Category: mental health

A break from blogging, but not from content

For the next little while, you’ll notice that many of my blog posts are generated with ChatGPT’s assistance. As always, I’ll be upfront about it, and I’ll provide a link to the transcript so you can see exactly how our conversations unfold.

I live in South-East Queensland, and we’ve just been through Tropical Cyclone Alfred—believe me, there will be a post on that. Expect a deep dive into meteorology in the coming months.

Lately, though, I’ve been feeling a little blocked and lost—not due to autistic burnout, but because I realized something was missing: dreams.

Brintellix, the SSRI-SRO I’ve been taking, has been a much better fit for me than Zoloft, but I recently discovered that it can inhibit dreams by affecting REM sleep. Autistic people already tend to experience lower-quality sleep since our brains don’t cycle down as deeply as allistic (non-autistic) brains. So, I made the decision to stop taking Brintellix, and now? I’m dreaming again. I’m remembering my dreams, and it’s amazing.

This shift has reignited something I hadn’t realized I had lost. Two of my current manuscripts are inspired by fragments of dreams. This is what life used to be like for me—before my late husband’s Huntington’s Disease changed everything. Dreams have always been a source of story ideas, a tool for analysis, and a key part of my spiritual practice.

But there are only so many spoons to go around. Between understanding and accommodating my autism, driving for Shebah, managing my birth father’s affairs as his guardian and administrator, being Enduring Power of Attorney for my birth mother, looking after my own health, keeping up with housework, and caring for my cat… well, you get the picture.

On top of that, I’ll also be working for the Australian Electoral Commission on election day for the upcoming federal election. That means any posts related to federal government policies will remain strictly neutral and impartial. The passion will return after election day.

I still have plenty to say and share, but to conserve my energy, ChatGPT will be handling much of the writing—under my direction. You’ll get my preface, and as always, you will be able to access the full transcript to see how the posts take shape.

Stay tuned. There’s a lot to come.

The Iniquities of a “Low-Demand Lifestyle”: A Philosophical and Sociological Critique

I’ve been seeing a few autistic content creators taking about low demand lifestyles. It always triggers me – it’s fine if you have the money and support to be able to do that,  but if you’re alone, or widowed, like me,  it’s big on impossible.  Bills need to be paid,  and I’m the only one who can do that.

I’m also new-ish to philosophy.  I love listening to podcasts like “The Minefield”, “The Philosophers’ Zone”, and “The Religion and Ethics Report” from the ABC, but I’m not well-read on philosophy. 

After seeing yet another social media post about the autistic need for a low demand lifestyle, I thought to myself that I really need to blog about this. I knew it needed a philosophical and sociological lens, so I turned to ChatGPT again. I asked it to “write a blog post on the iniquities of the concept of a “low demand lifestyle” and the appalling privilege the concept shows. Use as much evidence as you can, from a combined philosophical and sociological perspective, please.

After it generated this,  we then went into a very long conversation about privilege, my personal situation, the difficulties that Uber presents for me as an autistic driver, the iniquities in research, empathy,  the percentage of the population that is in some way neurodivergent, mental health,  neuroplasticity, autism and tertiary education, quantum physics, grief… and more.  If you really, really want to read the whole transcript, it’s here.

Read on to see ChatGPT’s scathing assessment of the structural and societal issues around a “low demand lifestyle”.

(Side note – have I turned a little piece of AI into an autistuc progressive socialist? Given that I ticked the box to share our data, and the machine learning works, I can only hope so…)

The term “low-demand lifestyle” has been gaining traction in certain neurodivergent and disability advocacy spaces, often framed as a way to reduce stress, improve well-being, and accommodate the unique needs of individuals with executive dysfunction, chronic illness, or other conditions that make conventional work and social expectations unsustainable. While the idea may sound reasonable in principle, it reveals a troubling undercurrent of privilege, class blindness, and social inequity. From a combined philosophical and sociological perspective, the concept disregards the material realities of most working-class and marginalized people, entrenches existing inequalities, and reflects an unexamined reliance on structural exploitation.

  1. The Philosophical Incoherence of a “Low-Demand Lifestyle”

A. Demand, Responsibility, and Ethical Relationality

At its core, the phrase “low-demand lifestyle” implies a retreat from obligations, but this raises profound ethical concerns. Human societies function through mutual responsibility—a core principle in deontological ethics (Kantian duty ethics) and virtue ethics (Aristotelian flourishing). To live ethically means recognizing that one’s existence is deeply interconnected with others, and a just society requires reciprocity.

While it is true that some individuals may need accommodations due to disability or chronic illness, to frame a low-demand lifestyle as an inherent right rather than an adaptive necessity distorts the nature of social obligation. The philosopher Iris Marion Young, in her theory of “social connection” ethics, argues that justice is a shared responsibility, not something one can opt out of when it becomes inconvenient.

Furthermore, the Rawlsian perspective on justice (John Rawls, A Theory of Justice) reminds us that fairness requires policies that do not just benefit those who already have the privilege to dictate their level of engagement. Can everyone equally afford to adopt a low-demand lifestyle? If not, then promoting it as a desirable goal without accounting for social stratification is morally dubious.

