Autoagnosia: (Don't) Know Thyself

Prosopagnosia, face-blindness, has gotten its fair treatment on my sister blog, "Aspie Ambassador." So have the clinical aspects of this crossover I see between Borderline Personality traits and Obsessive-Compulsive traits and Autism Spectrum traits, which I have called "BOA."

I think there is a single key that brings it all together: the reason why people with autism feel so misunderstood... the reason why some of us act out our fears so strongly that we are called "Borderline" (meaning, literally, that we are just this side of the line that separates us from being crazy... that should tell you how strong those fears are) and the reason why we don't trust our senses to the point of interior panic. B(orderline)-O(bsessive)-A(utism spectrum).

That single key is something I call "autoagnosia." While prosopagnosia is the inability to recognize and retain the facial identity of other people (from Greek roots "prosop + agnosia"), autoagnosia is an inability to recognize and retain the identity of ourselves.

I find I can explain -- and uproot -- much of my unhappiness, resentments, anxieties, and my unwillingness to be loved... with autoagnosia.

If I have autoagnosia, I don't recognize myself, so I can't imagine that you recognize me, either. Oh, I'm sure you do, but I just can't comprehend how. I marvel at how you pick me out of a crowd. I am amazed that you remember what I like, that you know my birthday, that you still want to be my friend even if we haven't seen each other in a long time.

My prayers have been: Show me, Holy Spirit, why I feel so invisible. Show me why my feelings tell me such irrational things, like how I don't matter to groups or why my value goes down based on the number of friends my friends have. Show me why I get angry when I compare myself to others, no matter how much I love them. Show me why I feel paralyzed if I fundamentally disagree with anyone I love. Show me why I never feel like myself around anyone!!!

It is because I don't recognize myself.

I don't know what my persona looks like to you. I don't know what I look like to me, either. I don't know what you see in me because I can't see it in myself. No matter how hard I try to be the best person I can, I don't know if I ever get there, because I don't comprehend myself. I can only use the feedback of people around me.

I can see myself in a mirror, and I can describe my face to you. I can tell you my likes and dislikes. I can tell you what I believe in and what I reject. I can report them all truthfully. By myself, I *am* myself, and that never causes any confusion.

Around others, however, I forget. I see you and think me. I assume that I am supposed to be doing what you are doing, talking the way you talk, liking the things you like. If you exist, then I can only exist by being exactly like you. That seems to be my automatic setting... the faulty switch that kicks me into echolalia. The faulty switch that causes kids with "classic" autism to confuse their pronouns. If everyone is talking about a television show I never watch, I feel obligated to act like I watch it too. I automatically feel like I will be doing something wrong if I stop and say that I don't watch that show. It would feel like dividing by zero. *squint* Am I you, or me?

The closer I feel toward you, the stronger the confusion.

The more I like you, the more it would hurt if you forget me... the more I want to make a lot of noise to make sure you remember me. The more possessive I feel. The more I dread other people coming along who could take my place. Not because I think I'm so important... but because I am so scared of being forgotten.

I am a person with great self-control, so I am good at holding back. And when it comes to relationships, boy, do I hold back. Why? Because I despise all those traits I just described. I would die before I act that way toward anyone. I am a nice person, a true friend, a loving friend who would never consciously be jealous or possessive. So how do I reconcile these feelings? Again, it's like dividing by zero. I love my friends enough not to put them through emotional hoops of reassuring me that I will not be forgotten. If I wait long enough, they usually call me again, or act like they like me. If I have just enough patience, I can see that my worst fears never come true.

Remember again: people with prosopagnosia can't retain the face identities of others in memory. In that one instance I have with this disorder, I have to squint and triple check whenever I meet up with this person (... is that him? Is that really him? Am I sure?) Wouldn't you say this sounds like a neurological cousin to the fear that I disappear from your memory as soon as I leave?

Autism's problems with Theory of Mind may account for autoagnosia. Or, autoagnosia may account for Theory of Mind deficiencies. Or both. I'm still not skilled enough as a philosopher to clearly define this. I do know that I am on to something.

I usually do not think in such concrete philosophical terms, but I wanted to see if I could put some more of these nebulous insecurities into words. As you read them, call to mind the behavior of people with autism, and people with Borderline Personality Disorder, and see if anything resonates. I'll do the same.

-- I exist strongly in my mind. I am introspective. I daydream. I imagine things all the time. I imagine solutions, or stories, or visual scenes, or analogies that help explain the mysteries of God. But is this real, or just my imagination? Will speaking about my ideas to other people cause them -- or me -- to dissipate into the air? How do I trust that my thoughts remain? Or that I remain? Do I exist only in my imagination?

-- If I put my entire self into what I do, and it is met with disapproval, will I be obliterated? Or, in everyday terms... if someone disagrees with me, does that always mean I am wrong? Does it disprove my self? It does, if I rigidly define myself based only on the feedback of others.

