten into a productive pattern with a colleague at my former nonprofit (the organization still exists, I’m just no longer involved). They often would have observations or suggestions about this or that process, or this or that aspect of the facilities, but we came to grasp that I needed to work through the reasoning myself, outside of the immediate conversation.
Sometimes this meant a few minutes. Sometimes it meant I’d have a reaction the following weekend. Regardless, this process worked because I’d been able to express my need for processing time, and they respected that need.
To put it another way, although Luna Lindsey was discussing task switching more than “mere” processing time in general, there are a lot of splines to reticulate.
Reticulate means to “make a net or network of”. A spline is a number of things, including: “a. Any of a series of projections on a shaft that fit into slots on a corresponding shaft, enabling both to rotate together. b. The groove or slot for such a projection.”
This is as good an illustration as any. The greater the weight, number, or severity of stimuli, the less time my brain is afforded to make a mental network for how all the metaphorical projections and slots fit together.
There’s been just such need for time lately, as I’ve had to navigate a series of medical tests and make a decision about surgery. My urologist has been pretty insistent upon wanting to move on things as soon as possible, but I’d been making it clear that until I could go through everything step by step, alone but with both their guidance and a second opinion from another doctor, I simply couldn’t commit to a schedule.
Truthfully, this issue of processing time also explains part of my reticence to have a family member on hand (or, to my mind, underfoot) once I do have this “cystoscopy, bladder/diverticula biopsy, stone evacuation, left retrograde pyelogram, possible ureteroscopy/biopsy, possible stent” surgery.
There’s a longstanding myth about autistic people having no empathy, whereas actually autistic people frequently will discuss the opposite: being too empathetically sensitive, and so this itself becomes yet another stimulus which can contribute to overwhelm, which then easily can appear to neurotypicals as an absence of empathy.
Here’s my worry about having a family member constantly around post-surgery: no matter their stated intent or claimed ability to compartmentalize (already somewhat undermined just in emails discussing the issue), they have their own emotional stake in my medical situation. Which due to autistic empathy naturally would be an additional pressuring stimulus floating around my home during recovery.
My fear is this will increase the chances that my brain does not have the required time, or other necessary resources, to reticulate the splines when it comes to self-monitoring my condition, either mentally or physically. It seems to me that this should be the priority.
The superficial irony here doesn’t escape me. This person is offering their time to me, but the point is that what matters is my time, as I’m the one who needs to make sure he has what he needs. Sometimes, people offering their time is what gives me more time—e.g. when the consulting urologist told me during our second-opinion conversation not to worry about feeling like I was keeping him from something else as I worked through what we were discussing.
What happens, though, if someone’s offer of their own time likely will yield the opposite effect: lesstime for me to focus on the things I need to focus on?
There isn’t just one kind of time, and when the issue at hand is how to help someone with developmental or cognitive differences, even without another health issue happening, what counts is the nature and quality of the time they need not just the inherent fact of someone else’s time being offered.
Back at my old nonprofit, the time my colleague gave me to think about feedback (which, for what it’s worth, typically resulted in total agreement with what they were saying) benefitted both my own brain and their contributions to the work. As I’ve started, finally, to find doctors who appreciate my needs, the time they give me to consider all the facts and options ultimately benefits my health, both mental and physical.
Sometimes, though, offers of time, as counterintuitive as this might seem, feel more about the wants of the person offering than the needs of the person being offered.
With a brain like mine, mostly what I need is my own time. Unless your time gives me more of that, I don’t have time for it.