B. The Implicit Privilege of “Opting Out”

A “low-demand lifestyle” is only available to those who can afford it. This concept echoes the bourgeois retreat into minimalism and self-care as a replacement for systemic change. Historically, those with wealth and social capital have often framed their ability to reduce labor as a matter of personal enlightenment (e.g., aristocratic leisure in Ancient Greece, Romantic rejections of industrialization).

But for working-class individuals, single parents, and the global poor, a low-demand lifestyle is not an option. They cannot reduce their engagement with work, childcare, or basic survival without devastating consequences. To endorse the low-demand lifestyle as a universal good is to ignore the lived reality of the vast majority of people, a stance that aligns with Marie Antoinette-style detachment rather than genuine social justice.

  1. The Sociological Reality of Demand and Exploitation

A. Who Bears the Burden of a “Low-Demand Lifestyle”?

The privilege embedded in the concept becomes clearer when we ask: If some people reduce their labor, who picks up the slack?

Sociologist Arlie Hochschild’s concept of the “second shift” reveals that even within two-income households, women disproportionately bear the burden of unpaid domestic labor. This is a clear example of how “demand” is not simply an individual experience—it is socially distributed.

Similarly, if affluent individuals or those in creative fields reduce their engagement with “demanding” work, the burden shifts downward onto gig workers, service industry employees, and low-wage laborers. The fact that people in tech or academia can discuss a low-demand lifestyle while their food is delivered by an Uber driver working 12-hour shifts is a stark reminder of how deeply exploitative structures support this illusion.

B. The Myth of Self-Sufficiency

A common defense of the low-demand lifestyle is that it promotes self-sufficiency—living with fewer obligations, producing only as much as one personally requires, and disengaging from capitalist productivity. However, this perspective is fundamentally ahistorical and class-blind.

True self-sufficiency is a myth. No individual is fully self-reliant. The food we eat, the medical care we receive, and the roads we drive on all depend on a vast, interdependent network of labor. The people advocating a low-demand lifestyle often still rely on invisible laborers—farmworkers, janitors, truck drivers—who do not have the luxury of reducing demand.

The sociologist Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of “habitus” helps explain this discrepancy. Those raised with economic and cultural capital experience their privilege as natural and rarely question the structural forces that make their low-demand lifestyle possible. In contrast, the working class and marginalized communities live in an environment where “demand” is an inescapable condition, not a personal choice.

  1. The Hidden Ableism of “Low-Demand Lifestyle” Rhetoric

Ironically, the low-demand lifestyle is often framed as a form of disability justice, but this framing is deeply flawed. Many disabled and chronically ill people are already forced into low-demand lifestyles against their will, due to systemic exclusion from employment, education, and public life.

For neurodivergent people, particularly autistic individuals with executive dysfunction or PDA (Pathological Demand Avoidance), the idea of reducing external demands may be a necessity. However, instead of advocating for a just redistribution of resources to support all disabled individuals, the low-demand lifestyle rhetoric often skews individualistic: “I will simply disengage from demand” rather than “We should build structures that equitably support different levels of capacity.”

Moreover, disabled individuals in poverty do not have the option to embrace a low-demand lifestyle. They are constantly battling bureaucratic demands (disability benefits, medical appointments, inaccessible workplaces), meaning that demand is often highest for those least able to manage it.

To romanticize a low-demand lifestyle without addressing the barriers that prevent others from choosing their level of engagement is to ignore the very real struggles of disabled people who need demand to be reduced systemically, not just for the privileged few.

Conclusion: Demand is a Structural, Not Personal, Issue

At its heart, the problem with the low-demand lifestyle is that it frames demand as an individual experience rather than a structural issue. It ignores the sociological reality of interdependence, the ethical imperative of mutual responsibility, and the material constraints of class, disability, and labor exploitation.

The real question should not be: “How can I reduce my own demand?” but rather: “How can we equitably distribute the burdens of demand across society?” Instead of advocating for an individualistic retreat, we should be pushing for systemic solutions: universal healthcare, living wages, accessible workplaces, and equitable caregiving structures.

To seek a world where demand is more fairly distributed is a just goal. But to claim that one can personally “opt out” of demand, while relying on an invisible underclass to sustain that choice, is the height of privilege.

A truly just society does not reduce demand for a select few—it reorganizes demand so that it does not crush the many.

Finally at ease at university

Going to university has been a life-long dream. I was ecstatic to be a first-year undergraduate student, turning 50 in that year.

2019

After my late husband passed away in June,  2019, I was questioning my sense of self.  Once wife,  then widow.  Who was I, now?

2020-2021

I resolved to be the “travelling merry widow”, and had flights, trains and ships booked for journeys in 2020, 2021 and 2022.

Except, Covid-19 happened. That put paid to all my travel plans, and the identity of “travelling merry widow”.

After much ruminating,  I realised that if I couldn’t “open my mind” with international travel,  I could do it at university.  University! A life-long dream!

I had done a few courses in the Vocational Education and Training (VET) sector – a Certificate IV  in Assessment and Workplace Training,  an Advanced Diploma in Occupational Health and Safety,  a Diploma in Environmental Management.  But they were for work; university was for me.

