Meltdowns

Meltdowns and shutdowns are involuntary responses to nervous system overload. I do not choose to have a meltdown or shutdown. A meltdown isn’t a tantrum. A shutdown isn’t stonewalling.

It isn’t a lack of effort or poor emotional regulation skills. Taking a deep breath doesn’t work when the barrage of inputs won’t stop. The only thing that works is stopping the input.

I am still responsible for my meltdowns and shutdowns. I am responsible for doing everything I can to prevent getting to that point. I am responsible for the impact when they happen.

I am easily overwhelmed by someone talking “at” me. It’s my responsibility to ask them them to slow down or pause, write things down so it’s less overwhelming to keep track of the conversation, wear earplugs to cut down on the sharpness of their tone, and leave the conversation if necessary. If my requests of the other person are not honored, or the actions I take lead to escalation, it is my responsibility to minimize or stop interactions with that person.

When I get overwhelmed I have difficulty controlling my tone and volume. I speak too loudly and too fast and with too much urgency. It doesn’t make sense why I would be overwhelmed, so if I am speaking like that I must be expressing anger and escalating the situation.

I don’t have the bandwidth to monitor my facial expressions. I have been repeatedly told that my natural expression looks like hatred. My neighbors nicknamed me “psycho” because of the way I looked when I walked by, not knowing they could see me. This causes escalation too.

My mannerisms become hard to control. I rock back and forth. My hand movements are erratic and jumpy. I pace and shake. This makes the other person’s nervous system feel threatened.

Because it doesn’t make sense why I would act like this, I must be doing something wrong. I’m toxic or too much. Then I feel misunderstood, which activates all of the trauma of being misunderstood and unfairly blamed my entire life. If I’m not careful I become reactive and then fulfill the prophecy.

Despite doing significantly more work to regulate my nervous system than the people around me, I am accused of ruining a good time. Of not being emotionally mature enough to regulate. When I advocate for myself and try to explain the cycle – what I can and cannot control – I am accused of blaming others. Of shirking accountability. Because I am often the only autistic person, I am excluded and shunned by the group. I am a dark cloud, best to be avoided.

The most effective thing I can do to prevent meltdowns and shutdowns is to pace myself and honor my sensory needs. The things that help me regulate are judged harshly. I am being difficult when I need specific things to make life more predictable and safe. I am failing to make memories when I need space. I am making friends uncomfortable when I can’t engage in small talk. It’s not OK to engage in a predictable and safe hobby or interest on vacation; I’m not appreciating the experience enough. I am punished for attempts to meet my needs. Then when the lack of regulating activities leads to deregulation, I am punished for that.

The feedback loop becomes so intense that even the thought of interacting with others becomes overwhelming. The fear of rejection, of shame. It becomes impossible to interpret reasonable boundaries as being anything but further attempts to control and ostracize me. I can reason my way to understanding but it takes hours of rumination, which just further depletes my capacity for self care.

There are stories about autistics, especially about autistic men, that explain what is happening from a pathologizing and dehumanizing perspective. Most of what people know about autism is based on this perspective. Autism is caused by “extreme male brain” and “mindblindness”. These stories give weight to the narrative that I’m acting maliciously. That it’s a lack of empathy, when really it is too much. If someone doesn’t know I’m autistic they look for another narrative to explain my behavior. It must be a harmful expression of my (assumed) dominant gender identity. It couldn’t possibly be a healthy expression of my neurocognitive minority identity.

Support is withdrawn when I need it most. I just need someone to say that it’s OK for me to have a hard time some of the time. that they know how hard I am trying, and that they won’t abandon me because of my disabilities. I need someone to give me the benefit of the doubt. If they would just ask me, I would tell them what is really happening. I don’t even need something from them. After a lifetime of this I’m pretty adept at caring for myself. I just need them to let me be without punishment. To accept me back into their life when I have the capacity to come back.

I don’t know how to get out of it. I think I probably just need to cut anyone out of my life that escalates when I take care of myself. Cut out anyone who is unwilling to put in the effort to understand autistic needs and ways of being. Err on the side of boundaries that are too rigid, because it is too easy to get stuck in the cycle. Prioritize relationships that demonstrate a basic regard for my autistic body and mind.