The most valuable skill I’ve learned since moving out from my mother’s house is paying attention to my limits. I’ve finally had the opportunity to notice the point at which I’m pushing myself too hard and will burn out. This is because I’ve been able to live in a supportive environment where I’m allowed to say “no” when I can’t safely do something.
For example, if preparing a meal would require the adrenaline rush of pushing myself into fight-or-flight mode, I’m allowed to ask my partner to make something instead. If cleaning up in the living room would overwhelm me to the point where I’m at risk of collapsing or fainting, I’m allowed to ask for help or try again another day. Because I’m not trying to do these tasks and do them consistently regardless of the cost, I’ve been able to put together the fact that there’s a direct connection between pushing myself too hard and burning out for several days, even when others tell me that I shouldn’t.
In the past, I’ve been told that things get easier the more frequently you do them. I’ve been told that if I try hard enough, I’ll “get used to” doing these tasks that are so difficult and damaging to me. To those people, I’d like to say this: if you touch a hot stove every day, will you get used to it? Should you get used to it? Or should you change something so that you don’t have to touch it?
Don’t get me wrong, there are certainly things that get easier the more I do them. Going to a new place for the first time makes my anxiety skyrocket, but by the 30th time it’s much easier. Learning a new math technique is difficult, but after I’ve practiced it dozens of times it too becomes much easier. I’m perfectly aware that there are things that can get easier if I do them often enough. That does not change the fact that there are many tasks that will never be easier for me to do.
Let me use another example. Let’s say someone tells you that you must be double-jointed. It’s easy for them to bend their fingers back much farther than you can. They tell you, “If you keep bending your fingers a little farther back every day, you’ll be able to bend them as far as I can.”
But if you aren’t already, bending your fingers back won’t make you double-jointed. It’ll give you sore fingers, which will make all your other tasks that much harder to do. It will also likely cause permanent damage to your fingers.
It’s not a perfect analogy, but the point I’m trying to illustrate is this: My brain isn’t wired to do the tasks that neurotypicals can do. There are some things that, no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to do. Not only that, but trying to do them will actively damage my health.
Now, I’m not saying that because I’m depressed and I don’t think I can do anything. Quite the opposite. Do you know how liberating it is to find out that you aren’t being lazy or difficult when you voice how much it hurts you to do something? That you aren’t spoiled, entitled, or selfish for needing help doing things that others can do without even thinking? That the message you’ve internalized, that you’re somehow defective and a burden to those around you, is wrong?
Trying to force myself to function to abled standards was a huge part of what gave me depression in the first place. Learning that my limits are not personal failings has allowed me to become a much happier, fulfilled person. It’s allowed me to focus my energy on things that I can do, like writing on this blog, exercising, and preparing to go back to school in the fall.
People around me often view my newfound respect for my limits as “giving up.” But that’s simply not true. Accepting that I am a whole, complete person who happens to have different skills than others is not “giving up on getting better.” New beginnings are not failed endings.
I am not a failed abled person, I am a perfectly fine disabled person.
Astro Autistic 