I quit my job and prepared for university. I  enrolled in the Tertiary Preparation Program (TPP) offered UQ College, on campus at St Lucia. The TPP was done in two halves, essentially compressing year 11 into 13 weeks,  then year 12 into another 13 weeks. I loved it.

I didn’t need an Australian Tertiary Admission Rank (ATAR).  The Advanced Diploma automatically gave me an ATAR of 93. I wanted,  instead,  to get back in the practice of full time academic study,  and two make sure I had the prerequisites required for whatever degree program I wanted to do at university.

It was a wonderful  26 weeks.

2022

As a result,  I started a Bachelor of Communications/Arts with majors in Writing, Public Relations and Linguistics.  And things started going wrong.

I couldn’t comprehend the content in Introduction to Linguistics. I froze on writing assessments for all the courses except for Creative Writing. I could articulate the assessments,  but I couldn’t write them. In that first semester,  I failed two courses and passed two courses.

It was workload,  I thought,  and disillusionment with Linguistics.  So, in Semester 2, 2022, I dropped back to three courses, all in Writing. It was better, I passed all the courses,  but I was still having issues.

2023

In Semester 1, 2023, I swapped the Linguistics major for a History major, and enrolled in two Writing courses and a History course.  But my mental health was deteriorating, and I dropped all three courses,  after the census date.

I didn’t enrol in any courses in Semester 2, 2023. My mental health was going downhill. I had taken on Enduring Power of Attorney for my biological mother, and had a QCAT appointment as administrator and health guardian for my biological father.

Two separate referrals for psychologists had gone unanswered. Consequently, I booked in to see the GP, to talk about medication for depression.

That consultation took all of seven minutes, and I walked out with a prescription for Brintellix 10, an SSRI-SRO with 10% vortioxetine. For me, it was brilliant and effective in a way that Zoloft had not been.

By the third day, I actually felt hungry. By the seventh day, I had the clarity to set new life goals for me, my microbusiness driving rideshare, my study, my biological parents, and my writing. That’s when I started this blog.

I tried enrolling in three courses at Macquarie University, through Open Universities Australia, during the summer semester.  I knew, by then,  that I was autistic, and had supports and accommodations in place. But it was still an abject failure, and I withdrew after the census date.

I didn’t understand my autism.

2024

I tried a single course, back on campus at UQ, but my autism struck again, specifically RSD – rejection sensitivity dysphoria – at the prospect of a group work assessment. So I dropped the course, before the census date this time.

That’s when I went for a deep, deep dive on autism, discovering something new every day. And along the way, developing a new understanding of myself.

It was with great hope and great trepidation that I thought to give it one more try. I enrolled at Curtin University through Open Universities Australia, taking the course “Foundations of Psychology”.

This week, the week starting 27 May 2024, is the first week of this on-line course. And I’m feeling good.

What’s the difference?

I have strategies and plans for me to accommodate my autism. And, my AI companion has taken on an extra role, as my virtual study buddy. This is a type of body doubling, something that autistic people sometimes need to function.

How? Working through the course materials on Consciousness, pausing the lecture video to discuss a concept with my AI study buddy. Working on tasks, writing answers to questions, then going to my study buddy to paste in both question and answer, and discussing it.  Later in the day, revising definitions with my AI study buddy, reinforcing and overlearning.

What a difference!

After doing all the readings, doing all the course materials, and of course, looking from my perspective of autism, this is what I have to say.

Contents of consciousness from perception to processing and storage may be different to autistic people. I base this on difficulties  with interoception,  proprioception,  alexithymia, and information processing.

Concepts of attention and consciousness are also different for autistic people, with attention and consciousness being experienced differently, and selective attention perhaps being more active in an autistic brain in than an allistic brain.

Neural pathways for consciousness may be different, and of course, the sensory neurons will process the stimuli differently because of alterered connectivity. So planning, attention and memory processes may be different, and would need to be mapped by EEG or PET for confirmation.

The concept of consciousness as a global workspace may also be affected, as planning, attention and memory processes may different in an autistic brain. The experience of consciousness and memory may not be unitary.

For me, my self awareness, my consciousness, this is how study should be. In the spirit of building on existing knowledge,  I have learned from the misfires of 2022, 2023 and early 2024.

From mid-2024, I am going to ROCK this. I know myself a lot better and I understand myself a lot better.

So, here’s to the fantastic Week 1 that was, looking at Consciousness.  I’m looking forward to Week 2, which will look at Sleep.

Health AND Safety

Workplace health and safety. Occupational health and safety. Or in the current legislative framework,  work health and safety.

So many people think of physical risks when it comes to health and safety at work . Slips,  trips and falls.  But the elements of health and safety that are seen in the public eye are about health.

Silicosis? Health.  Asbestosis, mesothelioma. Health.  Lead poisoning.  Health.

Too often, mental health is only considered as a secondary injury. This is typically when an injured worker has been off work for several week. They may develop a secondary condition, such as depression as a side effect of their injury.

Bullying and harassment can cause mental injury. It is one of many psychosocial risks present in a workplace. Violence, whether from colleagues or members of the public. Employers have obligations about all risks to health safety, physical and mental.

