Sun, 9 Oct 2022
Honoring Limitations
In years gone by, I held this belief that my only limitations were those I willingly accepted. I believed that I was morally culpable for any shortcoming in productivity or output, no matter how arbitrary the metric or context. I would fail to live up to lofty expectations I placed on myself and believe it was due to personal defect. When I was mired in a religious framework, this was doubly toxic and harmful—not only was I to blame in practical terms for any limits I ran up against, whether perceived or actual, but I was also to blame in moral and spiritual terms (i.e. I was lazy, irresponsible, weak of faith and willpower, undisciplined, broken, a waste of space and breath, and so on).
As the years passed, I eventually escaped the viciously pernicious self-abasement of high-control religiosity, which allowed for much more grace and self-compassion. When I would fail post-god, post-spirituality, I was no less disappointed, but I was significantly less moralistic, less self-loathsome in response. I deemed failures and shortcomings a necessary part of growth and promised myself I would do better next time rather than punishing myself for doing poorly this time.
Even so, I retained this belief that my own personal mindsets were the only limiting factor to my performance in most or all facets of my life. With the right mindset, the right grit, the right discipline, the right determination, I could overcome any obstacle and succeed. This belief, while no longer tied to the toxicity of a protestant ethic for self-denial, was no less problematic.
Because this idea was significantly less severe and hostile towards my personhood, it was easy to miss the effects of its psychic poison in the way I would have formerly, which sounds good (and I'll agree that it is significantly less unpleasant). In some ways, however, it led to outcomes just as devastating. I no longer got virulently down on myself in the wake of any single disappointment so I didn't notice I was still as self-effacing as ever.
Still more years passed and this internal sense that I was personally to blame for my every inefficiency and seeming ineptitude festered, cumulatively compounding, expanding and claiming more and more of my own mental real estate, tying my worthiness to my productivity, demanding that my positive contributions have impacts far beyond a scale to which I am capable of delivering.
The slow degradation of my self-esteem was noticeable but nonlinear; I would experience manic periods of extremely high output and growth, followed by extended periods of sometimes debilitating decision fatigue, which I could never quite fully extricate myself from until my next mania.
This push and pull occurred in tandem with depressive episodes that I could see coming—and even understood, to some degree, why they would happen—but I was helpless to do anything to prevent them, only able, instead, to merely mitigate their effects at best.
All of the above, and a variety of additional disparate factors (that I have neither the time nor bandwidth to go over here), ultimately led to a breaking point this year that resulted in an extended leave of absence from work, as well as palpable, lingering suicidal ideation.
During this medical leave, I met with a doctor who assessed, and confirmed, that I am Autistic. I've written quite a bit about this recently (as it is obviously quite top of mind and will be for a long time to come) so I won't belabor that particular exploration here. Instead, I aim to address one specific change in paradigm that my Autism diagnosis afforded me.
***
Autism is just a neurotype; it's one of the myriad ways neurodiversity colors the vibrant tapestry of the human experience. The way Autism presents in Autistic individuals is just as varied and unique as the way neurotypicals differ from one another. That said, there are some common experiences—positive and negative—to which many Autists will relate, albeit to varying degrees.
To grotesquely oversimplify it, the Autistic brain consumes environmental and sensory information without discriminating as to the importance of one datum over another. As an example, when I'm in a bar with friends, I don't get to filter out the background noise. I hear every conversation, all the glass- and silverware being used or moved around, every loud guffaw from an irritatingly inebriated individual, the song blaring from the speaker system, and oftentimes even the traffic outside depending on how close to the window I happen to be sitting.
If I'm with more than two or three friends, I find it virtually impossible to keep up with the conversation at my own table because, with too many people, even the table-specific dialogue often bifurcates into two—or sometimes more—simultaneous conversations that have little or nothing to do with one another. The net effect of this is overwhelming and I never feel socially fulfilled, only socially drained and defeated. I’m never lonelier than when I'm with too many people in a place full of too many people.
This inability to prioritize and filter incoming stimuli into just that to which I should pay attention and ignore the rest also presents itself in less obvious ways that are no less challenging to navigate. While I can avoid going to a crowded bar most of the time, I can't avoid all forms of overstimulation and overwhelm, particularly if I'm running on low reserves of cognitive energy.
Executive functioning is a term I'd heard before, but had never bothered to investigate. Shortly after confirming I was on the Spectrum, though, I began reading about the neurotype and that term, "executive functioning," kept popping up. It seemed important, so I paused my general reading and took a mini deep dive into this recurring concept in hopes of better understanding just what in the hell it was. What I learned was eye-opening.
In short, executive functioning is the ability to make decisions and break larger tasks down into a series of logical steps. (Of course, that is an incomplete definition, but it will do for now.) The more I read about the concept, and the more stories I consumed from other neurodivergent folks about their experiences with executive dysfunction, the more my own life—and alleged shortcomings—made sense.
