Cringe

First signs of spring in the NoCo.

Until a few months ago, I had no word for it — that all-encompassing feeling when something external makes me clench inside and compels me to flee. My family will tell you I can't sit through a movie or television show without jumping up every few minutes to escape the storyline. It happens with books, too: you'll find me flipping to the last pages to confirm there's a safe landing. For years, I assumed it was simply an aversion to suspense.

But it happens in real life as well. Someone is oversharing an embarrassing story. A person talking too loudly. A drunk without inhibitions. An April Fools' joke — or any situation where the intended meaning is ambiguous to those of us who take everything at face value and will, without fail, take the bait before our natural skepticism eventually, belatedly, surfaces. Each one triggers that same interior flinching, that urgent need to be elsewhere.
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And then there's our current national nightmare — though there the discomfort is quickly swallowed by something rawer: fury, and a stunned disbelief that never quite goes away, no matter how many times the grifters and con artists prove themselves shameless.

Earlier this year, I heard some kids toss the word around casually — cringe, cringy — and something clicked. That was it. One small, sideways word for something I'd been carrying my whole life without a name for it.

There's a persistent myth that autistic people lack empathy — that a flat affect or averted eyes signal indifference. I'd like to set the record straight: most of us feel empathy in abundance. What looks like withdrawal is often the opposite. The cringe isn't detachment. It's empathy with nowhere to go, turned inward, looking for an exit.

I feel others' pain as if it has weight. When someone shares a struggle, something in my brain shifts immediately into problem-solving mode — fully convinced, with characteristic autistic certainty, that a solution exists and that I am going to find it. The wanting to fix things isn't detachment either. It's just empathy wearing a different coat.

Which brings me to its quiet twin: a lifelong aversion to being perceived. I can't bear to hear my own voice in recordings, or to linger on a photo or video of myself. Where most people seem to draw some comfort from being seen and known, I crave invisibility. The logic is simple, if a little bleak: if there's any chance I might be the one who's cringe, I'd rather disappear than find out.

I wrote the post below in February 2015, thinking I was reflecting on self-perception — on the gap between the self we inhabit and the self others observe. What I didn't realize at the time was that I was also describing masking, a concept I had no language for yet. That feels about right. My neurospiciness was always there, doing exactly what it does, hiding in plain sight.

Photo by Ian Taylor on Unsplash

Perceptions
2/12/2015

There is often a dramatic difference between how others see us and how we see ourselves. About a month ago, I participated in an exercise that asked me to list my strengths. It took me a long time. I could have rattled off two or three strengths for every other person in the room, but when it came to myself, I drew a blank — until one thing surfaced: I am very good at appearing confident, even when I am anything but.

On the surface, this might sound like deception. But what I've come to understand is that the willingness to jump in, figure it out, and get things done is itself a real skill — one other people have consistently associated with me. On the outside, I project a positive, can-do attitude. On the inside, I am a mass of quivering doubt.

Which made me wonder: is everyone like this? Does everyone present one face to the world while their inner voice quietly picks apart their abilities, their judgment, their intelligence?

I've written before about personal expectations, and I think they're doing a lot of work here. I take on difficult tasks because I am, by nature, what I call an optimal realist — a blend of optimist and realist of my own invention. I've pulled things off before, and I've always appreciated a good challenge. But the moment I commit, the internal questioning begins. I won't transcribe the full interior monologue — trust me, it can get discouraging and even petty. Somehow, though, the optimistic side always manages to win out.

There's also the matter of ego. Not only does our inner self differ from the self we show the world, but our public self differs from our private, at-home self as well. We curate what people see. I choose to lead with the confident, decisive version of myself rather than the wavering one — not purely out of vanity, but because it allows me to contribute, to get things done, to be useful. The positive feedback that follows feeds the cycle. There's nothing wrong with that.

Which brings it back, as it always does, to choice. We make decisions every day that ripple outward into other people's lives. Being true to yourself matters, but when a behavior would cause harm, authenticity isn't a good enough excuse.
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Choosing to be pleasant and upbeat isn't a performance I resent. I want honesty, integrity, empathy, and hard work associated with my name. I'm aware that how I show up can affect someone's day — sometimes more than that. Spreading good energy isn't a sacrifice.

It's an honor.

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DRC News

Weekly Wrap-up

This Monday was the first day that the winter doldrums seemed to be swept away and replaced by a fresh perspective, new ideas, and explosive bursts of creativity.

Tuesday included more cabin building. TS recruited a few teens to carry the pallets from the front yard for him. They may have abandoned that idea to create a teepee type structure from all of the very large sticks. CM spent hours building it.  Sadly, there is no photo of that.

Digby Doo decided to soak up as much attention and lovings as possible on the last day before our Spring Break. Although we pop in to check on him and keep his food and water topped up, he doesn't get the undivided attention he thrives on when everyone is at the Center.

Have a delightful Spring Break!
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The DRC Crew will be back on Monday, March 13th.

Thursday’s Kitchen Sink Science involved a challenge to create a device that would shoot an aluminum ball into a "goal." We noticed that the brothers who worked together and combined their skill sets- one is an artist and the other is mechanically inclined- designed successful devices. Bonus: they learned what a fulcrum is and why it is important.

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SOAR Presentation

Thank you to all of the folks who participated in the Exploring the Possibilities through Self-Directed Education SOAR class at the Canton Free Library on Wednesday. It was such a pleasure to share the history of DRC and how SDE informs our everyday life at the Center.

These are just a few of the slides from the presentation.