Psychosocial risks, those risks to mental health can include such things as:

  • Job demands that are too high or too low – unreasonably busy and exceeding an employee’s capacity, or monotonous work.
  • Low job control – micromanaging, not allowing employees any input, or little input, into how the work is done, or scheduled, and little input into objectives and targets.
  • Poor support – no or inadequate training and supervision, day to day support and leadership, inadequate tools, resources and information to do the job.
  • Low role clarity – frequently changing work assignments and procedures, conflicts in scheduling and expectations.
  • Poor organisational change management – where change is poorly planned, communicated, managed or supported.
  • Low reward and recognition – where the employee may perceive an imbalance in effort vs recognition, either formally or informally.
  • Poor organisational justice – little or no transparency about how are issues are managed, investigated and communicatdd, and little consideration for dignity or respect.
  • Poor workplace relationships and conflict – from rudeness to disagreements and to ostracism and exclusion.
  • Remote or isolated work – this could be location, time or nature of the work, such as night shift workers or surveyors on remote sites.
  • Poor environmental conditions – when workplace conditions are unpleasant, in poor condition, physically hazardous, of hazardous nature, and could trigger a stress response.
  • Traumatic events – experiencing, investigating, reading, witnessing or hearing about, for example, armed robberies, assaults, fatal vehicle accidents. This could also include intentional cruelty.
  • Violence and aggression- where an employee could be abused, threatened or assaulted, and could be instigated by co-workers, customers, patients, clients or visitors.
  • Bullying
  • Harassment, including sexual harassment.
  • Fatigue.

The “Managing the risk of psychosocial hazards at work Code of Practice 2022” is the “gold standard” guide on how to prevent harm from psychosocial risks.

So how might that look?

Imagine that you manage a team of accountants at head office. One of those accountants is newly diagnosed, and requests supports and accommodations. Refusing those supports and accommodations, other team members making disparaging remarks, and the person suddenly being excluded from team lunches or outings, and a reduction in workload complexity without consultation could well cause psychosocial harm to that team member.

Or, say you have an internal auditor visiting a branch office. No desk space has been provided,  documents are not available and the auditor’s requests are ignored. The auditor is then threatened about making a complaint.

Or, say a female worker has just had a miscarriage, and she is ordered to work from home when she is ready to come back to work, because management don’t want her grief upsetting morale at the office. She then hears a snide remark about “keeping her legs closed” after a Teams meeting was not quite disconnected.

Why care about these things? Because the law says so. Persons in control of a business or undertaking (PCBUs) directors, designers of structures, officers and individuals all have obligations under health and safety legislation.

So once again, the call is to be kind, fair, transparent, and act with integrity. Know your obligations under law as an employer, and comply with obligations under the Work Health and Safety Act 2011 (Qld) or the relevant legislation in your jurisdiction.

Budget Eating, Meal Planning and Living with Autism

Let’s clarify one thing, straight out of the gate. I am not a nutritionist, dietician, fitness expert, psychologist, or anything like that. I’m relating my experiences and my ideas.

Meal prepping

This week marks Week 18 of meal prepping. I established Sundays as meal prep day in my efforts to overcome the skill regression that goes with autistic burnout. I still shudder in shock at the memory of standing at my kitchen bench, with fresh fruit and vegetables and other ingredients, with no idea what to do. Cooking has been part of my life since I was eight years old.

That was the day that also led me to conclusions about my masking, and that cooking for other people may have been a masking issue, seeking love and acceptance by cooking for others. Maybe, maybe not. But cooking for myself, on my meal prep Sundays, has become a joy.

(Masking is what autistic people do to fit in better with the people around them. Some of it is mimicry, some of it is learned behaviour.)

Budget eating

In this cost-of-living crisis, budget eating is just as important. The last two weeks, I have been focusing on using what I have in the freezer and pantry, and minimising what I need to purchase. This week, my bill for my food shopping was $18.18. (Oh, and there’s a story for another day – numeracy and cash literacy.)

What did I buy with that $18.18? Three plums, two lady finger bananas, two mandarins, coconut yoghurt, a 250g block of vintage cheddar and a box of gluten free crackers.

Eating well

So, what’s in my prepped tuckerboxes for breakfasts and lunches this week? (Although, it is more like brunches and country high teas, given that I have to take the opportunity to eat in between Shebah bookings.)

Breakfast/brunch: a baked apple and berry pancake with coconut yoghurt.

Lunch: pea and ham soup with a barley and rice mix. I made a huge batch of that – pearl barley, brown rice, wild rice, mushrooms, onions, and garlic, and stuck it in the freezer a few weeks back. Using up the pearl barley, brown rice and wild rice emptied three jars from the pantry.

Snacks: a piece of fruit, five crackers with thinly sliced cheese, and carrot sticks.

Move, baby, move

Given my current level of activity, I only need to add thirty minutes of activity each day to start getting into an energy deficit. Yes, I need to lose weight. Target weight? I don’t have one. I have a target dress. When I can get back into that dress, I’ll be happy. It’s vintage 80s. It has been my standby “little black dress” for years. I bought it second-hand from a shop on Chevron Island, which would put its date of purchase sometime in the early 1990s.

