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Top 7 Reasons Numbered Lists Absolutely Do NOT Help This #ActuallyAutistic
🚨Content Warning: Read one autist's experience and… you've read ONE autist's experience. Like a sunset, there's everyone different. And yet? Universal.
#Autism#Neurodivergent#Neurodiversity
👉 TL;DR
• Employers often see neurodivergent minds as disorganized, difficult. Why?
• Neurodivergent brains work differently. How? Unique strengths & challenges.
• Interviewing neurodivergents and supporting their strengths unlocks their potential. Ideas.
There's a knock.
I whip my head toward the trailer door. Nearly rip the headphones out of the laptop. Shocked, I try to check the time at the bottom of my screen.
"Damn dog." Gotta brush Stripe's sleeping snout away to read the time, then…
"Fuck! 10! I know I told her 10!" But my stupid time icon stubbornly blinks, "9:43:37… 38… 39…"
"Coming! I'm COMING!"
Stubborn puppy refuses to budge. I trip toward the door, grabbing the knob to break my fall. I take a deep breath. Pause. Brush my bangs back. Smile…
Then, casually open the door.
"Hi! I wasn't expecting you for a few minutes. Come on in." She's average height, build, 40-something bottle-blond hair. Yup, official clipboard, khakis… and courtesy grin.
"Oh. I was a bit ahead of schedule. Thought I'd get back to the office quick." She smiles, but never breaks pace as she brushes past me coming right through the door.
Actually, I get ready to say, "I'd been totally absorbed in writing and kinda needed the time to…"
"I'm not too early, am I?" She breaks my slow chain of thought.
Some folks insist that autists don't lie. I say…
"No, of course not. Come right in!"
I shuffle us through the Dark Corridor. Every trailer I've ever lived in had one. Always crawls past the efficiency bathroom.
I'm hoping against hope the house doesn't smell like a kennel. I can't tell anymore. Like some autists, some smells drive me bonkers. But others, I can't pick out of the background aroma. Then too, I'm in my 70s… nose ain't what it used to be around dog poop.
So I had broken out the PineSol that morning. That familiar institutional smell… masks just about anything. For a few hours.
AND I have a space cleared, waiting for us at my pub table. These meetings get me so anxious. I try to have everything ready to go.
"Can I get you anything? Tea?" I gesture at the stove. The pot, sugar, and cups stand by patiently.
She starts to raise a finger, maybe to respond. But I barrel right through that particular red light. Totally ignore her social signal…
"The dog? The cats? Do they bother you? I could put them out…"
She says, "You have animals? Really? I wouldn't have guessed. Usually I can smell em a mile away. I have allergies." Secretly, I beam inside. "But I can't live without my Peaches."
Hey, I think, Great opportunity for a Bonding Moment. I read some Make-Friends-Influence-People book once…
"Me, too. Allergies, that is. Mild anyway. But… what are you gonna do. Gotta love 'em."
I want to tell her I'm quoting the 90s sitcom Dinosaurs… But I give myself a stern internal reminder of The Rules.
1. NO extra details.
2. NO special interests.
3. NO CHITCHAT.
4. Get her in. Get her help. Get her out.
I DO try to cover all the bases. I can't handle anxious conversations worth shit.
"You got my email? Where I explain I'm autistic? And I have difficulty making decisions? Dealing with details…?"
I'm ready to follow up with, "And I ask that you don't just show up with checklists and resource phone numbers for me to call? Cuz that never has worked for me?"
WHEN from out of her floppy, hand-woven bag… she unleashes a humungous fistful of papers. Its big, thick black clip stretching, stretching. Ready to blow.
The Dreaded Resource List!
She fucking beams. "I brought you some resources to empower you to make better choices."
My G-d, I'm going to puke! I rush out of the room, steaming for the toilet. BUT when I come back?
Things got really bad.
