The A-Game Part 2: Lessons from my autistic daughter on ‘what you don’t say’.

A while ago I posted a letter to my daughter, Harper…if you can call it a 'letter' given no moistened envelope was in sight; rather a collection of reflections about her autism which she will undoubtedly never read. I didn’t expect anyone to read it. But they did. And I was surprised. ?

I have been surprised a lot. I was surprised recently. I am surprised at being surprised! I have precisely 5 years, 11 months and 7 days of experience with my autistic daughter. You may think that that after 5 years, 11 months and 7 days I would realise that a weekend in Wales with some extended family would lead to 48 hours of her on mute. That she would need to sleep for 14 hours afterwards and that she would sob for exactly 135 minutes the next morning; ridding herself of sensory over-stimulation.

“I don’t believe it” the teacher tells me. “She’s so great at school! When she fell over today she didn’t even cry”.

I asked her if she cried. She shook her head.

I asked her if she wanted to cry. She nodded.

To anyone else, she is content. She is quiet. She is brave. She is a reader.

She is not. She is a mimicker. A hider. She is not content. She is anxious.

Her anxiety – borne from what seems like an everyday act – leaving her vocally paralysed, her head nestled in the back of my knee or nuzzled to my face. In an attempt to draw her out of her shell, I sit watching videos of her as a baby. “Why am I always crying?” she asks quizzically. ?“Because you were afraid” I reply. “Why didn’t you stop me from being afraid?” she responds “Because I didn’t know…”.

It got me wondering what assumptions we make about others’ contentedness. Do they know they are <insert your own choice of emotion here>? Do we know they are <insert your own choice of emotion here>? What are people not saying? How do we make our interactions meaningful enough to spot when they’re not crying after metaphorically grazing their knee?

So I hereby commit to noticing. I hereby commit to naming it. I hereby commit to owning it.

I hereby commit to perfecting the artform that is drawing information from my daughter in a way that is specifically nuanced to her. I commit to showing her she doesn’t need to hide behind my knee or my face, but that my knee is always here when she needs it and I will always face her.

I commit to helping her name it. Whatever ‘IT’ is. Even in her sporadic elective muteness, I will anticipate it. I will notice it. I will adapt. I will learn. I will offer her fish and chips for tea when that is what she needs.

And I encourage you to do the same, for all your friends, colleagues and family. Own it. Notice it. Name it. Support it. Build meaningful relationships. #learnfromHarper

P.s. She is brave. The bravest in fact.?