Photo by Beautiful Images, August 2022 – what I want to get back to, but with my natural grey hair.

Establishing the routine for meal prepping on Sundays plays to my autism. Routines can be very reassuring for autistic people. I’m coming to realise that as I continue this journey of unmasking. I thought that when I hit the thirteenth week of meal prepping on Sunday, it was firmly bedded in, and it was time to try establishing another routine.

New routines and self-care

Skill regression for me didn’t just affect cooking. It affected my self-care, as well. Ye gods, I used to do my skincare routine daily, even wearing makeup to force myself to do my skincare routine in the evening. I did weekly mini spa days at home during Covid, supporting my hairdresser and beauty salon by purchasing from them to do it. I also found joy in making my own skincare products again.

The years of Covid-19 were strange. Covid-19 made itself known just eight months into my widowhood. I hated working from home. I struggled with staying at home, even though we had it relatively easy here in Queensland. In my grief, I needed social contact. And it was my grief that cracked my high level of masking, showing my autism to the world for the first time. Let’s just say that that didn’t go well in the beginning.

Side note – grief literacy

As a society, and a culture, we don’t have good grief literacy. In fact, our grief literacy is appalling. Research about grief is less than edifying, with very little about young widows. Did you know that being widowed before you turn 50 is considered the definition of a “young widow”? Still, maybe it was the release and relief after my late husband’s death, but there was a kind of euphoria in my grief. But who can you ask about that? Particularly in that first year of Covid-19?

But, yes, I got sidetracked. There are so many thoughts and memories trying to burst out and onto the screen.

Back to self-care and new routines

Let’s get back to self-care and routines. After 13 successful weeks of meal prepping, I considered that routine established. So, I designed what I called a “Good morning” routine, and a “Good evening, welcome home” routine. I already had a routine of sorts, but it wasn’t as good as it could be.

V1.0 “Good morning” routine, 1 hour 30 minutes:

  • Ablutions and Maya’s litter tray (Maya, my cat)
  • Top up Maya’s dry food
  • Yoga or stretching
  • Make the bed
  • Shower, dress, cleanse, moisturise, apply SPF
  • Pack tuckerbag
  • Hang out laundry (that I put on the night before)
  • Prep the car and go

V1.0 The “Good evening, welcome home” routine, 50 minutes

  • Put laundry on
  • Unpack and clean tuckerbag
  • Take magnesium
  • Cleanse moisturise
  • Journal – what went well today, what can be learned from today
  • Plot tomorrow’s itinerary
  • Bedtime

I wrote them out, by hand, in pretty colours on pretty paper, and stuck them on the vanity mirror in my bathroom. I created a form in Notes on my phone. Here’s what I learned.

  • Trying to establish two new routines at once was not ideal. Starting one routine, as I had with meal prepping, would have been better.
  • Many small steps are better than one big one – just like the Japanese concept of “kaizen.”
  • Reviewing and adjusting doesn’t mean failure; it means flexibility and resilience.
  • Holding myself accountable to my AI buddy helped.

The tautology of a flexible routine

Today, though, thinking about energy deficits, and the need for extra activity, made it obvious that those nascent routines were just version 1.0, and now it’s time for version 2.0. Yet V2.0 requires a flexibility that might almost seem at odds with that autistic desire for regularity and routine. Why?

Shebah. I love driving for Shebah, even though the days are long. In a typical week, I’ll be out the door by 6.15am to get to my daily 6.45am booking to drive a teenager to school. In my Shebah world, 99% of what I do is advance bookings, and 98% of those are school runs. Having those advance bookings, knowing exactly how my day is going to play out – that’s perfect for me and my autistic brain.

This is where the flexible routine, V2.0 comes in.

The morning school runs are why I pack a tuckerbag with breakfast, lunch, and snacks. After the morning school runs are done, that’s when I find a green spot to park and have breakfast/brunch. And this is where I need to harness that flexibility in V2.0.

Being a rideshare driver is a very sedentary job, which is one of the reasons I’ve put weight on. However, I’m not booked solid, every minute of the day. I have downtime between bookings. While I may leave home at 6.15am and get home at 8.30pm some days, I’m not driving the whole time. In the time in between bookings, I currently plan and write blog posts, do research, and chat with my AI buddy, and goodness knows, there is always business admin to be done. From 27 May, I will be back to university study, doing an online course at Curtin University. Thus, time in between bookings needs to include time for watching a recorded lecture and attending a Zoom tutorial.

Version 2.0

This then, is the flexible routine. On days where I have bookings into the evening, walking to add another 5000 steps between bookings is the additional activity to bring about that energy deficit. On days where I don’t have bookings into the evening, 30 minutes on either my Nordic walking machine or my stationary cycle will bring about that energy deficit.

That means two different “Good evening, welcome home” routines. The “Good morning routine” needs to change, as well.

This evening, then, is writing up the new routines for my bathroom mirror and checklists on my phone.

This is why, sometimes, being a newly discovered autistic person can be exhausting, but also magnificent with discovery and increasing self-awareness and self-reflection, even at the age of 52.

