Photo Note: Not my typical "brown outfit," but this is me - and my sweet daughter, whom I will refer to as Chrissy in this blog. She has learned by default and necessity to do many things which even adults have found difficult to do, the greatest of which has been her beautifully forgiving heart toward her brother.
Brown is such a dull color. What's amusing is that I wear it all the time! I have brown pants, brown patterned shirts, and brown "shells" - all to layer over each other in a stunning array of earthiness! I even prefer browns of varying shades for eyeshadow, layering them for a "natural" look - why on earth do I like this color??
One thing which comes to mind fits in with some thoughts I was having last night during the last portion of a Pilates/Yoga class at my fitness club. Brown is safe. It is not frightening. It is not usually bold or "out there" in any way. It blends in with its environment, and is not common for it to cause attention, or stand out from the crowd. Brown just - IS.
The first time I took a yoga class, many weeks ago and more toward the beginning of my current weight-loss journey, I remember it having a strange and wonderful effect on me during the quietest and most relaxing moments. It was as if all the tension of life, wound up inside of me, finally had a place to deposit itself. (Yet I wasn't exactly sure where it went!)
In the emotionally tumultuous moments we have often traversed, there usually seems to be conflict, self-confrontation, and a feeling of straining toward personal control - anything which allows me to feel like things are on the right track, and manageable. A perfectionist personality strives to attain full "correctness" of situations and relationships, and often it feels like there is total failure in the absence of such correctness. And the soul remains tightly wound on a daily basis, seeking for reprieve.
So in those moments when I am lucky enough to have time for reflection, as in my yoga class, I typically try to reassure myself that I in fact am in control of things, and "on course." On that particular evening, though, something snapped in that wonderfully deceiving scenario, and I knew profoundly in that moment that I was not in control - I never had been, and never would be. I remember that knowledge as feeling both awful and terrifically liberating all in one sweeping moment, and I felt a tear or two slide down my cheek.
Everything in the world of autism as I know it is about control. The autistic person wants control, and needs it in order to be "right" in his world. Yet he is not truly self-controlled because he cannot relinquish that power to allow others to assert theirs, in his presence, in a give-and-take fashion. Rather, he lives wholly self-centered in the knowledge that his needs are paramount in every situation and moment.
This sameness which he needs, this peace and order, is part of the psychology of autism in which the afflicted person (and I am saying there is affliction, in spite of the way in which our second group from a previous blog - those who don't see the need to change autism at all - would interpret things) manipulates both the things and people around him, in order to bring all things into alignment in his own world. At least that's the way I interpret it. How I would love to ask my son if this is his perception of the reasons for his behaviors.
In a typical Bible-based response, there is no room for such manipulation of a child toward others, nor of such willful self-assertion, if it negates the needs of others or damages either relationships or things. Such behavior would normally be corrected, modified, re-directed, or at very least discouraged by a parent, in particular. Herein lies the obvious response of well-meaning onlookers who chide the parents of autistic or otherwise challenged children with statements such as, "if he were my child I would do such-and-such..." or "well, he just needs more discipline (training, privileges taken away)..." or "less attention (reward for bad behavior, coddling)..."
There is the therapeutic response in which a firm and experienced ABA (Applied Behavior Analysis) therapist tells you that you need to do things the same way each and every time, that your response must not vary, and that all your other children must come on board, too, and practice the same response to be used no matter what the circumstances. Never over-react, always speak firmly, kindly, and without agitation, almost without personal intonation. Never give in to wants, or certainly not to tantrums (haven't we heard that before - even with typical kids?!) Never acknowledge the improper behaviors, but only affirm the positive.
That sounds good in theory. Really, it does. The ABA therapists, though, do not have to stay at my home all day, and through the night, and deal with any manner of psychotic oddities and other naturally occurring family distractions which provide a nauseating array of constant flux and change in my world. They can go home, get a cappuccino en route, and push "reset" to come back and do some more "therapy" tomorrow. I'm a huge fan of ABA therapy, in case that wasn't obvious through this discourse, used in a myriad of situations, with kind and caring professionals doing the work. But just don't expect me to become a therapist myself, on top of all the other "hats" I wear. Yet my children often find this role a bit easier to take on, and come by it somewhat naturally.
You should see my 9-year-old angel of a daughter when Michael has just whacked her in the head or pulled a clump of her hair, hesitate in reacting at all, only to return the "kindness" moments later with a beautiful and gripping love response at the tiniest thing Michael does "right" afterward. "Good job, Michael! Nice job following directions!" she will say with a sing-song therapeutic voice, patting him on the forearm with approval. And the true miracle in it all is that she truly means it. Somewhere in the innocence of her pure, young soul she is more fully capable of seeing the "right" response, as she is more freshly borne of the heart of God, as yet unjaded by the vast and deep sorrows of life.
So my thoughts as I lay stretched out in relief (that I had survived another contortionist feat by showing up to that yoga class at all!) turned to a question, "Why is it that I have such an aversion to confrontation?" And I realized in a moment of full clarity that it was because I have fought to find, get, and enjoy control in those areas of my life in which there is none, and have failed repeatedly to encounter it. It eludes me as surely as every nerve in my body coils up with questioning struggle, seeking release, and does not ever fully un-kink itself.
Confrontation. Something from which I shirk in cowardice. There is the saying, "let go - let God." And from it, too, I retreat with shame. But I find a glimpse of the peace which could be mine when I fully "let God" be in control - and it is hard to accept, knowing that when I get up from my meditation, and the soothing music is gone, the confrontation, the fight, and the strained living are there all over again. But in the age-old dichotomy of a "fight or flight" response, I find direction and hope. Perhaps they are both faces of the same coin, and we really don't need to choose one over the other.
If I decide not to flee from the fight, nor enter into it in a way which will destroy my own peace, but rather find ways to express and even live out the fight emotionally, and physically (boxing, anyone?!) - then I can perhaps diminish the tendency to remain trapped in the battle daily. Through writing, music, exercise, diet, prayer - and anything which brings well-being to my thoughts while at the same time providing them a creative and exhaustive outlet - I can push through the daily "fight." And in doing so, I transport myself to a higher perspective, perhaps approaching the mind of God in each transcendent moment. And maybe it won't feel like such a fight anymore. I can live "outside" the battle since I have faithfully struggled, as did Jacob with the angel, and come to know myself in the process.
So brown, to me, has been a comforting retreat from the struggle. But perhaps it is just a bit too "safe" and allows me to flee to a simpler life of sameness and emotional stagnation. Time for some chartreuse, magenta, royal blue, or lime green! Time to step out of the comfort zone, and find some true release! It's ok to lose a little control, as if painting with wild abandon, and in doing so, find true control - in victorious peace!
Colors exploding,
Peace imploding,
Elise
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