The Same Is The Same Is The Same Is The Best

Folks with autism tend to thrive in an environment packed with routine and structure, and in many cases…”thrive” largely refers to a lack of outbursts or undesirable behaviors.

Routine and sameness is comforting because they know what’s going to happen, they know the drill. If something very different from their norm happens, it can be crazy stressful. And since much of the autistic population struggles to communicate, the stress shows up in their behavior. Really though…this is true for pretty much everyone, isn't it? Isn’t this why we yell at other people while sealed inside our own cars during traffic hell? Or why we snap at others when they do something different than what we had mind? 

…Why we throw a tantrum when Olia discontinues our favorite shade of hair color? (It’s happening RIGHT NOW – I can't find Medium Ash Brown to save my life.)

What’s different though – is that we (typical folks) (I can’t stand the word “normal” in this context) – often curb or adjust our behavior to be socially appropriate or polite when we’re unhappy. We don’t always show we’re upset, we use filters. Most people with autism don’t own a filter and tend to process situations quite literally – and then respond in a similarly literal fashion. Behavior, especially for those who are non-verbal = communication. Behavior = communication.

My buddy, Tyler, knows me from our autism program. We spent our days in a sweet little blue room (as well as other familiar places on campus…a playground, a multipurpose room, a computer lab), and our days and weeks were scheduled…slated…orderly. For Tyler – that room, that place – is where I belonged. I was in a grocery store near his house once…shopping, as you do…and I felt someone staring at me. I turned, and Tyler was about 10 yards away. His head was tilted and his brow was quizzical and deeply furrowed – he was genuinely confused to see me outside of our blue room. I was happy to see him and walked over to say hello to him and his father. I didn't belong in the store though…and Tyler pushed me away. The next day, in the blue room, it was normal…it was OK…and we were straight.

It’s the same as taking those groceries I bought in the store where I didn't belong and putting them away…but putting the pasta in the linen closet, the milk in the bathroom, the apples in a dresser drawer, and the shampoo in the kitchen. That’s not where those things belong.

Tyler adapts incredibly well and now (over time), he knows when my car is at his house when he arrives home from his day program or church – it means we’re about to go somewhere. He’ll chuck his book-bag at his sweet mother, get in my car whether I’m already in it or not, and though it may be my wishful imagination – he seems genuinely happy to see me. We no longer see each other each day in the blue room, so this is our new norm. When we return to his home after our time together though, and I walk him inside - the pasta is in the linen closet all over again. His parents and his sister belong in that house, I do not. And each time, Tyler takes me by the arm and drags me to the front door, just so he’s clear…communicating…through his behavior, that I’m in the wrong place.