My soul longs for connection & my body longs for isolation
The beauty and frustration of being autistic
Being autistic is wild.
Dr. Kristin Neff said it beautifully in a recent podcast episode:
“My soul longs for connection and my body longs for isolation.”
YES.
Turns out when someone lives a divided life, it’s quite distressing.
The beautiful news is that my daily lived experience of anxiety has drastically decreased since my diagnosis. My chronic pain has greatly diminished. I have more access to the calm center of my being.
Seeing the divided life and having a name for it has made a massive difference. People say labels don’t matter.
They do.
Especially when you’ve lived for decades with internal confusion and chaos because you’re trying so hard to keep up with all the rules of how people are supposed to be (neurotypical world) but it rarely matches what your body actually experiences (neurodivergent world).
Much of my anxiety turned out to be the confusion over what my body experienced compared to what I picked up around me. It rarely matched the stories I got handed about how the world worked.
So that’s why my inner 7-year-old nodded so hard I thought her head would fall out when she heard Kristin say, “My soul longs for connection and my body longs for isolation.”
When I think of gathering with humans in a space to connect, listen, tell stories, and journey together, I melt with goodness. Those spaces are beyond rich to me. Full of what feels most real about this life. There’s space to fall apart and release the parts of our stories that aren’t actually us. Space to see something real in another’s story, long before we realize it’s real in our story too. Space to feel shame dissolve when we realize hiding is exhausting and maybe it’s finally okay to let go. Space for love to flow unimpeded and free. Space to laugh and share life together.
That, my readers, is my ache for connection. I long for it with you. My family. My friends. The friends in my faith communities. It’s a melody that’s been whispering to me for decades. Always bringing me back to connection with beloved humans.
But.
Yeah.
It’s not that easy for my body.
Megan put it this way: “There’s a very real split between what I long for and what my body can handle.”
I love swapping stories with a new friend at a coffee shop.
Until the noise of nearby conversations overwhelms my brain (because it never fades to the background) and things go fuzzy and anxiety courses through my body.
I enjoy smiling and chatting with someone I enjoy.
Until my brain (that manually processes social interaction) starts asking if I’m making my face look the right way for this conversation. Am I standing in a way that looks like I’m interested? What are my hands doing? Where am I looking?
I’m energized by full and noisy public spaces with exciting vibes.
Until my body feels unsteady, wobbly, and disassociated because my brain can’t process all the data coming in very well.
I want to explore new places and adventure beyond what feels familiar.
It feels great until my brain struggles to process all the new incoming data and I end up rocking in bed, unable to regulate and find my center.
I implicitly trust pretty much everyone.
Which makes it deeply confusing when people take advantage of that. It never occurs to me that people aren’t telling the direct honest truth.
I want to put things on my calendar that sound nourishing, fun, and connected.
But I never know what my energy reserves will be at the future point, so it feels easier to stay home than to overcommit to something. Plus, I can’t always clear my calendar for the next day or two afterward to recover.
I want to joke around with people and banter with funny comments.
But my brain often takes people literally. I miss the joke and try to cover. I don’t know if others can tell. Either way, it’s not relaxing or funny for me.
The very people I ache to connect with — exhaust me.
I hate this.
This is autism, at least for me. Everyone is different. My energy reserves and stress levels also make this different day to day. Some days I can do a coffee shop visit and it feels pretty easy. Other days, I can enjoy dinner at a restaurant and a movie at the theater and still feel regulated when I get home. But many days, I can’t.
And my goal until 2022 was — push through and don’t let anyone know.
That is not my goal anymore.
The absolute curiosity and joy of this season post-diagnosis? I get to arrange my life so it supports who I actually am.
Cue a new kind of tug of war. I’m finding rhythms that feel really good and help me flourish in sustainable ways. But it looks quite different from before. I’m still working through how to explain this to people, how to forgive myself for pushing so hard before, and the shame/freedom that comes with new boundaries.
It’s tricky to change your life while it’s in progress. Granted, that’s the only way we actually change anything. But still — it’s hard.
One reason I write about autism is because I hope the casual observer learns a bit and can better support the lovely autistic humans around them.
Another reason is because the things my brain wrestles with may be unique to my neurodivergence, but there are parallels for all of us.
In what ways does your soul long for connection while your body longs for isolation?
Where does fear keep you from deeper vulnerability and honesty?
Where might your life be inviting you to a new rhythm that supports who you actually are?
May we each find some glimmers of invitation in those kinds of questions. So grateful we’re walking together, my dear reader.
Grace,
Jenny
Still Here: A Poetry Memoir of Grief & Love
Almost a year ago, I published a book about grief. Over on Facebook, I’m sharing a poem each day from the book as we lead up to its first birthday.
This is so great, Jenny. In my own journey, I learned to let go of outside pressures and expectations, and it's been my passion to help others do the same. Only lately as so many of us are late-stage-diagnosed neurodivergent am I learning more about the connection between the outer pressures and inner pressures being influenced by neurological and nervous system factors. It's been so helpful to have names, communities, and more information for myself and clients. Thank you for speaking so clearly to this.
You expressed well the push and pull between your soul and body. I'm glad you have found more peace in living with the tension between the two. As your mom, I hope that you will continue to grow in your understanding of how you navigate your relationships, while honoring your soul and body. I also hope that the people in your life grow in their understanding of how they can support and interact with you.