Like that nightmare. The one that reminds you of a horror movie. Where you're locked in a pitch-black closet. With Leather Face from Texas Chainsaw.
And you hear her click her pen… uh, I mean, he pulls the chainsaw cord… brum-brum-brum-brum-brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
That you-know-what's-coming kinda Bad…
Executive Functioning: Blackholes, Endless Loops & Negative Infinities
Ok. So, let's get down to brass tacks.
Executive functioning. It's like the management team in our brains. It coordinates the remembering, talking, thinking, feeling parts of our mind. Cuz we need all these little subcenters to get along. If… we want to get anything done.
But, by definition, the way neurodivergent folks run that management team is… wait for it… divergent.
Different.
From a medical way of looking at things, based on some mythical Normal Human, our ways are defective. A disease… or condition. To be pitied and cured. Maybe someday…
Now, that attitude can piss off a fair number of us adult autistics. We see our minds as simply working differently. With unique strengths and challenges. To be appreciated and supported.
Like ALL human minds. Neurodivergent or not.
But let's leave that fight for another day, shall we?
What They See When They See Neurodivergence
For our purposes now, let's pretend we're a typical employer. What do we see in a neurodivergent individual?
I dunno. I could never figure it out. But all signs point to…
They tend to jump to conclusions. Like, the kind ones might say, our mental management team is a bit disorganized. We'll just teach them a few things…
The ones most of us work for?
They seem to think that our entire mental management team…
Shows up to the office hungover, staggering around.
The Working Memory Crew never shows.
The Prioritizing Squad refuses to check their inbox.
The Sequencing Team, for master irony? The guys supposed to do everything step-by-step? So the rest of team doesn't miss anything?
They're the only guys who read the memos out of order.
Every fucking time.
So, to most of our bosses? We look pretty messed up. Need "special" handling. Not sure we're worth the effort…
Enough extended metaphor? Let's talk real-time results.
What We Are… Being Neurodivergent
A long, numbered list becomes my nightmare.
My working memory holds on to 2-3 items at a time. Max.
So, I endlessly read and re-read sections.
Exhausting, looping back over and over. To make sure I got everything.
So, good luck getting the Initiative Starter Team to start picking first tasks.
I must fight the Wall of Dread first.
Built brick by brick of 7 decades of bad experiences.
Dozens of jobs and bosses.
A dozen careers.
Constantly putting off starting for weeks… deciding which tasks to do first.
It's a hideous black hole of exhaustion.
And what infinite gravity
Drags me across the event horizon
Into autistic meltdown & burnout?
The constant confusion over what's next.
Add it all up? I see a long list? My eyes instantly glaze over… MY mental management team? Tosses it straight in the mental circular file. Course, might take a few months til I get around to the actual physical receptacle…
Here's the deal. I hate asking for help.
I REALLY have to build myself up for meetings. I hate 'em. I really hate meetings with strangers.
And meetings… with strangers… where I have to ask for their HELP? How much do I hate a meeting like that?
More than. Any. Other. Single event… in my life.
Demotion. Divorce. Death of a pet… You name it.
Over the decades, I've taken too much flak about being too in the clouds to function.
Asking for help? Feels like admitting I'm a loser.
Struggling to communicate and make critical decisions with someone I don't know…?
Knowing that stranger has the power to make your life better… if you don't make that social slip…
Struggling to know inside me what I want & need… while balancing remembering how not to make a social mistake?
I struggle to maintain my independence and autonomy. Every time I try to collaborate with another human.
Every time.
So, yeah. I really, Really, REALLY wanted this meeting to work. Right up to the minute, my "helper" flat-out ignored me. My word-by-word drafted email request. My mirror-practiced phone conversation. My in-person pleas to not bury me in lists and info sheets.
All I wanted? A little help. Organize my activities of daily life… self-care… paying bills.
Well, I didn't get that.