While everyone experiences decision fatigue and the resulting struggle with executive dysfunction that can follow, Autistics, as well as other neurodivergent individuals, are uniquely prone to challenges in this arena. This is largely because of our brains' mode of processing incoming data.
Here's another example:
Laundry is not a complex task on its face. It's a relatively straightforward and necessary part of being an adult person in the modern world who wears clothing. For someone experiencing executive dysfunction, however, it can be intensely difficult to break the chore into linear steps to be followed in sequence. Using my own present circumstance as it pertains to laundry, it becomes clear that laundry as a concept may be simple, but even such a basic aspect of housekeeping is made up of a surprising number of individual steps. When I need to do the laundry, I don't see it as one thing. Instead, I see each step of the process all at once and, if I'm low in cognitive capacity, I will struggle in determining where I should start.
For me, laundry involves the following: I must grab $1.50 in quarters (as well as my keys), put the detergent in the hamper with my clothes, walk down three flights of stairs, cross the parking lot to the laundry facilities, unlock the door, put the soap in the machine, put the clothes in the machine, close the lid, put the quarters in the slots, start the machine, set a timer so I'll remember to come down again in 30 minutes and move the clothes to the dryer (remembering that I also need to bring another $1.50 in quarters, as well as my keys).
While changing from the washer to the dryer, I must also remove those articles of clothing that need to be air dried and bring them upstairs in the hamper so I can lay them out to dry on a collapsible drying rack, which I must also set up, remembering once again to set a timer—this time for 60 minutes—so I don't forget to bring the hamper back down and retrieve the dried clothes. I then must fold them and put them away. Once the more delicate clothes have dried on the collapsible rack, I have to fold those as well so I can put them away and also put the drying rack away, and then I'm done!
If I am in a state of depleted cognitive resources, I can get stuck on the step just after identifying the need to do laundry but before actually beginning the process: "Should I grab my keys first? Or should I get the quarters? Oh, wait, maybe I should get the detergent and then my keys and quarters? Do I have all the clothes I need to wash in the hamper? What about towels? Is it time to wash sheets as well? Will I have enough room or should I bring double the quarters?" And so on.
Think about the myriad household chores that are vital and must be accomplished. Think about how simple they are on their face. Then think about how deceptively numerous are the unique steps involved in the process. Now imagine that you have no way to determine which step is the best first step, and that no step appears intuitively to be the logical prime mover.
And laundry is a relatively linear process unto itself. Some things are even less linear where each step could occur in any order and still the job would get done (e.g. cleaning the kitchen or bathroom, as nonlinear chore examples off the top of my head).
***
I say all of this to highlight one simple thing: if I truly believe that my own personal mindset is my only limitation, if I believe that I just need a can-do, good vibes only, power-of-positive-thinking attitude, what else am I supposed to think when staring down the crippling effects of executive dysfunction except that I'm a worthless piece of shit who sucks at even the most basic aspects of being an adult human existing in the world?
The truth is, I have very real limitations over which I have minimal to no control. The best I can hope for is to manage my cognitive energy output to such a degree that I have the bandwidth necessary to engage with tasks that require adequate executive functioning prowess. I have an invisible disability that makes seemingly simple tasks sometimes impossible to accomplish. The years of internalized ableism I've put myself through, thinking I just need to improve my own mindset, to be less lazy, to suck it up and do the thing, have led to deeply problematic mental health outcomes.
10 October is World Mental Health Day—tomorrow as I'm writing this. The pursuit of improved mental health outcomes has been my own personal crusade for the better part of the past decade, both for myself and for others. Whether or not you identify as a member of the neurodivergent community, remember to be kind to yourself today and everyday. You're doing the very best you can with the tools at your disposal.
Set your sights high, aim for growth and improvement, work hard and challenge yourself, but don't forget to be gentle with yourself as well. You will fail to live up to your hopes and expectations. You will fall short and you will see others achieving what you want to achieve—even sometimes making it look easy all while you can't figure out how. When you find yourself comparing your life to others (and you will find yourself doing this), remember that your strengths and weaknesses are uniquely your own. The person to whom you're trying to measure yourself against may be an apple to your orange. And that's okay.
Honor your limitations, whatever they may be. In so doing, our limitations cease to be a mark of shame. Rather, they transform into a roadmap. I will only burn myself out if I attempt to be the life of the party when I'm out with friends, but if one or two friends want to have an in depth conversation about something we all care deeply about, I might just be the best conversationalist you could ask for.
By ignoring my limits in one area, I put unnecessary and avoidable limits on other areas that were previously boundless in possibility.
Worry less about can't. We all have things we can't do. Focus, instead, on can. Follow possibility where it leads, and allow your limitations to help you get there.