Review: ‘The Duck’

Last night I went to see the first performance of ‘The Duck’, a one-woman play about autism written by Rhi Lloyd-Williams and performed by Lucy Theobald. Flyers described the play as a ‘glimpse beneath the surface of one autistic woman’s world’ which is, of course, an area of great personal and academic interest to me. I ignored the fact that I don’t like theatre performances, with all that proximity to people and enforced sitting still, and went anyway.

I hadn’t planned to write a review and didn’t take notes, but it really was very good and warrants more than a couple of tweets.

Lucy Theobald somehow managed, through Rhi’s incise writing and expert ‘how to be autistic’ coaching, to present something quite different to the composite and generic autistic characters we are so used to seeing. This wasn’t an autistic character developed to showcase autism, the sort of character we often see who shows us their autism through stereotypes and tropes. This was a complex and unique autistic characterisation, literally the ‘one autistic woman’ from the flyer, not a mish-mash creation developed to shoehorn in as much visible autism as possible.

Because autism isn’t really something we can see, autism is very often what people don’t see, particularly in autistic people like The Duck’s protagonist, who have learned to mask and mimic. Somehow, with only a bentwood chair, a bedsheet, some paper and pens, and in less than an hour, Lucy managed to perform not only a life story, but also presented an introduction to some of the key issues of concern to many autistic people.

A recurring theme throughout was the double-empathy problem, how non-autistics have just as much trouble understanding and empathising with autistics as the other way round. Issues of language, identity, sensory and communication differences, labels, diagnosis and the notion of the spectrum were covered. With luck the audience will have been sufficiently challenged and interested to want to go and find out more, as many questions were raised to challenge popular notions of what autism is and isn’t.

My only minor criticisms are that at times the narrative appeared to assume a non-autistic audience, and that a request for flappause (a silent applause of raised waving hands which originated in the Deaf community and is increasingly used at autistic events) instead of the very loud clapping and whooping would have provided an opportunity to highlight the impact of normative social conventions in a very real way.

This was a fast-paced, frenetic, funny, intelligent, occasionally sad, incredibly engaging and informative performance. This is the sort of autistic performance that I want to see, and that I want non-autistics to see.

Massive well done and thank you to Autact Theatre Company for showing what good autistic representation looks like. You’ve set yourself and others a high standard, it will be interesting to see what follows.

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 😉

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 🙂

Social imagination and judging the #JudgeyFace 

The National Autistic Society’s recent Twitter campaign aims to highlight how autistic people often receive judgement and scorn from members of the public. An array of celebrities, autism advocates and ordinary people, some autistic, many not, have shared pictures of their own judgey faces.

The judgey faces on display are like an homage to Kenneth Williams. But it made me think about my own experiences in public, particularly as a parent to a child who can display unusual, challenging and somewhat bizarre behaviours.

Apart from my teen years living in a small town where looks of disapproval were smugly satisfying, much of my life has been spent avoiding being noticed. I’ve mostly managed to escape unwanted judgey faces. Occasionally I forget to filter my thoughts and say something which raises eyebrows or elicits an exclamation of shock. I don’t always notice, however, as most people’s facial expressions aren’t very obvious or consistent.

Struggling to read facial expressions is fairly central to the the ‘social imagination’ part of the autism triad. Social imagination is essentially the ability to understand what another person might be thinking or feeling without them explicitly telling you. Autistic people often ‘fail’ standard tests devised to assess social imagination. This is often mistaken for a lack of empathy.

I really struggle with the claim that autistic people lack empathy. I may not read other people in the same way as a neurotypical person, I may not show the same visible emotional response in the expected neurotypical manner, but it doesn’t mean I lack empathy. My strong sense of justice and fairness wouldn’t exist without empathy.

I cannot help but wonder if it isn’t the neurotypicals amongst us who have the greatest empathy deficit. It is almost always neurotypical people, mostly adults, who judge behaviours they don’t understand. It is almost always an average, ordinary sort of person who makes a judgey face.

Behind the judgey face is often a person who hasn’t experienced a meltdown, hasn’t parented a child who stims, has never felt disorientated and overwhelmed by lighting, noise or smells, who isn’t autistic. It is a person who cannot comprehend or imagine any reason for the behaviour beyond ‘naughty, spoilt, badly parented’.

The judgey faced person’s frame of reference for such behaviour is so narrow, so lacking in imagination, that they don’t imagine other possibilities. It makes me wonder who really lacks imagination.

A great advantage of being an autistic parent of an autistic child is that I’m largely oblivious to the reactions of witnesses to my son’s public displays of autism. Alongside not noticing any judgey faces, I become hyperfocused on the situation at hand. Random strangers, judgey faced or not, become blurred background matter.

This makes me think that the campaign is primarily aimed at supporting neurotypical parents and carers. It does little for me as an autistic parent. By not noticing judgey faces in real life, they don’t matter to me. Except as funny faces.