Instead, I made the necessary polite noises to keep her comfortable. For the hour she droned on. Detailed lists of contacts. "Handy" pre-printed to-do lists for household chores. Elaborate systems for paying bills.
In detail excruciating for me. Because I could only process the first item or two the social worker mentioned. Then I heard meaningless white noise. Til she felt done.
I tried for a week. I did. Like the dozens of times in my 40 adult years, I worked with "helping" professionals.
And like dozens of times in the past… After a few days… I retreated to my bed in defeat. Leaving a trail of random papers to clean up when I recovered.
BTW, came across that list today. Three years later. I did, finally, throw it out.
No One's Evil in this Movie. They Just Don't Know How to Help.
Those lists that the social worker gave me? See, for someone with HER kind of brain? They can help.
But I think differently. Bottom-up, not top down. I create order by organizing piles of details into larger, simpler piles.
The guy who walks into a room with a picture of an organized space in mind? Who tames the mess to match that picture?
DEFINITELY NOT ME.
Where the social worker sees a map to a future…? I follow a path straight into a swamp labeled: "Cognitive Chaos." And drown.
I can create lists using my own way. But someone else's numbered list? That I didn't think through myself? They impose this rigid, sequential way of thinking that's got nothing to do with how my mind works.
My thoughts don't flow in a straight, logical line from 1 to 2 to 3 and so on.
To the freaking social worker? I bet I looked like a crazed pinball shooting around divergent tracks. Emotions, sensory inputs, obsessive interests, passing impulses.
But I was just being me. Following very natural paths for me. That have led to creative publishing and marketing work. Worth millions… to someone else.
True stories.
Like a falling apple or flowing water…
my mind looks for the path of least resistance. Like every form of Life itself, I walk toward joy… and run from fear.
I organize piles. It's fun. The meaning emerges. Even more fun.
Numbered lists force my neurodivergent mind into a suffocating maze. Methodical, connect-the-dots processing. Whether cuz of autism, ADHD, or lazy-good-for-nothing attitude…
I'm not capable of following a list.
No one should take it personal. I can't follow recipes without changing things, missing steps, leaving out something. As a musician, I can't sing a melody or play a song straight. I GOTTA fiddle with something.
It's the source of my creativity. It also makes me a shitty employee in some people's eyes. Of a certain type.
What's it like for me?
Go ahead, hand me a neatly typed grocery list.
Then, set a pack of wild animals loose in the aisles.
Where was that kept again? What number was I on? Where am I, again? I'm lost. On my own. With no direction home.
(Gotta love Dylan quotes.)
So, while her lists BRIMMED with earnest intentions to teach me order, the social worker wasted both our times. Even tho, she did get paid on time…
She. Made. Things. Worse.
Getting Things Done? Got Things Wrong. For Me.
It's 2016. My wife and I separated. Got back together a year or two later, but right this moment?
Buying groceries solo… well, it's all new territory again.
I get $75 a month in Food Stamps. So, I plan out my shopping list meticulously. A pound of beef can make 1 hamburger per week for 1 month. Two 3-pound bags of raw sugar cover my pickling and baking. Like that…
Unfortunately, Walmart thought it was a great idea to redecorate. Again. They know what they're doing. Most typical folks enjoy variety from time to time. And when they wander a bit in unfamiliar spaces? Walmart makes more money on their impulsive buying decisions.
Dozens of studies show this.
But for neurodivergent me?
It's like someone broke in and moved all the furniture in my home. I've lost my cognitive map. Can't find most things. Stumbling into everything else. {note to self: add link to Designing My Home Around Autism}
Which brings me to staring at an unfamiliar wall of coffee. And me with a now urgent need to pick out 2 good and 2 cheap coffees to blend for the month. So I can get the hell out of this huge, overpowering store…
Sumatra. Kona. Breakfast Blend. French Roast.
Dozens of brands.
Dozens of colors, shapes, sizes…
Who decided there should be this many choices… for someone who only wants to check off a basic errand list?!