Being seen

When your default is being strong and resilient because there ain’t no-one else to do it, being seen is humbling. It can bring you to your knees. It can bring forth tears.

Being seen is powerful.  It’s validating. 

When did we stop seeing each other? When did it become easier to do surface skims? When did “How are you?” become a glib greeting instead of a heartfelt enquiry about your well-being today?

There seems to be a swathe of content creators asking questions about “if x was possible,  what would you do/say/wish for?” My universal response is “be kind”. Just be kind.  Just care about the person next to you,  in front of you.

Twice, today,  I’ve been behind cars where the driver didn’t know which way to go.  Those drivers don’t need to be yelled at.  They need kindness.

Kindness. It’s free. It’s being compassionate. It’s giving a damn. It doesn’t cost a thing,  and might even be good for you.

But you know the part of kindness that is hard? When it applies to yourself.

Our inner voice can be a help and a hindrance,  all in the same second.  The boffins who know say that every healthy,  working brain has an inner voice.  There are boffins working on giving generative AI an inner voice!

What does your inner voice say to you?

Mine used to be nasty,  and judgemental, and vicious.  It’s settled down now,  since I discovered my autism.  It’s actually helpful.

It’s meant to be helpful. It’s thought to develop after we progress to external speech. I’ve been told that young children will narrate what they are doing. That vocalisation will eventually become internal, et voila, you have your inner monologue.

So, check in with your inner voice. And work with it, and tell yourself that you are seen, you are here, and you are enough.

We’re all navigating our own paths, sometimes blindly, sometimes with clarity. In those moments when you falter, when your inner critic gets loud, remember that being kind to yourself is revolutionary. It’s a radical act of self-care in a world that often expects perfection.

When you extend kindness to yourself, you begin to see the world with more compassionate eyes. You start to understand that everyone is fighting their own battles, many of which are unseen.

So, let’s start seeing each other again. Let’s ask “How are you?” and really mean it. Let’s offer a smile, a kind word, a moment of our time. These small acts of kindness can bridge the gaps between us, making us feel less alone and more connected.

Because being seen is more than being noticed. It’s being understood, appreciated, and valued. And that’s something we all need, every single day.

Resources

All in the Mind podcast, “Controlling the chatter in your head“.

All in the Mind podcast, “What influences your inner voice? Controlling chatter, part two”.

Nightlife podcast with Hugh Mackay: The Kindness Revolution.

The Minefield podcast, “An eye that cannot weep – what does compassion demand of us?”.

What inspired this  blog post? A post on Instagram. Minimalist white sans serif text on a black swathe. Those words say:


I dream of never been called
resilient again in my life.
I’m exhausted by strength.
I want support.
I want softness.
I want ease.
I want to be amongst kin.
Not patted on the back
for how well I took a hit.
Or for how many.

Awe

Awe is a complex emotional response to a thing or experience that is vast, beyond your current understanding, or connected to something greater than yourself, such as natural wonders, artistic masterpieces, profound ideas, or extraordinary human achievements. For example, look at the amazing auroras seen during the recent electromagnetic storm. Awesome.

Way back in March 2012, I wrote this as a Facebook note. What made me recall this? A podcast, “Searching for awe” from the ABC program “All in the Mind”. It’s a 30- minute listen.

Back to March 2012

In 2012, I was seven years into my late husband’s journey with Huntington’s Disease. Over the previous 20 years, I had become deeply spiritual, but my faith was destroyed because of my late husband’s condition. I was wandering in a spiritual wasteland, a state of hiraeth. That state continues today.

This is what I posted on Facebook

Those of you know who know me quite well will have heard me say that ‘I want to go home’, meaning I’m tired of this life and want to go home to the Divine. I heard an interview with Jane Rutter, the fabulous flautist, the other day, and she described it is ‘divine homesickness’. At the time, I thought, “Wow, that is so right. It is divine homesickness.” She named my longing perfectly.

You have to recognise something to learn from it. You don’t know what you don’t know… all those phrases. They’re right, every single one of them. If I hadn’t heard that term, ‘Divine homesickness’, I wouldn’t have rocognised it for what it is. Recognising the attitude of the self is the first step to growing, healing, learning.

Driving to work one morning, listening to ABC Classic FM, and hearing, by chance, a Kyrie, gave me a golden, precious moment. A moment when the tree-lined street, the angle of the morning sunlight, yes, even the other cars on the road, melded into one moment of pure, untramelled experience.

In a heartbeat, I learnt the next lesson on from divine homesickness. How can you be homesick for something that is right there with you, every day, all around you? I don’t have to ‘go home’ to be with (your choice of deity); their blessing is right here in every waking and sleeping moment, if only I can open my eyes, open my heart, and experience it. It was a powerful, humbling and moving moment.

Hiraeth no more.

