Misunderstood

Autism, cPTSD, and things we're afraid to say out loud.

***Please note that many traits of autism closely correlate with cPTSD. The state of living with complex trauma shows similar signs of hypervigilance. A mind and body that have experienced ongoing traumas are in fact dysregulated and not functioning at a peaceful capacity. When you read the traits about autism below, it is normal to assume you are autistic. It is important to obtain facts for you, as these crossovers are not concrete. I write from my personal experience. I say cPTSD is a result of poor care and is something you can heal from, but autism is not. With autism, your coping skills can improve, but your brain function will always be processed through the same neurodivergent filter. Patience, education, and compassion are required for both.

One of the disadvantages of being autistic is that your brain is wired toward rigid thinking. That rigidity is often viewed as stubborn or inflexible. If you do not have an autistic brain, that may be an easy assessment to make towards someone who does. But when it is how your brain is wired, it is not negative; it requires understanding.

There are many categories in which rigid thinking has created further chaos in my life. Today, I am going to talk to you about missing context and executive functioning.

It is common for an autist to not have coping skills when something unexpected happens while also assuming the worst. Someone who is not autistic (allistic) may use their executive functioning to move to plan b. That same functioning is difficult to access (if not impossible) for an autistic brain. While an allistic person moves to their plan B, an autistic person usually panics because, due to rigid thinking, they don’t know there is a plan B.

Example: I was recently at an Airbnb that had a security guard at the entrance of the apartment building. He had to push a button to unlock the door for guests. He sat in an office with tinted windows but would have the window by the door propped up so when guests arrived, they could lean down and see he was there and share their apartment number to enter.

One heavily rainy day, I appeared at the entrance, and the window was open, but he was not there. There was a mild covering from the rain, but it was windy and I was getting wet. I could not believe he would leave his desk when it was raining like this. He had come to be known to me like that woman who lives inside Zoom that says, “Your recording is in progress” every time I go to teach a course. I don’t know who she is or where she is, but damn, she is always there and says the same thing. She is predictable. I like it.

I stood as far in the corner as I could but was getting pretty wet due to the rain. For the sake of this story being captivating, I am going to say I stood there for three days. In reality, it was probably 20 to 30 seconds when the guard returned from the restroom, popped his head through the window with a confused expression, and pointed at the door. It was cracked open the whole time.

There was nothing in my brain that suggested there was any other option but to stand and get wet. I was accustomed to the entrance working one way, and that one subtle change of him not being there left me to believe Noah was coming down the street with his ark, and this was my end.

Another way rigid thinking shows up for me is not understanding someone’s intention.

I have been teased often by how naive I can be. Don’t get this twisted—I am a pro at pattern recognition and can spot manipulation and bad motives miles away because of how much history and experience I have with both. But, on an average day, when there is no threat around me, I am most likely missing context that others experience in real time.

In that same vein, when someone I know is creating a story that isn’t true or pushing me to believe or feel something that I don’t feel aligned with, it creates tension.

Several years ago, my friend Kelly contacted me during a difficult transition period to show her support. Within a few weeks, my dad had passed away, my dog did too, and I had just had an emergency surgery. It was a lot happening at once. Kelly is an absolute bright light. Although I am candid regarding my feelings when inquired, I cannot recall a moment when Kelly has spoken without a smile when it was her turn to share.

I met Kelly through our close mutual friend Andrea, whom I had known far longer and more intimately than Kelly. They grew up together and knew one another well. During this difficult chapter, Kelly seemed to tiptoe around my circumstances, and instead of being able to show the support I needed, she was telling jokes and saying things that made it feel a bit worse to be connected to her. Her responses surprised me, because I had always felt such a warmth in her. We had not known one another well, so I assumed it was a trait I had missed prior, but I did create some distance.

Rigid thinking: She is trying to cause chaos for me.

Threat: You are unable to align with what she is saying, so the situation feels confusing and means you’re doing something wrong.