-- I depend on social feedback the way people use a mirror to check their physical appearance. If I do something and then get no response, I feel invisible. Or, if I get criticism, I feel like I just put myself at risk for being written off forever. On the other hand, if I have your approval, I know I am still here, and I am safe.

-- It makes me angry sometimes when I do not match you. I don't want to be you in everything! I want to be me! And sometimes, I can't do what you do, because I am NOT you. But... if I break off on my own, how will I know if I am doing it right? I can't sense myself, so I have no internal check point. Sometimes it is easier just to copy you, because then I can see tangibly that I am doing okay. But that is ripe soil for resentment after awhile.

* * * * *

I would like to see more exploration of this concept. Once I started recognizing these thought patterns, I saw their irrationality and my Aspie logic kicked in. These fears are just fears, not actual outcomes! With the help of my friends, and good spiritual direction, I have been able to notice more often when these irrational fears act up, and I have addressed them plainly with regular logic. All the evidence over my lifetime has shown that friends have never forgotten me before, so I need to trust that they won't forget me this time, either. Another vital question I pose to myself: Am I speaking as Aimee, or am I trying to blend in? If I find I am slipping into morph mode, I work hard to stop before it takes over... to take a deep breath... and remember that God loves ME, not an image of me.

For all the excellent work being done with autistic children in helping them blend in, I pray that there is equal work being done to teach them to recognize themselves. This comes well before self-esteem. We can't LIKE who we are before we KNOW who we are. And, like all other things relating to autism, I mean that very literally.

I would love to know if this makes sense to others besides me. If it does, I see great potential for helping people with autism.

Believe it or not, that last line was another example of my point. I often feel unable to express the contents of my mind. I can almost always come close when I write... but rarely when I speak. It feels like there are two distinctly divided modes of my existence: one, which is entirely in my mind, and one which interacts with the world. I think non-autistic people are able to experience their internal and external selves without any conscious effort, whereas my wiring renders my self-concept into compartments. The majority of people in the world experience themselves, fully integrated, unconsciously. My healing and growth depends on how well I can learn to consciously integrate all aspects of my existence... interior and exterior.

What is this thing called Prosopagnosia?

What is this thing called Prosopagnosia ?  Not very poetic, I'm afraid.  But fascinating.  I'm directing you to my sister blog, Aspie Ambassador, for the basics on this odd condition.  Then in a few days I will add my spiritual thoughts on this thing called... prosopagnosia.

See:   http://aspieambassador.blogspot.com   and stay tuned!

"Borderline" Truth

Back to business. We are well into Easter season and I have still not culled the spiritual insights I encountered throughout Lent. One of the most challenging aspects of blogging is trying to maintain continuity. I crave a smooth line from start to finish in anything I do, yet my writing time goes more in jagged fragments. I pray it is easier for you to read than it is for me to trust that it follows what I was writing last time.

I know I have been trying desperately to convey what I mean about autism and sense of self. So let me ask that you recall and consider these points as you read:

- Autism causes a blurry sense of self.
- Social echolalia blurs the sense of self by the person's habitually copying other people in order to function.
- People with autism don't know if you are able to remember them or care about them after they leave.
- The more people in any given setting, the less valuable the person with autism feels to the situation.
- Blurry sense of self is at the root of many common struggles of people with autism with regards to cardinal sins and vices, such as: jealousy, possessiveness, resentment, and acting out in anger.
- Awareness of these feelings, however "normal" they may be to the human condition, makes us hate ourselves and our imperfections. We know these are irrational feelings, yet we feel them. We hate anything irrational!


Thank you. And now, on to the posting...


"BORDERLINE" TRUTH by Aimee O'Connell

Roman Catholics like me enjoy the Sacrament of Reconciliation, or its old-school term, Confession. I'll bet you just got a mental image of a dark booth with a quivering penitent facing a metal grate hiding a gruff, old priest on the other side. Thank you, sketch comedy. Yes, I know, many Roman Catholics have had that exact experience, and that's what makes it comic fodder, right? I guess I have led a privileged life, because my times in Confession have been much more personable, dynamic, fruitful... spiritually nourishing.

Whereas our entire culture seems built on layering, spinning and muddying facts to suit our whims and protect our sensitive feelings, Confession is a refreshing opportunity to face -- and TELL -- the truth.

I imagine Truth like focused light, blazing bright and sharp like a laser. It is essential to healing, yet if commandeered and wielded to gain power, can cause great harm. As I shift from lowercase "t" to capital "T," I acknowledge and propose that Truth is more than just bare facts, but is a living energy in our universe, and that energy has a Name: The Holy Spirit. Divine Truth. It not only flows from God, but is God Himself, alive and present. Confession is my time to invite Truth in, call upon Truth to heal, and let Truth speak to me without mincing words.