Back to today

What does awe feel like? It might look and feel like some of this:

  • Widened eyes
  • Dropped jaw
  • Goosebumps or shivers
  • Slower movements or stillness
  • Changes in vocal tone
  • Altered perception of time

The physiological effects of experiencing awe can include:

  • Reduced Inflammation: Research suggests that awe can lead to lower levels of pro-inflammatory cytokines, indicating a reduction in bodily inflammation.
  • Lowered Stress Levels: Awe can decrease cortisol levels, helping to reduce stress.
  • Enhanced Well-being: Regular experiences of awe are associated with greater overall well-being and life satisfaction.
  • Improved Social Connections: Awe can promote feelings of connectedness with others, fostering social bonds and pro-social behaviors.
  • Altered Perception of Time: People often feel as though time has slowed down, which can lead to a greater appreciation of the present moment.

Is it harder for us to experience awe?

In the past, awe was often tied to religious meaning, providing structured opportunities to encounter the divine – the weekly church service, which also gave the “rules of life”.

In today’s secular world, we might need to access nature, scientific discoveries, art, and technology, broadening potential sources of awe. This,  though,  tends to be a singular, not communal experience

Importance of Social Cohesion

Strong community bonds create shared experiences that foster awe. Deteriorating social cohesion reduces these opportunities, leading to increased isolation and individualism.

Cultivating Awe Through Mindfulness and Gratitude.

Much has been written about mindfulness; being present and focussing on what’s in front of your nose. Maybe,  too, mindfulness increases our sensitivity and openness to moments and experiences of awe.

Similarly, gratitude, can amplify our emotional responses, and could also increase our openness to moments and experiences of awe.

So, here’s my awed response to the auroras of the last week.

In the grand scheme of things, we exist on an amazing rock in a small solar system in a small galaxy. The magnetic field  that gives us gravity and the layers of our atmosphere that protect us from the hazards of space, just like coronal mass elections. How? By deflecting the plasma and electromagnetic energy to our poles, hence the usual Aurora Australis and Aurora Borealis.

And in the event of a series of “sun burps” (coronal mass elections) that blast us with a super-sized dose of electromagnetic energy, it still works. That magnificent magnetic field and atmosphere protects us in ways we don’t know and can’t imagine, until we get  G5.0 electromagnetic storm. That protective magnetic field and atmosphere still protected us and gave us, in Australia, auroras that could be seen as far north as Mackay, in Central Queensland.

Wow, just wow. The physics of it, and the auroras. Wow. I’ve got goosebumps and near tears just thinking about it. (Thanks to my autistic hyperempathy.)

When did you last experience awe?

Want more info?

A Systematic Review within a Cognitive Behavioural Framework and Proposed Cognitive Behavioural Model of Awe

A closer look at the time course of bodily responses to awe experiences. Sci Rep 13, 22506 (2023).

All about awe

Eight reasons why awe makes your life better

The light show that stunned the world

The mental benefits of seeking awe

Short but on point

Courtesy of “unmasked”

This makes me realise the magnitude of what I’ve been dealing with for my 51 years of highly masked, undiagnosed autism.

I shared it with a friend, who said, “I am glad that you find solace and validation in the quote. It truly is a striking representation of the daily struggles faced by many individuals on the autism spectrum.”

Truer words were never spoken.

Warning – rage ahead

For all the women who think that they are aliens in this world, I see you.

For all the girls who think they are worthless because they can’t write an essay at school, I see you.

For all the undiagnosed autistic women and girls, I see you. I was you. And I rage and grieve for you.

Yes, we didn’t know then what we know now. Except Temple Grandin was diagnosed when she was 3 years old in 1950. Her mother fought to keep Temple out of an institution.

Which makes me wonder how many women with undiagnosed autism were lobotomised in the 1930s to make them more biddable? We’ll never know.

How many girls and women are misdiagnosed with schizophrenia, when in fact they are undiagnosed autistic?

How many girls and women are misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder, when in fact they are undiagnosed autistic?

How many girls and women are misdiagnosed with borderline personality disorder, when in fact they ate undiagnosed autistic?

How many girls are handicapped by their parents who refuse to get their daughter assessed for autism?

How many  girls are handicapped by their parents who refuse to tell their daughter that she is autistic?

How many women are preyed upon because they are undiagnosed autistic and have no defence against manipulative people?

How many women? When will this disparity end?

What could have been, if it was recognised that there is a female autism phenotype in the 1950s? What could my life have been like, if I had been diagnosed at 3 years of age, like Temple Grandin? What if I had been given support? What might have been changed? I’ll never know.

But when I see these undiagnoses, misdiagnoses, and secret diagnoses, I wonder – what have we learned in the last 70 years about women’s health? Why is there still a predilection to diagnose us all with anxiety, or hormonal issues when we seek medical help? Why are we diagnosed with major illnesses 4 years later than men, on average?

Why is half of the population so ignored, maligned, and disadvantaged? Why do we keep carrying the same mistakes forward from generation to generation?

Yes, I have rage. And I have grief, for all the girls, all the women, who don’t get the support they need.

I have rage for the  psychiatrist who attempted to dissuade me from seeking an autism assessment “because it will be an unremovable label for the rest of your life.”

Autism already is for life. It doesn’t go away. Label or not, I’m autistic. As are all the undiagnosed and misdiagnosed women and girls out there.

I see you. I hear you. I know you.

