shit I learned at #speakersday

I don’t usually swear in posts, but I do swear a lot when I speak, and I am writing this while I recover from a long drive, a couple of nights away from home and lots and lots of peopling, meaning my ability to put words together is a bit challenged, so I need to make full use of whatever vocabulary I can find. Yesterday I attended the National Autistic Society’s ‘Public speaking for autistic people’ course in Wrexham, 210 miles from home. It was brilliant and illuminating and I learned shitloads of stuff.

I learned that I really really like driving on motorways, especially if I imagine that I am appearing in a Top Gear challenge. My friend @PdaSoapbox was travelling by train from the opposite direction, and we supported and encouraged each other by text throughout the journey (I only texted when I stopped for breaks, not when driving). She was largely unaware that she was part of my imaginary challenge, and I don’t think she’s a Top Gear fan… but it made me laugh to myself as I drove, because, contrary to the stereotypes, us autistic people can imagine and we do do humour.

I learned that being drawn towards the written word is a pain in the arse when signs are bilingual. If there is written information within my field of vision I have to read it. It doesn’t matter what it is, I have to know what it says. This is fine with English language words, which I can scan and process quickly, but less so with Welsh. I have nothing against Wales or the Welsh language, but bilingual signs mean my brain tries to make sense of all the words, including the Welsh words, which I don’t have a hope in hell of decoding, but my brain has to give it a go just in case. I did not miss a turn until I crossed the border ๐Ÿ˜‰

I learned that being among autistic women is perhaps the most empowering and comfortable place in the world to be. I have never felt so normal, so like other people, it was magical. Meeting people I’ve only ever interacted with on the internet in real life was like meeting up with the long lost friends I never knew I had.

I learned that friendships made online can be as strong, meaningful and real, and engender the same loyalties as those made in the ‘real world’.

I learned that I’m not the shy introvert I had always assumed myself to be. I haven’t been avoiding social interaction for most of a lifetime because I didn’t want to or didn’t need it. I’ve avoided it because it’s so hard when you don’t know and can’t follow the social rules of the majority neurotype. I actually love just chatting with people, singly and in groups, and yesterday I could do that without the complicated interchanges usually required. There were no raised eyebrows and affected manners, as people just did what they needed to do. Stripped bare of the tacit and often arbitrary rules of the typical social world, interaction became easy and natural. People and topics ebbed and flowed.

I learned that I am not able to easily switch between roles. As part of the day we had the opportunity to perform a brief presentation and receive feedback. I had not prepared one of my own as I knew it would make me more anxious on top of all the other anxieties. It’s not uncommon for me to make a decision about something without knowing why and then having my ‘Oh fuck, that’s why’ lightbulb moment later on. Partway through the morning yesterday I realised that my trepidation about doing a presentation was because of this struggle with switching between roles. To engage with the training and learn well, I needed to be in ‘listening and learning’ mode. To do a presentation I would need to be in ‘controlled and performing’ mode. There wasn’t time to switch roles and I knew as soon as the afternoon session began that I had made the right call, I was in no place to perform ‘speaker role’.

I learned more than I could have hoped to about public speaking. Sarah Hendrickx and the NAS training team should be commended for providing such a thoughtful and perfectly executed event.

Throughout my professional life I attended a lot of training, this may have been the first time I haven’t wanted a training day to end.

Thank you to everyone involved and everyone who attended.

What a day ๐Ÿ™‚

Visuals for grown ups

[image shows a view ahead of an empty road bordered by tall conifers with a pale green text box with the words ‘Visuals for grown ups’ in black text]
A mainstay of advice for supporting autistic children is the use of ‘visuals’. When I attended the NAS’s Early Bird Plus course after my son was diagnosed there was a strong emphasis on visual supports. Autism advisory services to schools almost always recommend visual timetables, schedules and prompts. There is a massive market in ready made visual supports for autistic children, ranging from elaborate daily planners to portable and wearable symbols.

Like many parents I got sucked into buying a laminator and sticky-backed velcro so I too could produce marvellous visual supports to make life easier. As mentioned in a previous post, I soon realised that for my son, the process of creating the visuals was the most useful element. Talking about what we wanted to achieve proved to be motivating and organising for us both. Although we might refer to the content of that discussion for many months or years to follow, the actual finished (beautifully laminated) product was usually swiftly abandoned.

Despite this, for many autistic children the use of visual supports is helpful, and not just for children who have limited verbal or reading skills. Visuals can also be helpful for keeping teaching and support staff on track, providing a reminder not to make changes without forewarning children who might struggle with the unexpected.

But visual supports aren’t just for children.

Grown ups, of all abilities and with all sorts of support needs, can benefit too.

Chatting with a friend by email at the weekend (my favourite sort of chatting), I suddenly realised how much I rely on visual supports, especially for new experiences. We were discussing our plans for attending an NAS course next week (‘Public speaking for autistic people’) in Wrexham, Wales, many miles from both of us. We are both attending and staying over 2 nights, she travelling by train and bus, me by car. Without having discussed the specifics, it turned out we had both come to be using virtually identical strategies to help relieve some of our anxiety.

We had produced our own visual supports.

Our visuals aren’t laminated or velcroed, and they aren’t stuck on a wall or attached to a carabiner, they’re in our smartphones and tablets. Our visual supports are a series of photos and screenshots of where we are going, the information we’ve been provided about the course, the venue, route plans and timetables, information about hotel bookings and food options.

As the event draws closer I’m spending more and more time on Trip Advisor poring over the photos of the hotel, the car park, reception desk and possible room layouts. Within the next few days I will start doing the same with google maps, satellite images and street view, and will probably take more screenshots to add to my visual security blanket.

All of this takes time, but nobody sees me hard at work, quietly preparing my supports, carefully erecting my scaffold, getting myself ready to do a new thing. One of the best things about chatting with other autistic people is finding out they do these things too ๐Ÿ™‚