This Lent, I needed some of Truth's interior laser treatments.

For one thing, I have grappled with fakery my entire life. Or excuse me, I mean, "social echolalia." It's my default setting as an Aspie, and I haven't done much before now to counteract it. But the TRUTH is that social echolalia is a perpetual state of half-truth. If I could step outside my skin and watch myself frame-by-frame, it would be difficult to tease apart which aspects of my presentation are genuinely "me" and which parts are me copying what I think others expect. It's all choked and intertwined. The person getting cheated is me.

So, what keeps me from being me? Fear. Naturally. Admitting that I have been acting is a terrifying proposal, especially when I'm not sure if I've been faking a little or a lot. I know I'm in there. I'm just not sure where.

This fear is the polar opposite of truth. When Christ admonishes us "BE NOT AFRAID," He speaks as Truth. If we walk and live in the Truth, we have nothing to fear. We are aware of the challenges, but we don't let them oppress us.

I know this intellectually, but autism spectrum is interlaced with fear. Our anxiety is physical and inborn. Our senses distort things to seem bigger, louder, more intimidating than they really are. We are perpetually on edge and fight constantly to feel in control. We wrestle with OCD. It's not a matter of reassurance. As powerful as Scripture is, there are no verses that can calm the senses when they are screaming "DANGER!" at us.

Examining my conscience, I saw the same old problems for the umpteenth time. Temper, impatience, ingratitude, jealousy. Blah blah blah. What needs to be pruned in order for new fruit to grow? Or... help me here, I'm not trying to co-opt Hollywood... but... is this really as good as it gets? Can I ever change, or is this "me"?

Divine Truth steps in... but only when invited.

Me: "What do I need to stop, so that I can love more perfectly?"

Truth: Stop rejecting God's love.

Me: "Why do I reject God's love?"

Truth: Fear of facing yourself in the Light keeps you in darkness.

So I summoned all of my Aspie ability to suppress emotion, and I placed myself under the bright surgical light of Truth.

I saw that I refuse to accept God's forgiveness for harmful things I have done in the past, even though I have learned why I did what I did, and have consciously changed my life so that those ways are no longer part of me. I still felt they were who I am.

I saw that I have irrational fears that not only cripple me emotionally, but give rise to self-hatred because I know they are irrational, yet I know I feel them. Denying them is a lie to myself, but acknowledging them means admitting that I feel this way in the first place.

-- I am afraid to be needy.

-- I am afraid to be criticized.

-- I am afraid to be ridiculed.


(Uh, no offense, but... who doesn't struggle with those fears?)


-- I am afraid that I fade from your memory, mind or heart when you leave.

-- I am afraid that my value decreases proportionate to the number of other people involved in any given situation.

-- I am afraid that my deepest emotions might be only in my imagination, not real.


Wow. Those last three are kind of... out there. As I wrote them, they seemed ridiculous (or is that just my fear of being ridiculed?).

Then I started writing, not just listing, what bothers me about myself, and felt the purge coming on. Anger, frustration, fear that has festered for more than three decades.

I was mortified.

The stuff I was writing sounded like someone with Borderline Personality Disorder.

*screeching halt*

Now before I go any further, I need to say that I am well schooled in Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). I have studied Marsha Linehan's work from the University of Seattle and have attended training weekends on her therapy techniques that have revolutionized how the world sees BPD. I comprehend her philosophy and I strongly believe she presents an accurate, compassionate and effective approach for reaching people with BPD and genuinely helping them live better lives. I am wholly in agreement with the mindset that the diagnosis itself is archaic and not one bit helpful to either therapist or patient. It's confusing, not at all self-explanatory, and it's a condemning title. "Borderline" what? Crazy?

I also need to say that I have close personal ties to people with Borderline Personality Disorder in my own family. I grew up knowing them and wondering why they behaved the way they did. I saw widespread destruction and emotional damage on all sides. It was ugly.

I was excited when I was offered a job at a day treatment program back in 2002, as I thought -- correctly -- that it would allow me to understand and help people with that horrible diagnosis of BPD, and if nothing else, turn the devastation in my family history into something productive. I can truly say that I was never more fulfilled than when I was able to help people with BPD find out that life was worth living, or that they really could cope with life on life's terms, or that they could let go and giggle once in awhile and not feel guilty afterward.  Had I not started having children in 2004, I bet I would still be working there.

Back to the present, there sat me, freely writing my faults without censorship, and it occurs to me just how Borderline it all sounds. "Borderline" in the sense that I fear my value goes down if someone else is in the picture, or I fear my friends forget me as soon as we say goodbye for the afternoon. "Borderline" because the fear is really strong, and makes me want to do frantic things like double and triple check whether or not someone still remembers me and values me, or if I just fade into thin air after a few minutes of being gone. Even though I never act on these urges.

"Borderline," too, in terms of irrational anger. My self-scrutiny knifed out years and years of bottled-up resentment that I have masked well enough to make myself think I'm merely prone to losing my temper now and again. But, Truth told, I feel oppressed by MY OWN attachment to the people I love because I obligate myself to conform exactly to them and their expectations. Social echolalia gone horribly wrong. Whenever I can't match up exactly... which is, a lot... resentment builds. Toward myself, for not making the grade, and toward them, for being so difficult to match in the first place.

It would have been tempting to say that my lifelong struggle to accept myself has good reason, given everything written out before me. But, I didn't come this far just to crumble under self-pity. As I have said before, this blog is headed out to deep waters. Existential waters. Venn diagrams, both/ands, brow-furrowing concepts.

So, what's the common root here? This IS still an autism blog, right?

Well, for starters, I have noticed for awhile now that Marsha Linehan's description of factors that contribute developmentally to an eventual Borderline diagnosis sound an awful lot like the same things I read in 2005 and 2006, after my daughter was born, about sensory processing anomalies. Marsha Linehan's work looked backwards at how adults with BPD felt chronically misunderstood and not taken seriously, even from childhood, and how their explosive behavior results in part from never quite feeling like people see or hear them accurately. Lindsey Biel (author of Raising a Sensory Smart Child), on the other hand, explains how children with sensory difficulties experience the world vastly different from the people around them, and chronically feel misunderstood or not taken seriously.

Isn't that the same thing? Is it really a stretch to say that my blurry-sense-of-self issues sound like I'm only a few degrees of self-control away from BPD?

If you haven't already, please read (or, re-read) my most recent post on Aspie Ambassador about my three rings.

Bottom line: I'm starting to believe that people with ASD and people with BPD struggle with the same fear of invisibility and irrelevance to the rest of the world. In both cases, it's only an illusion caused by our blurry sense of self. Once we can reassure ourselves that we really are there, and are distinct, our healing will follow.


COMING NEXT POST: What is this thing called prosopagnosia?

Epic Ravioli

Where have I gone? Wasn't I on a great track, writing about all this deep stuff, coming to a new understanding of autism, myself, and healing?

Yes, I was. But then, something epic happened.

This is the time for me to share one of my most absurd self-quotes. I was on my way out the door one Saturday morning not too long ago, leaving husband and three young children home for the day. I had, for me, a gigantic personal challenge ahead. I was going to sit with a friend and be completely open... completely myself... and talk about God. And me. And make myself very vulnerable, by my own standards. Hard enough to sit face to face for a long afternoon, constantly checking myself to make sure I was acting right, looking right, sounding right. Whatever "right" is. I've lived like that for 38 years, always on edge, always ready to bash myself interiorly for being so dumb. But to actually share myself, honestly, and about my faith? It would be easier to strip naked and sing in front of a full stadium. (Most readers haven't heard my singing voice, either, so let me tell you, it ain't pretty!!!)

Anyways, I was heading toward the door, hands pouring sweat, mind racing. And yet my maternal instinct pushed its way to the front of my swirling thoughts. Did they have enough to eat if I'll be gone awhile? What if I get held up? What if... what if this day turns out to be a major event in my life, like my adrenaline says it will? Are my kids going to be okay?

Without missing a beat, I broke out of my thoughts and instructed my husband with an earnest directive. "I should be home at the regular time, but if anything epic happens, improvise... make ravioli or something, okay?"

As I heard those words pass my lips, the absurdity struck me, and I giggled all the way out to the car. I wrote it down as soon as I could, under the title, "Epic Ravioli."

I did spend that morning and part of that afternoon with my friend, and we talked about the most deep, personal things, and as I waited for him to not quite understand the depth of my passion on the subject of my faith, he surprised me... he understood... he asked for more... and he responded with insight deep enough to reach the place where I was barricaded inside myself, guarding the last of the fortress that hasn't been opened.

It was an epic day for both of us, but not enough that I couldn't make it home in time for dinner. Life went on as usual.

He and I have talked regularly since then, and he's the one who said he'd go along with me on the Lenten path together this year. We started out with that one simple question, and at the beginning, it didn't seem like it would be enough of a challenge to make it through forty whole days. The more we prayed, the more we shared, the more we saw... we were right... it was not a challenge suited to forty days. It would take much, much longer. As we passed Laetare Sunday and headed to the home stretch with Holy Week just ahead, we lamented to each other that we didn't want these forty days to end.

As I have examined my own spiritual barriers this Lent, I have seen with blazing clarity the roots of the jealousy, resentment, self-hatred, fear and pride that have become so ingrained in me that I've just assumed they ARE me. Well, God has been instructing me about autism, about why I do what I do (Romans 7:14) and about His forgiveness. I understand autism in a way I never did, and I am burning, absolutely burning, to put it into words and share it here. I've verbally mentioned it to a few people, here and there, with professional backgrounds and personal experiences, and each time, it is received with wide eyes, open jaws and a plea for more. I think I'm on to something. I am probably not the first to discover all this, but God has given me the ability to put it into ordinary English so that even I can understand it.

