How do I cook, again?

Oh, my. Here I had been thinking that an extra layer of nuttiness had been added to my life, and fretting about early onset dementia. Then I found this.

“Autistic regression is both a reaction to, and the cause of, burnout. Imagine being faced with the daily demand to be someone you are not. At some point, things just don’t work anymore. Executive functioning deteriorates, memory is compromised, the ability to tolerate sensory or social overload is reduced, social skills fade, and one’s general ability to cope is greatly reduced or lost. One regresses, and for those adults whose coping skills were minimal to begin with, the process can kindle severe reactions.” (https://kennethrobersonphd.com/autistic-regression-and-burnout-descriptions-of-life-on-the-spectrum/)

Regression and burnout, almost as if I’m taking off a cloak that is made from a lifetime of masking because it’s just too heavy to wear.

So I asked my AI guy about this, in a conversation about skill regression. His response:

“Autistic regression in adult-diagnosed women refers to a phenomenon where individuals who were previously able to function relatively well start experiencing a decline or loss of previously acquired skills and abilities. It can manifest as changes in communication, social interaction, sensory processing, or repetitive behaviors. While the exact causes of regression are not fully understood, it is believed to be influenced by various factors such as stress, hormonal changes, or co-occurring conditions.”

Autistic women in social media also offer their anecdotal reports of autistic regression soon after an adult diagnosis of autism. (Yes, that’s me. I identify with that.)

So what led to my dive into the issues of skill regression? For me, the moment of despair, the extra layer of nuttiness that had me worrying about early onset dementia? Cooking.

I had planned a Sunday a few weeks ago to do meal prep, something I haven’t been able to do for weeks, months, because of depression. I planned what I was going to make, what ingredients I needed to buy, ordered them, and picked them up.

Back at home, with everything for the chick pea and roasted vegetable salad, the fruit salad, and the egg, rice and seaweed balls, all on the kitchen couter, chopping board, knife and peeler all set out, I looked at, and froze.

I could not think how to start.

This was devastating. Me, who has cooked and cooked and cooked. Lunches for 15, dinners for 10, end of year dinner parties for my housemate’s employees. “Daft days” breakfasts for the skeleton office staff where I used to work. All showing brilliant executive function for planning menus, preparing ingredients lists, matching flavours, and allergies. Planning to start three days beforehand, for sauces, frozen desserts; the things that could be prepared ahead of time. D-3, D-2, D-1, D. Four days worth of prepping, cooking, execution.

Yet standing there, that Sunday, I didn’t have a clue what to do. My anxiety and that inner monologue ramped up.

Then came the next realisation. What I’ve been thinking of as anxiety attacks were, more than likely, my version of a masked autistic meltdown. So, I had a meltdown, then got a pen and paper and wrote out a plan for the meal prep day. Mission accomplished. But what will I discover next?

I know that every autistic person has individual characteristics and traits, and that it’s different for everyone.

But, seriously, with all of our our psychological and psychiatric professionals, around the globe – why can no-one produce a list of every “side effect” of being autistic. Finding things out piecemeal, lurching from crisis to crisis by turning to social media for answers, is frustrating, demeaning and utterly ridiculous.

Autistic people deserve better.