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neurotypical

Neurotypical scripting

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Last week, a co-worker and I were in (what we perceived to be) a hilarious situation. For two days, every time we saw each other, we’d recap exactly what had happened. We kept retelling the story to each other, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down our faces.
At one point, other co-workers saw us in the hall and asked, “What’s so funny?!”
Barely breathing from laughing, we tried to explain:
“And then she said —“
“And then I was like —“
“And she goes – 8×8!!!!”
Blank stares.
Smiles.
Eye rolls.
“Uh. Oooookay,” they, as they walked away collapsing in fits of giggles.
It made no sense to them, because they hadn’t been there.
It made sense to us.
It was hilarious to us.
It was so hilarious that we wanted to keep saying it over and over again, because it made us laugh, and laughter felt good.
So in an essence? We were scripting. For days. Every time we saw each other we launched into the script of what had happened.
But we’re neurotypical. And so, nobody told us to stop talking about it. Nobody told us it was weird. Nobody sat us down and explained that we had already talked about it for two days. Nobody said, “Let’s think of something else you could talk about. You both have x in common. What’s a question you could ask about x to have a conversation?”
Granted – we didn’t talk about it while we were supposed to be teaching, or in the middle of someone else’s conversation, or during various other awkward or seemingly unexpected times. And granted, we have the ability to know to talk about it with each other, and not with someone else who wasn’t there, who wouldn’t understand the humor.
It’s just – the thing is, we ALL script. We all have scripty stimmy inside jokes that we talk about and laugh about. And it feels good. It’s hilarious. It’s comforting. It’s a good feeling in the middle of a crazy, busy, or overwhelming day.
And what’s so bad about that?
Right. Nothing. NOTHING is wrong with that.
So when your kids, your students, your clients script.
Think about how you can actually relate to it.
Think about why you do it, and therefore, why they might be doing it (and of course – communication. Don’t ever discount that scripting is communication, which could be a book in and of itself).
Yes, when it’s scripting for fun: educate them on the best times and the best people to do it with. Absolutely.
But don’t, I beg of you, don’t squash it. Don’t tell them they can’t do it. Don’t tell them it, in and of itself, is unexpected, or worse, weird.

It’s just…normal. It’s not an autistic thing, it’s not a neurotypical thing, it’s just a normal human thing.

So. Let them play.

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The characters: a thirteen-year-old 7th grader and a ten-year-old 5th grader. Both cognitively impaired, to a degree. One with a syndrome. One with severe ADHD. Both with language disorders.

The setting: free play time, on the rug, with a huge box of Legos.

The two play together so well. They dig through the Lego bin together. They take turns digging, as both of their sets of hands don’t fit at the same time. Did you hear that? They take turns. They realize when they need to wait. Please tell me you get how big that is. Over the weeks they’ve developed favorite Lego pieces, favorite characters. They hand each other the ones they know the other likes. I know. It’s huge. Their favorite thing to do is find all of the characters and set them up. Sometimes making them look funny, with a mis-matched outfit, or two heads stacked on each other. They say to each other, “Hey Arianna, look at this!!!” They share with each other. They want to show each other things. They giggle loudly, together, when something is funny. Occasionally they call me over, wanting to show me something one or the other found or created. But mostly, they play on their own. Together.

Here’s the thing. I know there are people out there, various people of various professions, who would say, very confidently, “None of this is age-appropriate.” Such people would talk about how pretend play should be a thing of the past. They might add that a thirteen-year-old girl should be connecting with other thirteen-year-old girls, and that a ten-year-old boy shouldn’t be her go-to playmate.

But I can say very confidently, that those people would be wrong. There are no “shoulds”.

Yes, pretend play fades out at a certain age in most neurotypical brains. And yes, most individuals with neurotypically-developing brains would connect with peers their own age. And yes, maybe those individuals wouldn’t sit together showing each other Legos, passing characters back-and-forth, and giggling about it.

But. These two kids don’t have neurotypically-developing brains. So why place neurotypical demands on them? And guess what else? While pretend play develops for so many kids in toddlerhood, it didn’t for these kids. So they’re catching up. Their brains are filling in the steps that they missed. These are kids who didn’t know how to connect. Didn’t make those friendships, didn’t have language until they were in elementary school. So, of course they’re still doing pretend play. They never had.

If I learned a new language right now, that I had never learned before, I’d be at the one-word and two-word stage. I’d sound like a toddler, trying to communicate, in telegraphic speech. Sure, maybe I could memorize a few phrases. But  that would be about it. You would never say to me, “Jen, you’re 27. You need to be speaking in sentences and conveying your thoughts in a much more eloquent way. You need to connect with other adults your age and talk with them.” It’s no different with my kids. They’re not going to magically skip developmental steps that everyone else goes through. And why would we expect them to?