I reached the great peak of a personal breakthrough last Tuesday. I was all set to come home and blog it out. Couldn't wait to see it in words! But then, something epic happened.

I had every intention of finishing Lent with my friend, and we made ourselves a pact to be each others' accountability partners. We saw ourselves being cracked open, and as much as we had feared those cracks, they didn't hurt like we expected. He cautioned me that he is a "deadline guy," meaning that he needs to be hounded or else he will procrastinate. This was on Day 38, I believe, of Lent. I was going to come home and write about it, posting some wonderful things here.

But then, something epic happened.

Out of respect for my friend and his family, I'm not going into great detail, but this is the bare truth. Last Friday, as Christians wrap up Lent and prepare for Holy Week, my friend started a retreat like none other. A planned medical procedure with unexpected complications. We all knew it had risks but compared to everything else he has going on (which has been quite a bit), this seemed like a well calculated risk and one that wouldn't be much more than the one he'd had a few days earlier.

Nope. This time, he crashed. Flat-lined for seven minutes. Cracked wide open, this time literally, for cardiac massage. Was barely revived. Put on life support and an induced coma, to see if he could make it through the weekend.

All the stuff I planned to write about --- shelved. Dropped on the floor, more like. And we hastily gathered around the hospital to see what would happen.

So many details being held. But as the drama unfolded, I knew, from my prayers all through Lent, that he was perfectly fine and that this was the healing process we had been praying for.

Talk about being a "deadline guy!" Never mind being "cracked open!"

Besides him, the rest of us have all collectively been crushed, like grapes, and our old, bitter wine has been poured out.

I have experienced Holy Week in real time. The story is the same, but the setting and characters have been updated to reflect the day and time in which we are living now.

My place has been with the Women of Jerusalem, keeping watch, weeping when it sinks in what we are witnessing, firmly knowing it is all for the Glory of God and the healing of many, yet not being able to stop the sweat pouring out of us as we force ourselves along the Via Dolorosa together.

The glory is indeed coming.

I am already different. The changes are permanent. This is much more than a simple resolution that gets reneged upon, this is Aimee 2.0, and it's what I asked for throughout the past 40 days. Lord, show me where I am not able to love, and help me change the way You would have me live. Oh, how He has! He never denies us what we ask!

I'll be journaling those insights and changes in the next few weeks. Or months. When something epic happens, all plans drop, and we improvise.

Meantime... my beloved friend, my accountability partner, my fellow pilgrim who has worked with me to decipher the clues along the way... the one with whom I sat on that day last fall, worrying about ravioli back home, the one with whom I am now sharing the epic story begun back when... pray for him. And know that he and I have talked about his story some day having the potential for world-wide implications. Pray for his story... THIS story... and its consecration to God's service. He has a long recovery ahead of him, but it is clear to all of us, his time here on earth is far from done. The things we survive are all able to be used for a greater purpose, and given the drama and steep odds he's endured this past week, I can't wait to see how this one unfolds.

More to come.

"The more we understand about ourselves, the better we are able to know God."

How appropriate was the message in the homily I heard last Sunday. "The more we understand about ourselves, the better we are able to know God." The Gospel reading from St. John, chapter four, recounted the story of the Samaritan woman at the well who unknowingly conversed with God Himself in the person of Jesus. She did not recognize him, of course, but came to realize he spoke the Truth of God when he pointed out things that only she could have known about her deepest self. When she made the connection, she recognized God in her presence. Likewise, the priest suggested in his homily, as we progress on our spiritual journey, we do well to seek greater knowledge of our deepest selves... for, only then will we be capable of seeing and starting to understand the Truth of God.

My entire Lent so far has been a quest to understand myself. The keynote has been "Let God be God and me be me." I thought the hard part would be letting God be God, since I am so headstrong and determined. However, the bigger challenge has been letting "me" be "me." As you read the last time, I have gone a long time without really knowing who "I" am. In part, my autism has impeded my self-knowledge. But you know by now that I don't believe autism is an excuse for anything. It is, for me, the path to greater spiritual growth.

This existential theory-of-mind stuff is as easy to describe as an inside-out reverse-angle mirror image. I can barely comprehend it, let alone explain it. Thank God for the written word. I've spelled it out, revised it, deleted entire paragraphs and journaled my own experiences to pull out common words and themes. I'm still not sure I can explain it, but I owe it to you, the reader, to make it happen.

Here, then, is a nine-point list attempting to describe in practical terms how "sense of self" is a vital piece of the autism spectrum puzzle:

1. I relate to others by unconsciously copying them (... social echolalia). I routinely adjust my emotions and reactions to match those around me.

2. The more emotionally invested I am to someone, the more I (unconsciously) copy that person.

3. My mind, like everyone else's, gathers information from my emotions and senses to form my self-concept (... my idea of who I am).

4. The bulk of the data which my mind gathers about my "self" comes from those interactions in which I copy others. Since relationships are always changing, I never have the chance for my unique identity to gel into a clear internal concept.

5. Without this clear concept of "who I am," it takes work to figure it out each time I think of it, as though it's always a brand new question.

6. Our minds automate as much information as possible, since it would take too long to process the world for the first time every time.

7. MY mind's automated definition of my self-concept is a conglomerate of my actual "self" and fragments of everyone I (unconsciously) copy. It's an inaccurate shortcut, and unless I consciously remind myself to look deeper, I lose track of who I truly am, because:

7a. I (unconsciously) look to my relationships to prove to myself who I am.

7b. If my relationships change, so would my sense of self.

7c. Relationships do change... all the time, as a matter of course.

8. Unless I consciously teach myself to imagine a clearly defined boundary around my identity, I internally "blend" into the identities of the people closest to me.

9. With me, the emotional reciprocity found in most relationships gets mirrored rather than absorbed. In other words, I spend so much of my "self" reflecting others that I end up reflecting all the emotional stuff that is meant to feed my soul and make my relationships fulfilling.

--------------

This is as much an exercise in self-knowledge as it is in philosophy and existential psychology. Too many big words keep getting in the way for me. What I really want to know is why I do what I do and feel what I feel. Just as Jesus knew the deepest emotional needs of the Samaritan woman at the well, He also knows my needs. He knows what insight I lack and where I need to push myself. He knows the sorrows I have felt over my lifetime and is using this Lent to offer me the Living Water of divine wisdom. Do my musings offer truth for anyone else? Or is this my personal opportunity to grow in spirit so that I can be a better person to everyone in my life?

I've been "here" -- that is, the place where I recognize that SOMETHING is holding me back spiritually -- over and over. The Samaritan woman knew it was time to make some changes in her life, and I know the same opportunity is there for me if I ask along with her: "Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here.”

We're gonna need a bigger blog.

I should start with an update: I have stuck to my resolve and kept the contents of my purse to a bare minimum. So far I have only run into trouble when my son started getting one of his bad headaches and I didn't have any medicine with me. Luckily it was a short drive home. I've since compromised and put a small stash of "stuff" in my glove compartment, since at the moment I am not using that space as a metaphor in my spiritual growth, and I do think some items are well worth stashing. This heads into the discussion of how Aspies usually think in one-or-the-other and not so much the gamut in between. I'll save that for another time.

I need to go much deeper than my purse today. Last week's "baggage check" was just the beginning of my Lenten tasks. Recall that I prayed before Ash Wednesday for guidance, for a theme to use these forty days that will show me where I put barriers between myself and God. The theme at our parish this year is "STOP, in the name of love!" I'm not such a literal Aspie that I ran to get out my Motown collection, but once the song stopped running through my head, I did pray and ask God what I need to STOP in order to love more perfectly. God's response came clearly to me, but didn't seem to answer the question exactly.

My daughter was on school recess that week and asserting her independence any chance she could get. Over and over I reminded her, "You're getting upset because you're not in charge here. Let me be Mom and you be you!" As I prayed about my question, the answer came to me, "Let God be God and you be you!" I knew, in my deep intuitive sense, that this is what I need to pursue. It seemed a roundabout answer, but I took it, wrote it down, and have studied it. The fruit it is bearing has astonished me.

My purse has been a good symbol to remind me that I need to trust God's providence and redemption. Both issues hearken to my OCD. I obsess about my mistakes, and I compulsively carry junk around with me rather than trust that I won't need it. God speaks to us through our wiring, however convoluted it may get, and God uses the tools at hand. Okay. Let God be God. I get it.

Now for the other part. Let me be me. I've said that to my daughter as a command to take her place in the pecking order. Is that what God is asking of me? To stop presuming that I know more than He does, or that I have a better idea? Maybe. After all, I'm so much like my daughter personality-wise, I'm sure her issues are all the ones I've grown up with.

But then came a shower of revelations that collected and grew into a tidal wave that has picked me up and carried me to a new spot on the sand. The beach looks totally different from here.

For all I've read about autism, causes, effects, neuropsychology, MRI studies of autistic brains, therapies that work and therapies that only seem to work... the bulb has not gone on so brilliantly as it has with this one kernel of truth. I've picked it up in passing and put it back down, I guess, because its light-angle didn't quite reach my truth center. I recognize it as part of the academic package, but until it imparted eternal wisdom to my spirit, it was only a dry fact.

In academic terms: People with autistic wiring have deficits in comprehending "theory of mind."

In philosophical terms: My mind is what makes me "Me." Your mind is what makes you "You." Each mind is distinctively different and forms from birth out of a combination of hard-wired physiology and regular daily experiences. No two minds will ever be identical.

Just as people with dyslexia are wired such that they can't fully grasp the basics of reading printed words, people with autism are wired such that they can't fully grasp the basics of theory of mind.

Interjection: Remember, I have my masters degree in school psychology. As simple a concept as "reading" is to most people, let me assure you, it is such a complex process that our particular class could not adequately cover it in ten weeks. We had a collective panic attack at week eight when we realized we hadn't even gotten out of brain anatomy yet, with only two weeks before the final. The microscopic processes involved in reading are fascinating, astonishing, and academically consuming. The number of factors which impact your ability to ultimately sit here and read this blog is so vast that I, too, could not cover them in ten weeks. It is a miraculous ballet -- no, symphony -- of mental processes that we generally do so automatically that we take it all for granted. When something goes wrong along the way and we are unable to read and comprehend at the same rate as everyone else, it becomes a disability. Dyslexia, or Learning Disability, or "I've never been good at reading" -- whatever you want to call it -- it is a wiring issue, and we can all agree, even if we don't understand how it works, that dyslexia is a frustrating condition that can't be overcome just by encouragement and good intentions. It does not depend on how smart you are or how hard you try, it's a breakdown somewhere in the complex processes hidden under your skull.

Back to autism: The concept of "theory of mind" is easily a thousand times more complex than the concept of "reading." I can barely explain how lines and dots become words and thoughts... now, how can I begin to explain how people recognize each other as individuals?

No matter. All I ask is that you take it, for now, on faith. We all form concepts of theory of mind on a deep, internal level, and some of us do that adequately, and some of us do not. It takes place on such a deep level that we take it for granted. Most of us don't have time to stop and truly ponder the meaning of life, every moment, every day. So we take it on faith and go about our business.

Here is that kernel of truth I found. Ready? Now: At the core of autism's disorder ---- all the things that go wrong when we have autistic wiring ---- lies the basic primal fear of obliteration.

Huh?

Wait, stay with me. I'm not enough of a philosopher to provide all the necessary logic to prove my point, but I think we all agree at the armchair level: People are born with a universal need for self-preservation. Survival instinct. The opposite of being is not-being. People are born knowing they "are," and even if we were stripped of all other faculties and potentials, we would still retain the most basic sense of being. The state of "being" gives us awareness that there is also a state of "not-being," the most extreme case being obliteration: not just being destroyed, but being removed from existence, being removed from memory, all traces erased.

Still with me? Okay. Let me repeat that kernel of truth. The majority of autism's problems can be traced to one root: fear of obliteration.

Autistic brains lack the ability to comprehend theory of mind.

I'm not sure where that is, exactly, in the brain, but it's down deep enough to be toward the center, where all of our unconscious instincts live. The gray squiggly stuff on top is what makes us think and feel smart, with our words and plans and inventions. The most important stuff is down deep in the core, where our instincts lie.

Autistic brains lack that instinct that affirms from our earliest awakening that we are a distinct being, with boundaries.

Since we lack that instinct, down deep in our core consciousness, we carry the equivalent of an unchecked box on a basic checklist. It might look like this:

Gravity? Check. Feet on the ground, things fall when we drop them.
Food? Check. Not hungry right now.
Shelter? Check. Not getting rained on, snowed on or burned by the sun.
Safety? Check. No wolves chasing us or hunters stalking us.
Existence? --- wait, I don't know. Do I exist? Do others know I exist? That's probably the best way to tell, and I just don't know! When they walk away, do they forget about me? I have no idea! I may not exist!!!

It's a funny scenario, but imagine the depth of the panic it would cause if you thought you had been obliterated from creation. That sensation is like a free fall with no ground in sight. No words for it. No emotion strong enough to express it. Fear, confusion, anguish?

Put that in an undercurrent. Run it throughout your day. You're not aware of it every moment, but it's there, and sometimes it gets close enough to the surface that your anxiety flares. If you are high functioning like me, you get a burst of OCD and start vacuuming or checking the calendar. If you are more severely impaired, you start stimming -- you know, rocking, or flapping, or hitting your head. Pain, after all, is one way that many people test their existence. As irrational as that sounds, it's the truth. If you know anyone who cuts themselves, ask them why, and that's the kind of answer you'll get. "I don't feel anything sometimes, and it's so bad that I have to do something to feel alive."

I warned you about this post, didn't I? Well, I have so much more material to share that I'm hearkening to that famous line from "Jaws," with the same look of heavy realization in our eyes as we say it... "We're gonna need a bigger blog."

Please... stay with me on this... it WILL start making sense. Meantime, I am working hard to put it all into words, and to reflect it back on myself and my setting out to "Let God be God and Me be Me." As I am learning, this is not a cute phrase anymore, but a monumental spiritual quest for me... one who lacks cohesive theory of mind.

Lent, and my purse.

It's either endearing or embarrassing, but no matter what, it's true: I have a problem with handbags. Ever since I've been old enough to carry a pretend plastic purse, I have found much satisfaction in being perfectly prepared for any contingency. Toys, pens, paper, tissues, aspirin, antacid, safety pins, rubber bands... extra headphones, in case I want to bring my music with me sometime... a book, in case I have to wait in a long line... my phone, of course, and my keys, and yes, my wallet... notice where those things are on the list?

I discovered a baffling law of physics around the age of fifteen: If it's what you want, it's at the bottom of your purse. No matter how much or how little is in there, no matter what you put in first or what you put on top. If it's what you want, it's at the bottom.

A couple of months ago I dropped something on the sidewalk outside at night. When I couldn't find it, I went digging in my purse for my miniature flashlight. See? I knew someday I'd want to use a flashlight! Trouble is, I couldn't find it in the dark. If only I had TWO flashlights... one, to find my other flashlight! I said in my frustration, "I'm always prepared, but I just can't get to what I need!"

Part of my wiring as an Aspie gives me tendencies to hoard and to worry about even the most trivial things. In high school, I chose to carry EVERY book I'd need for the day instead of using my locker. Why? Because I was afraid I wouldn't have time to get to and from my locker and then to class. Rather than try it once or twice, I just loaded my school bag and lugged it at full capacity. One of my teachers remarked that I always looked like I was going on vacation with a bag that big. If only he knew that one bag would never suffice on vacation -- if you think I'm bad with day to day things, imagine what I feel I need to bring "just in case" if I'm going anywhere for a week!

I had breakfast with a friend the day before Ash Wednesday, and went to get something out of my purse. Couldn't find it, as usual, even though I had put it on top just before I left. Started taking things out. Still couldn't find it, and was slowly amazed at how much I had in there, and how seldom I used any of it. I realized that I am part of what gives women and handbags such a bad reputation. I knew I had to put an end to this nonsense for once and for all.

I got home and purged. Out with the expired coupons. Out with the extra pens (in case the other ones run out of ink, right?) Out with the current coupons to places I'll never go. Out with the headphones. Out with the lip balm. Out with everything except the phone, the keys and the wallet. Honest!

That handbag feels so good to carry now. The leather is no longer shiny where it used to bulge out of shape. My shoulders no longer ache if I use the strap. It fits nicely next to me, wherever I am... no more jamming under seats or using a separate chair just for the bag. And the best part is that I have not gone without anything. I have not found myself distraught because I had no safety pins and none of my pens have run out of ink. I keep my coupons in a folder at home, and when I need one, I take it. Just that one.

This year, as Ash Wednesday came closer and closer, I felt completely unprepared. I spend most of my life planning ahead and preparing for things, so it seemed irresponsible of me to just wait until the last minute and see what happened. The day before Ash Wednesday, in desperation, I asked God in prayer at church to show me what I needed to work on to grow spiritually. I went to breakfast afterward, halfway hoping my friend and I could talk about Lent and what might be a good focus. Instead, my focus was wasted on digging through the disaster in my purse.

When I got home and had a few minutes, the answer came to me, "Let God be God." As I have gone through the first ten days of Lent, that answer has unfolded and explained itself in myriad ways which I plan to share here. But the first insight that came to me was to stop trying to prepare for every little thing and practice letting God worry about the details. Every item I took out and left out of my handbag was a step toward trusting that God will never abandon me, and certainly would not leave me stranded without a safety pin. Heaven forbid, what would I do if I needed one and had none in my purse?

Ask someone else. Let someone else in, for a change. Be okay with being needy.

The second wing of this theme unveiled itself as I lightened my load, literally. Let God be God. God is infinitely merciful, and it is my obligation to trust in His forgiveness. I can be quite the guilt junkie. I don't like letting go of my imperfections because my interior self-critic likes to keep me in my place. I don't want to accept God's love and forgiveness because it makes me needy. I keep on lugging all my mistakes and hurtful acts and misuse of God's gifts around in my interior baggage because I don't trust that I can let them go. I don't trust that I am forgiven, even though I have realized them, recognized why and how they are wrong, confessed them sacramentally to a priest, done spiritual penance and have received absolution. Roman Catholics believe that, once we are absolved, we are spiritually renewed, as though we had never committed those selfish actions in the first place. So... why do I keep all those memories of my imperfections in my mental bag?

God is asking me to purge. I took the leap of faith to empty my handbag, and now I take another leap into His arms as His child, fully cognizant that the memory of my sins is as unnecessary as a ziploc bag full of "just in case" rubber bands.

God supplies my every need. Including redemption.

My almost-empty handbag is my reminder and my testimony.

More to come.