Glass half full
I’m sure that everyone finds it difficult to be positive all of the time, no matter how high their self confidence is.
My self confidence level moves around hugely, but on average has never been very high. Trying to keep my glass half full rather than half empty is a problem that I face frequently, and even after all these years, I still don’t have any hard and fast remedies to turn things towards the positive.
Learning about my Asperger’s appears to have just added to the volatility of my mood and in turn my self confidence. Whilst I spend much of my time these days feeling that I now know and understand myself far better than I did a couple of years ago – which is a very positive thing – I also frequently see differences in the way I am versus ‘normal’ humanity that I simply wouldn’t have spotted before. I find seeing these differences an almost invariably negative thing, and their discovery typically pushes down any positivity that I was feeling. My differences hit me like a punch in the face – they are unexpected and often unpleasant.
And then there is the self doubt to contend with too. Having grown up in a world that frequently moves and works in ways that I fail to predict and fully comprehend, I’ve grown accustomed to being ‘wrong’ about things. That nagging self doubt creeps into all areas of my life, especially when I’m not feeling positive. On darker days I still question whether I actually am on the autism spectrum. Despite all my reading up and thinking on the subject, the countless hours of research and self evaluation, I still can’t convince myself sometimes that this label applies to me. Why? Well, I’ve been wrong in the past when I was sure about things. Why not now too?
With my diagnosis rapidly approaching, I’ll soon have the opinion of someone who knows. I hope that will settle the internal arguments I have about it. My natural reaction right now though is to say that I dont know what the outcome will be.
Am I nervous about the diagnosis? Of course. I’m also haunted by the words of my mother, as spoken to my wife. To paraphrase: “If he does come back with an Asperger’s diagnosis, it’ll be because he’s read up on the subject so thoroughly that he knows all the right things to say”. I can see through this, of course, but I can’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt, and on less positive days, my lack of self confidence says that maybe she could be right.
Writing seems to help, to a degree, as it means I can externalise some of the thoughts that are running through my head. So as we near ‘D’ day, expect me to write here more frequently again, because seeing my glass as half full rather than half empty is important.
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2 Comments to “Glass half full”
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James, glad to see you are blogging again. When you go to the test, do not worry about whether or not you yourself will be validated. In the big scheme of things, getting early intervention for your daughter is your ultimate goal. You cannot control what they decide about you, but you are becoming educated in every way to advocate for your daughter. You must forgive your parents and picture that you are dealing here with two frightened 8-year-olds who only look like old people. I believe at some point you will find your parents conspiracy of silence unravelling and then they may need your comfort, which will be a reconciling (and revealing) thing for you. My own father went from denying his epilepsy for about 50 years, to stating unequivocally that he didn’t want to talk about it, to asking tenderly (and worrying over) the grandchildren who also had epilepsy. Two years ago (he was 84), I began to ask him questions about his seizures, and he answered me openly. I told him what I had learned, and he started to cry and asked me if any of the children were going to study at university to figure out how to cure it. It was one of those moments when I glimpsed ever so briefly the misery he experienced due to his neurological impairments. Yet, to an outsider, he was a successful businessman with a beautiful wife, a good reputation, and a family large enough to constitute a dynasty (he has 54 grandchildren).
When you talk about epilepsy to him, you see him revert to the shunned and misunderstood child he was. It is possible that this side of your mom and dad may not appear until one of them dies and the other feels entirely alone.
Hi eaucoin,
What a lovely reply. I’m sorry I’ve been hopeless of late at responding – as you know I’ve had quite a lot on my mind.
You are right – it will be very interesting to see how this pans out over time. I think acceptance on my mother’s part is going to take a while. Whilst I’m sure it is unintentional, she is still using the the wrong sort of language – she’s not meaning to be insulting or sound uncaring, but unfortunately it does sometimes come across this way.
At the end of the assessment, both my wife and I mentioned to the Professor our thoughts on our children and where they might be on the spectrum.
We are intending to have another session to chat things over with the Professor, and I’m sure this subject will come up again. My wife is hopeful that we can proceed without a formal diagnosis being needed. I’m still not sure – I do wonder whether making things formal opens more doors with help behind them – especially in the formal setting of school etc. It is a tricky balancing act, as a formal diagnosis in childhood can have negative results too. Clearly, my diagnosis is just the beginning, and we have much thought and discussion to come.
All the best,
James