To the people who expect them to “fit in” and participate in “age-appropriate” conversations and activities – the reason that they don’t is because they can’t. Because they’re not there yet. And maybe they’ll get there and maybe they won’t. But whatever happens – let’s just celebrate where they’re at. The new skills they’re developing and applying – it’s no less significant than a baby learning to point. It’s just happening at a different time.

So. Let them play. Let them script. Let them laugh. Let them be thirteen-years-old and need to learn how to use words and not push. Let them be ten-years-old and learn about compromising. Because, their brains need to. Because, their brains never did. Because, they’re learning. Because, they’re connecting. Far better than forcing them to sit and talk about things that they don’t understand and things that they don’t care about.

And if you worry about them not fitting in? They do fit in. Just maybe not with whom you expected them to. But that’s okay. We all make different friends. We all have different connections. The important thing here is that they do fit in. They have peers. They have playmates. And that’s worth embracing. That’s what matters.

The Big Storm

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I went to the doctor’s yesterday, to get a TB test for one of my jobs.
My plan was to get there at 3:30 for a 3:45 immunization, and be gone by 3:50. I had a plan in my head, the rest of my day felt contingent upon that plan, and I felt confident knowing my timeframe.

But, they couldn’t check me in, something was wrong in the computer, they ran late because of that, there was only one nurse available, she was running late, I had to have the test done in a chair instead of laying down, I wasn’t allowed a band aid after, I ended up having to go back and wait in line to get my parking ticket validated because I was there far longer than the free half an hour. Now, all of those are seemingly little factors. And maybe if one of them happened independent of the others it wouldn’t have been a big deal. Or maybe if it was a different day, if I was more or less tired, more or less stressed, more or less hungry, it would have been more or less of a big deal. But on this day, under those circumstances, it was a Big Deal. And I ended up crying in that chair. And then a few good minutes of bawling in the bathroom after. Why? I don’t know. It felt Big. It was a swirly, shabby, pounding storm within me and it needed to get out. And it came out in tears.

And I couldn’t help but think of our kids. Look, I’m neurotypical. I have a good amount of inhibition. I have coping mechanisms. I have words that I can access. I can be flexible. And still…..still, I was frustrated, annoyed, irritated, stormy. Because I’m human and because sometimes with a certain set of circumstances, you just get stormy. But if I had even a little less inhibition, less access to coping methods and words? I might have screamed. Or kicked. Or bitten. Not because I had some sort of malice, mean intentions. No, simply because those would be as reflexive as crying was to me yesterday. I didn’t decide to cry. There was no intent. Just as there wouldn’t be any intent if I had acted out physically. Like one of our kids might. It’s not a temper tantrum and it’s not purposeful. It’s a reflexive way for their bodies to release the Big Stormy feelings inside. Like tears did for me.

And it thought about how we work on the Problem Scale with our kids. And how sometimes when a kiddo is frustrated or mad about something, we remind them that it is just a “glitch.” But right before I had started crying, if someone had said, “Jen, this is just a glitch,” I might have screamed! It would have felt so invalidating – like, how dare I feel this way. So it reinforced why we need to validate our kids’ feelings. How we need to acknowledge that it might feel like a 4 or a 5 [on the Problem Scale] but we need to react like a glitch. And sometimes just that validation is enough. But to dismiss how it feels isn’t fair. Because the feeling is physical, it’s reflexive. Hearing that they shouldn’t feel a certain way is completely unsuccessful, detrimental.

Our kids do the best they can with what they’ve got. Sometimes in different moments they have more or less. And that’s how we are too. Ultimately, we are all human. Ultimately, we are all doing the best we can in that moment.

My place on the spectrum

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I am not autistic. That’s a statement that would never be questioned by anyone. I simply, would not qualify for a diagnosis of autism.

However.

I firmly, truly, in my core, believe in what so many of us think and know: that autism is a spectrum. And it includes neurotypicals. NTs and autistics are not fundamentally different – they just fall on different parts of the spectrum. 

So, if it’s a spectrum – that means that at some point there’s a midline, right? A midline where one thing becomes the other. Where Neutorypical meets Autistic. And that’s near where I fall. I am not autistic. But I am close enough to that midline to GET that other side of the spectrum. 

I believe that’s why I love working with autistic kids. I believe that’s why I understand them. I believe that’s why they understand me. I believe that’s why sometimes I intuitively just KNOW why they do or say something. 

I believe that I’m lucky to land on the spectrum where I do. I believe that I get the benefits of both the NT and the autistic aspects. I believe that despite not being autistic, I can firmly consider myself an understander, and an ally, because I Get It.

I believe that I’m lucky.

I believe in Autism Awesomeness.