Virtually all of us have had the experience of letting our hopes blind us to what is actually going on. There are a few spiritually attuned people in this world who, more often than not, respond to exactly what is happening in the moment, but alas, I am not one of them. Like most people, I get derailed by what I want, by what I need, and by what I fear. And, like most people, I suffer the emotional consequences of the clash between my projections of what will happen and the reality on the ground.

As an autistic person, though, I find that the physical impact of letting my expectations get in the way of my better judgment is often profound. Since Thursday, I have been dealing with the physical impact of meeting with my nonverbal autistic counterpart (whom I’ll call Jenny) and the very kind neuro-typical man with whom she shares a home (whom I’ll call Joe). While there were many good things about our visit, I’ve allowed the good things to get in the way of noticing the impact of the difficulties. Since our visit, I’ve had intense and troubling dreams. I’ve woken up every morning with my heart racing. I’ve been on the edge of a migraine almost constantly. Today, I am finally figuring out that something went wrong, but only because my body has been screaming at me for three days to listen up.

So, I’m listening. What I’m learning is that my very tenacious mind ignored a long series of “uh oh” moments that might have helped me care for myself in essential ways.

Here’s how it started: The week before last, when we were planning the visit, Joe and I had some wonderful email conversations. He is a very good person who is trying his best to understand what Jenny needs, and his emails reflected that. However, there were signs that his hopes for the visit were beginning to get the better of him. I could see his very great need for respite and his very great desire for Jenny to find a friend. A little tiny voice inside me said “uh oh,” but I ignored that tiny little voice.

I know exactly why I did it, too: Joe’s need for the situation to work exactly mirrored my own. I very much wanted to make another friend, and I very much wanted to stretch my consciousness of what friendship means altogether. So, over the course of a week, Joe and I built a picture of what we hoped would happen, despite the fact that I had never met Jenny and she had never met me.

In his emails, Joe had described Jenny as being very easy-going and able to go almost anywhere without a lot of difficulty. On the day of the visit, however, Jenny was quite agitated. I could see it the moment they got out of the car. Joe said that she rarely becomes agitated, and that he wasn’t sure why it was happening. I thought perhaps it was just anxiety at being in an unfamiliar environment, but he said that she’d woken up jittery that morning. That little voice in my head said “uh oh” again, but I told it to be quiet and to stop bothering me.

As a result, I quickly overrode my own agitation and tried to be a welcoming host. I invited Joe and Jenny into the house, where Jenny began to move furniture and grab food out of the refrigerator. I was so intent on being welcoming that I discounted how unsafe I was beginning to feel. Jenny isn’t much taller than I am, but she is one strong woman with a very strong will. It was quite difficult to get her to move away from breakable pieces of my daughter’s artwork. The little tiny voice in my head peeped “uh oh” again, but to no avail. I wasn’t listening.

After a short time, we decided to go out for a walk. Jenny and I walked hand in hand, while Joe followed behind. I understood why Joe was there: he wanted to be sure that Jenny felt safe and that I could keep her safe. I kept telling myself that it was fine, but there was that threesome thing happening, and y’all know what happens to me in crowds of three. Uh oh. I was enjoying Jenny and our walk, but I was also getting overloaded.

When we got back, Joe seemed disappointed in the visit. I got the feeling that he’d been hoping that I’d seem more like Jenny, and that I’d be a kind of bridge between them. So, yes, wanting desperately for things to work, I began to articulate the ways in which Jenny and I were alike. At the same time, I was keenly aware of the fact that Joe viewed me as far more neuro-typical than autistic. And yes, that poor little muted voice whispered “Uh oh, and maybe you should keep your mouth shut now?” but there was no point in ruining a perfectly spotless record of ignoring every last signal to take care of myself. So, I tried to explain that I’m autistic and not neuro-typical, which meant that I was talking far too much, for no good reason, and exhausting myself in the process.

Will I ever learn that explaining myself does not work? (I’m aware that the question is beginning to sound rhetorical, and it concerns me.)

In any case, it’s pretty clear to me now why Jenny felt so agitated. Over the course of a week, the expectations that Joe and I were co-creating had become apparent and Jenny had picked up on them. Great expectations of an unknown situation would make anyone agitated, especially an autistic person who is acutely aware of what is going on around her. The fact that she couldn’t verbalize her discomfort doesn’t mean that she didn’t understand what was happening. I’m sure she did. I’m completely agitated by the whole thing three days later, so her agitation should not have come as a surprise to me at all.

Time to let go. This relationship will not work, despite everyone’s best intentions. That little voice whispering “uh oh” has become rather loud, I’m afraid. It’s now shouting things like “Am I not getting through to you?” and “If you keep on with this, you’ll get a full-blown migraine.”

After three days, I can finally say to myself, “Look, it didn’t work for you, and it didn’t work for Jenny. That’s really okay. Other good things are happening, so just keep moving forward.” My head still hurts a bit, but my heart rate is beginning to return to normal.

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg