I don’t think people understand the layered nature of marginalisation. Some people have a broader understanding of intolerance, but it’s often assumed to be at the level of outright racism or obvious discrimination.
But behind the everyday interactions, there’s a whole layer of systems created based upon the mainstream assumptions. If you don’t fit in that mould, you often face an uphill struggle in many different areas of life.
Photo by Aliaksei Lepik on Unsplash In the past, I’ve bemoaned the lack of warmth people have. Maybe it’s a capital city thing, but the level of hyper-independence makes it nigh on impossible to have a sustained relationship with anyone. People are too emotionally unavailable, or too busy doing their own thing. Fast forward to […]
(Yes, I felt compelled to write about neurodivergence. And yes, I’m publishing this at 2am)
Most people have heard about yoga, but fewer know about ayurveda. If yoga is the physical and spiritual practice, ayurveda is the science of health, based upon practices refined over thousands of years in South Asia.
I’ve been experiencing a burnout, and I’ve found that our modern-day approaches are pretty poor. Ayurveda gave me the first systemic explanation of burnout that actually made sense.
This made my mind return to how this might map onto neurodivergence. As my brain ticked along, I realise that it actually maps up extremely well.
Yesterday, I went to the osteopath. We start the sessions with her asking what the issue is, after which she focusses on that area of the body.
Although the session was ultimately helpful, I can’t help but feel that there is something a little backward in this. Me, the non-expert, ends up needing to explain my symptoms and what I think is going on with my body.
I think I am particularly bitter this week because of the realisation about how much my chronic bodily tension has affected me up until this point. I actually follow a pretty typical route for a high-masking autistic person, where I held so much tension that went unnoticed for decades by everyone around me. I think it’s why I’ve had so many difficulties in eating, sleeping and weight management.
A key moment for learning is when things stop working properly.
Most of us have no idea how our car works. We don’t really need to either, so long as its functioning correctly.
But the moment something goes wrong, we decide to investigate. We open up the hood of the car, only to have the level of our ignorance be laid bare. We have no idea what we are looking at, nor how any of it really works. If we Time for us to learn quickly, else we be stuck on the side of the highway in the middle of the night.
This morning, I felt like I wanted to stretch my body.
This small fact may sound unremarkable, but it is probably the first time that I genuinely wanted to move, rather than felt like I should.
I’ve previously exercised because it was good for me, or it made me feel better. In my recent low-activity state, I’ve missed the psychological relief it gave me.
But nowhere did anyone explain to me that the body is actually meant to want to do these things. Rather than being a rag doll to command, it is a living, breathing organism with its own signals and impulse.
Why do we do the things that we do?
Many people smoke to regulate their stress rather than actually enjoying the taste. People often drink heavily as a form of escapism, rather than the social aspect.
There are often deep, underlying reasons for harmful behaviour. Without addressing these, you’re unlikely to kick any type of bad habits.
But equally, there comes a point where certain things have just become habits. If we do something long enough, it becomes an automatic instinct, even if we know they no longer makes sense.
A few days ago, I went to the cash machine, then walked directly to the supermarket. I bought a full load of groceries and walked back home.
I had no major fatigue or back pain flaring up. Believe it or not, this was notable progress.
It sounds so insignificant, but in the context of what I’ve been experiencing, this is a sign that I can slowly rely on my body again. It’s also incrementally more than I’ve been able to do in the last few weeks, and a much better bodily response than I’ve had in years.
For the first time, I played with the notion that I may never recover. Perhaps the energy of old will never return. My new existence is one of exhaustion and management.
This may sound defeatist, but I don’t think it is. I do believe that I will recover, slowly, but surely. But considering how long this has gone on, and realistically how far off anyone’s expectation this has been, it’s not beyond the realms of possibility to think that I may never get better.
Rather than sounding bleak, there is a sense of simplifcation that comes with such a thought. No longer do I need to constantly find this something that I need to fight. No longer do I need to feel like I am delaying my life to a magical ‘when’ time. It allows me to be present, and not worry too much about the future. There is a freedom in this.
I’m waking up with nausea. My back is flaring up. A fifteen minute walk is leaving me in agony. I’ve had to cancel on three social events this week.
I’ve regressed to the point that leaving the house seems like a risky endeavour. The nausea leaves my appetite in confusion. I know that I need to eat, but my sense of appetite is totally suppressed.
Such is the world of recovery. One week is good, another three weeks are difficult.