One thing that has never felt threatening to me is chocolate chip cookies. Like the lady who lives in Zoom, and the security guard who is (almost) always there for me, chocolate chip cookies give me this sense that I matter and that pleasure is an important part of healing.

When I moved to Philly, I accidentally moved on the same block as one of my favorite cookie franchises. I will not name it here so as to protect the employee, but it is probably Insomnia Cookies.

At Insomnia, you are given your cookie(s) from a warming drawer. Many of their locations are open 24 hours, so they have a steady stream of hope, warmth, encouragement (and cures for munchies) distributed all day and night.

Shortly after my first purchase, I was handed the long receipt with the explanation that if I filled out a survey, I would get a free cookie with my next purchase. If there is one thing I love more than chocolate chip cookies, it’s free chocolate chip cookies.

I returned the next day and showed the cashier my confirmation code from my survey, purchased one (or six) more cookies, was handed a receipt, and was told again that if I were to fill out the survey, I would get another free cookie.

I started to craft my new life plan. If I were to buy one cookie every day and then use my survey from the prior day, I would be getting two cookies for the price of one, and while that would not fully heal my childhood or help with my fitness goals, it was something I needed.

Around day 3, I turned in my receipt and paid for my one cookie, and the cashier put an extra cookie in my bag because it was broken. So I paid for one cookie and got three. The cashier seemed proud to pass these on, as if he had solved the issue of the broken cookie, and did not waste it by giving it to the middle-aged, survey-writing cookie monster.

These are the stories my dreams are made of.

When I went to do my survey that night, I noticed the cashier’s name on the receipt, Jake, and gave a special shout-out to him. I talked about his friendly demeanor and suggested he gave the location a neighborhood vibe, which was nice.

The next day Jake was working when I went in, and he, as he always had, smiled from ear to ear, welcoming me. Asked how I was doing, and we exchanged pleasantries. I guess Jake to be in his mid-twenties, and from what he shared, he didn’t have a particular passion for cookies but saw that I did.

I gave him my receipt, ordered my two cookies, and then when I went to pay, he smiled at me again, looked me directly in the eye, and said, “You’re good.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Jake: “You’re good.”

Me: “No. I want to pay for these.”

Jake: “No, my treat today.”

Jake continues to hold his smile, and my brain is telling me that this isn’t right, and I don’t like the way it feels. Then some other part of me said, “Fuck that. Free cookies!”

Over the next few weeks, Jake and I entered into a robbery relationship. I would be adamant that I don’t want the cookies for free (and 67% of me meant that), and he would smile and ask me personal questions, and I would answer and then leave with my bag of warm healing.

On my birthday, I ordered a mini cookie cake with icing and a birthday decal on the top just for myself. Jake, of course, would not let me pay for it. If you think that is sketchy, it wasn’t really my birthday. It was just a Tuesday, and I wanted the whole birthday-themed cookie cake for myself.

I told one of my friends about this cookie scheme I was trapped in because I was feeling uncomfortable with the situation, and he gave the stupidest advice, “Just stop getting cookies.”

I told another close friend who is 78 years old and has been like a mother figure to me, and she laughingly yelled, “Nate, Jake has a crush on you!”

Rigid thinking: No he doesn’t. He would have said that (insert 63 free bags of cookies).

Another part of rigid thinking is missing social cues, especially flirting. (Boy, do I have some stories for you.)

That day I accepted that for weeks Jake had been sending me a message that I completely failed to notice. I felt guilty because I missed those cues but also uncomfortable because I was old enough to be his father. (But no son of mine would ever give away profits like that).

In the coming weeks, I started going to the other (unnamed) Insomnia Cookie shop that was 8 blocks away. I found that no matter what I said to Jake, he would not allow me to pay for a single cookie. I tried multiple angles. My friends were laughing as I shared these stories, but I genuinely felt guilty.

I would occasionally pop in if I saw someone apart from Jake was working but made it a point to go to the other location.