I'm stuck at "Number 4: Buy coffee." Sure, I got a Getting Things Done(TM) list. Sure, I have last month's map of the store. Sure, I remember that Peet's coffee is black, and Bustelo comes in a yellow bag…
I'm organized as fuck.
For the wrong war.
With the wrong guy
Driving this here particular tank…
With the wrong cognitive map up on the dashboard.
My eyes dance. My brain shuts down. I begin to sway and rock…
A voice out of the fog… "Hey, guy… You ok…?"
One measly listed task. Already, I'm adrift. Buffeted by brand loyalty, costs, and the niggling existential crisis…
Do I REALLY care about the taste of good coffee… this much?
Or am I spending too much to wake up a bit faster in the morning?
SO, yet another reason for this neurodivergent to to hate lists. It's bad enough when you always lose the damn thing… physical or digital. But when you put in all that work. And they change one thing on you.
Then where are ya…
The Neurodivergent Organizing Paradox
Despite best intentions, lengthy explicit checklists amplify my anxiety and overwhelm me. At least those lists someone else wrote for me.
Rigid, linear… They're death to my spontaneous, interest-driven mind.
You want our productive… translate, money-making… creativity? Lists ain't gonna work for ya. I can't produce. I may not even warn you. I may just avoid you. Pull a fade…
Only when I can let go…
Can I lean into my authentic ways,
And focus on tasks that
Grab some corner of
My MANY passionate interests…
Only then can I produce. I can, in fact, do almost ANYTHING…
IF and when I feel that joy of the engaged flow state.
Solutions? We don't need no stinking solutions.
There aren't any proven answers yet, to my knowledge. Not for those who want to help us. Or even want to manage us.
Neurodivergents, professionals, and those who know us. Together, we need to create productivity methods without excruciating learning curves. Or that try to convert us to be more "normal."
We need to take advantage of our neurocognitive divergences. In new ways.
Thoughts I have?
Things that might be worth trying? Hell, maybe even researching?
Never begin by giving directions. Or advice.
Begin any conversation by exploring the passions of the neurodivergent folks you want to help… or manage.
Build on that. Find overlaps in skill sets… and personal interests… with any task at hand.
Think about who we are… first. Don't go IN with the goal. Let the goal come out of us.
Perhaps gamify tasks and projects into bite-sized goals.
With meaningful rewards that tap into our personal rewards.
Rewards based on feelings. Not word counts or widgets produced. Rewards for quality of ideas, perhaps. Rewards meaningful to say, an explorer, scientist, or artist.
And the reward tied to a sensory delight, I think. A favorite snack, listening to a new album, indulging a fleeting curiosity… could be, silent time alone.
The core ideas are simple.
Don't see deficits to fix. Find strengths to encourage.
And don't rely on your human instincts. They are significantly different than ours.
Or, for that matter, books. The field is too new for credible knowledge in books. Ask the REAL expert.
The neurodivergent sitting right in front of you.
I spent a lifetime struggling with helpers… struggling to help me.
I do NOT offer solutions. First of all, I can't. I don't know them. No one does yet, so far as I know. We adult autistics have always been a silent population among humans. But YOU only discovered us in the last decade or so.
Second, it's against my ethos. I share my experience. I know that I don't know enough to suggest how another person runs their life.
But if you're like me, you saw some idea here that you might want to steal… and change just a little bit…
Or maybe, an opinion you so vehemently disagree with that it helps crystallize your own thoughts…
Either way, we, as a community, win. Which gives me joy.
This world doesn't understand us. Our glorious autistic, ADHD, dyspraxic, dyslexic selves.
We have to grab the wheel. Show typical folks what we need. Your story may be different from mine.
Tell them yours.
---
Soon to be a podcast.
AutisticAF.me
AutisticAF Out Loud
One Voice. Raw. Real. Fiercely Neurodivergent.
@threadreaderapp unroll please!