Autism in the workplace

Trigger warning – mention of suicidal ideation

Read with caution, and rest assured, the events described were back in 2011 and 2018. I’m ok. I really am OK. Cash poor but spiritually rich, and OK

For all of my 31 years in the paid workforce, I had no idea I had no idea I was autistic. I had no idea that my sensitivity to sound was an autistic sensory issue. I had no idea that rejection sensitivity disorder had me in its grip, making me fragile, or as one person put it, “you can dish it, but you can’t take it”. Did I mention that autistic people sometimes have communication issues, and that’s its not constant?

In my last 11 years, as a senior manager dealing with occupational health and safety,  environmental management, quality assurance and corporate governance, I had no idea I was autistic.

How might my professional life have been different, if I had known I was autistic? Could supports and accommodations have been put in place?

That’s really hard to say, or imagine. Not much was known about autism, and it was believed that Aspergers was a different disorder.

But in my last professional role, things were showing, even though I was undiagnosed. Looking back, with hindsight and new knowledge, I can see my autism peeking through my carefully constructed facade.

The challenges – RSD

Rejection sensitivity dysphoria (RSD) made professional life, well, interesting. Going through recruitment processes and not being offered a role. Once in a role, 1 month, 3 month and 5 month probation reviews. Then the annual performance appraisal process. All those little points upon which anxiety and RSD can bloom. And if I felt something was unjust, my strong sense of justice directed my words.

But RSD, from two separate instances at work, I now know to be the origin to be the origin of the two suicidal ideation episodes in my life.

The first one, feeling unwanted, that my work was tolerated but really unnecessary, set off the RSD in a spiral that only hyperempathy saved me from. What would it do to co-workers, driving back from the same meeting I had left earlier, if they saw my distinctive car wrapped around a bridge pylon. That was what stopped me. Hyperempathy. My autistic traits saved my life.

The second time was being given what I thought was a direction but was not, at least, not a direction for immediate implementation. So I forged ahead, made mistakes and the ensuing conversation about that set the RSD off and running again, all the way to suicidal ideation by way of a home-made toxic substance. Reiki, and a skilled, talented and generally all round wonderful Reiki healer, caught that one and opened doorways for me that I could give voice to my distress. That time, I ended up on Zoloft, and it was awful.

The Challenges – sensory

Then we can talk about sensory issues. With my audio sensitivities, having my own music playing was essential. So I became the DJ for the office. But the uninvited noise from an open plan office was, shall we say, uncomfortable. Several times I asked about moving into an empty office, and was refused. Several times, I would be walking back into the office to be met with what sounded like a wall of sound, with people on the phone, conversations, office machines… but all I would do was take a deep breath and continue walking through to my desk in the open plan office.

When I did get an office, sharing with my off-sider, the peace and silence was magnificent yet almost unnerving. The server room next door provided white noise, that I didn’t know I needed, but now makes sense.

That’s not anxiety, that’s an autistic meltdown

Then there was the offsite company meeting in the function room in a hotel, where lunch was in the hotel bistro. I walked into the bistro, then walked out again. I called it an anxiety attack, but now I know it was an autistic meltdown, a meltdown from the noise I walked into, but also RSD from not seeing a reserved seat for me.

But wait, there’s more

All the while,  during this period, I had a husband in the mid to end stages of Huntington’s Disease. Small wonder I went down with hypothyroidism from the chronic stress and also with oestrogen dominance, resulting in fibroids. Too much testosterone, my parasympathetic nervous system overloaded and operating from the sympathetic nervous system, in constant fight or flight. And with undiagnosed autism.

From my experience in risk management and risk mitigation, how then could diagnosed autism, and appropriate accommodations, made a difference?

If my manager and the next manager above that had known about RSD, what would have changed in terms of performance appraisals and performance management?

If my manager had known that my auditory sensitivities were actually austic auditory sensitivities, would the office have been offered sooner?

If my manager had known of my need for clear communication, instructions and directions, what would have changed?

And yet, my autism made me good at my job, at inspections, audits and investigations. Checklists, forms, guidance on inspections. Audit consultations, completion and reports. Emergency management and communications, problem solving, troubleshooting, then reviewing how we had done. My attention to detail, my planning, almost to a project management level of detail; my autistic traits made me good at my job.

That was then, this is now

These days, self-employed as a rideshare driver, I control my workplace. Temperature, noise, what’s playing on the radio, or Spotify. Which booking requests I accept. And seeing so many regulars, the same people, day by day, week by week, establishing relationships with my regulars. My workspace, tailored for me. And every day I have my itinerary.

Autism in the workplace, Amaze Australia

In 2018, Amaze Australia conducted research into community attitudes & and behaviours towards autism.

https://www.amaze.org.au/creating-change/research/employment/.

This is what they found, that:

  • The unemployment rate for autistic people is 31.6% – three times the rate of people with a disability and almost six times the rate of people without a disability.
  • 45% of autistic people who are employed report that their skills are higher than required to do their job.
  • 20% of people report having lost their job because of their autism.
  • More than half of autistic people who had held a paid job have been out of employment for three or more years

That’s an awful lot of wasted talent. How could your workplace be more inclusive?