That spring, I was hosting a workshop in Philly and knew I wanted to have a nice display of multiple snacks, including cookies. The morning of the workshop, I was running late, so I popped into the shop on my block hoping someone else would be there, but there stood Jake—ever-present smile. He asked where I had been lately, and as much as I wanted to say something like “Oh, I am not really into cookies anymore,” it would not make sense because I was buying a couple dozen.

I started the conversation by saying, “I need to pay for these.” He put the cookies in the box, and when I went to pay, there was a standstill. I explained to him over and over that I was uncomfortable not paying, and he said, “Just take them.” He explained that many get thrown out and it is not a big deal. He would not take my credit card, so I pulled out the cash I had in my wallet, placed it on the counter, and left.

By the way, if you came to that workshop, you ate stolen cookies. If I get arrested because of this blog, I am giving the police your names too. We are in this together.

What I learned from Jake is that he had a very specific way of expressing his thoughts and feelings that, in no way, was I able to interpret. While I believe my older friend was correct, that information never landed in me like it might for someone else. It felt confusing and complex. Lots of questions on my end and never knowing why someone would not just speak their truth.

The reality is that he did. He just did it in a way that he knew how.

When Kelly attempted to offer me support, it felt like her words were creating more pain. It was as if I were not allowed to say what I was going through. No rift was created, but it left me wanting distance or, at a minimum, understanding.

Andrea reached out around this same time, and I asked her more about Kelly. When I explained the situation, Andrea replied, “That makes sense.”

She went on to explain that Andrea was in the middle of a battle with clinical depression and migraines. She said that Kelly often presents this level of joy and excitement to keep herself going when she herself is barely hanging on.

Isn’t that something? In the midst of my grief and physical recovery, Kelly was going through her own extensive hardships and still reached out to me. It made sense. She was saying what she knew to say, and I, in the midst of a horrific battle she was in, was someone she chose to offer herself to.

I have a couple of theories that I think are missing from healing talks:

1). There is no layer of healing that makes one person more important than another. We are all exchanging energy based on what we know and where we’re at. What matters is genuine effort (theirs) and personal capacity (yours).

2). There is no type of healing that makes sense for all people and should be elevated as such. The things that are universal to each person are safety, food, clothing, shelter, and protection. When it comes to healing, we are all coming from different places and have different coping skills. These are measured and labeled far too often as “too much” or “unhealed” when the people at the top of those healing spaces crafting that language have never had to do that same work.

Being curious about someone else’s genuine effort is a gift for us all.

We started this space just a little over one month ago. In the follow-up section I left a link for people to share their stories, and I want to tell you this with utmost certainty: You are surrounded by people who know pain. You are surrounded by people who feel lost. You are surrounded by people who have not had the support they needed to fulfill a life they have seen others live. I look forward to sharing their stories and, with the deepest thought, offering insight that expands the conversations about being misunderstood and finding healing and hope.

Today, in the few minutes you’ve spent reading this, I hope it gave you a stronger sense of self. I hope it helped you see more of my humanity. I hope it made you laugh; if not, don’t tell me. I can’t take it. I hope it gave you a break from the efforts you put into trying to make yourself known to others without understanding yourself a little better first.

There is so much to be discovered by holding curiosity in the gentlest parts of our hearts for ourselves and others.

Why did I think that?

Why did they think that?

Why did I do that?

Why did they do that?

Genuine effort. Yours and theirs. In a mucky, surface world, that depth is where you will find more room to be known and breathe.

I went and said goodbye to Jake and explained I was moving away from Philly. Grinning from ear to ear, he says, “Man, good luck! That makes me question where else I might want to go!”

So, off we all go.

I’m glad you’re here.

Nate

Reflections:

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What did you see in your story that was mentioned here?

How have you been misunderstood in a way that made sense to you but was harder for others??

Are there areas you want to improve on in being more curious about others?

Follow-up:

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If you’d like to submit a question and/or your story for the Dear Nate segment, you can do that here.

Truly, truly, I’m glad you’re here.

Nate