Author: chadwickbaldwin

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About chadwickbaldwin

A Canadian teacher in China

Being Touched-Out.

I am touch sensitive. I enjoy soft, silky, and smooth surfaces. I love the feel of plush, or a good hug from someone I love. I love the feel of bark, and soft grass on my feet. On the other side, the idea of certain textures makes me shudder; wetness, slime, ooze, chitin, spiky, or shag. yuck. Even smooth bumps, like glossy stones pushed together give me the willies. The idea is bad, the sensation of touching them is worse.

There are these smooth bumpy stones you are supposed to walk over to relieve stress or massage your feet. They hurt massively. Like I mean I cannot walk on anything after I use those.

I am also extremely ticklish to the point of pain. I have never been to a masseuse, because the idea of a stranger touching me makes my skin crawl. I have this image of me laying on the table all ready to have my muscles soothed, and then they touch me with their cold hands and I involuntarily twitch off of the table. My best friend in High school used to call me “The Royal Tickle-Me-Elmo.” (If you don’t get the reference, please google it).

There is another side to this, that comes into play. Social. As a teacher in Asia, the children are always trying to hug you, and poke you, and push you. In Korea they have this “game” called a Dong-Shim. The children put their hands together with their pointer fingers pointed up, like a gun, and then try to shove that into the butt of the closest person. It’s horrid. In China, the younger kids often see you as a surrogate parent, and try to hug you. By the end of the day, you just don’t want to touch anyone or anything. You are touched out. I love hugs from my family, and people I trust, but others I have to mentally brace myself for.

When you are young, it doesn’t take very long to be touched out.

This week at church, there was a little boy, about 1 years old. Sweet guy. But he immediately latched onto my daughter. All he was doing was hugging her, and taking her finger to lead her around. He would gently push her to sit, so he could sit with her. But within 20 minutes, My daughter was touched out. She began trying to escape, and ended up having a short breakdown.

I took her outside the room to the water machine. She sat there and tried to just feel the space around her again. She was afraid of going back in with this little guy because he wouldn’t give her space. This is not the first time this has happened with her, so I knew what she needed. She used to have these troubles when playing with certain friends in Preschool. She didn’t want to be rude, either time, which made it worse.

The trouble is just that. When it comes to sensory sensitivities of any type, we don’t want to be rude. We are often afraid of offending, or scaring off potential friends. In the case of the little boy, she didn’t want to make him cry. But then, in order to be polite, or accommodating, we tend to let ourselves get pushed beyond our threshold. where the sensation is no longer an irritation, but becomes a source of panic.

People who don’t understand these sensations often misinterpret them as being rude, or mean. And this is where our fear comes from. “He’s just a baby.” or “They just wanted a hug.” looks innocent enough, but if you are at your threshold, one of 3 things will happen, and none of them are great:

  • Try to get away from the source of irritation. This can be trying to leave, but if the source follows you can lead to a panicked push away or a yell to get away. It is often the last choice before one of the other two happens.
  • Melt down. Collapse and cry. This often happens without choice, but is terrible because if you are melting down from too much touch, people want to console you by hugging you.
  • Shut down. again not a conscious choice. This involves your brain stopping, and you not reacting to the outside world. If continues for a while as you try to get your body to reactivate. Again, people may try to hold you to touch you to get your reaction. Which makes it last longer.

One of the worst things when working in a public space like a school is people don’t realize that crowds make things worse. If you have neurotypical children in a class, and autistic children in the same class, you have to spend a lot of time teaching both how to handle situations.

When an autistic child is having a meltdown or shutdown, it draws the attention of the whole class. Everyone is worried, and so everyone stands around them. Crowding them in, making the panic attack worse. I have to often herd the children away and ask for help from other teachers or admin to help move the children away. I have had days where I had to just lay down next to the child, and breathe slowly, so they can focus on the sound of my breathing.

On the flip side, I have been touched-out early in the day before. It happens from my sound sensitivity too. I’ve collapsed into a crying mess in front of the children. I am not a loud crier usually. I just flop-sit down, usually on the floor, and focus on my breathing as the tears flow. It does not happen often. But I have talked with my students about what they need to do if this happens.

I always pick a couple of students to lead. They make sure everyone is back at their desks giving me space. Then they try to get everyone quieter. I can usually function to a degree after a couple of minutes, but this took a long time to reach. There are still some days it takes me hours to be functional again.

My daughter has not learned these skills yet, and is not even comfortable setting her boundaries yet. I hope that I can help her learn to know when she is getting near her limit. I hope I can give her the confidence to say “No” when she needs space, or to just find a quiet space.

I don’t know how yet to teach her these, and am learning myself. My parents didn’t know how to help me with this, and my school councilors only focused on my speaking, reading and writing. So I am completely self taught.

The world is better equipped to help my daughter than they were to help me. Unfortunately, ignorance still pervades.

Until the world catches up, I will be wrapped up in my blankets. I will be teaching my children that its okay to do the same.

Recess

A few days ago one of my students asked what my favorite thing to do at recess was. I had to tell her that as a child I didn’t like recess. I don’t lie to my students. She asked for more details and I let her know that I didn’t have my own friends back then. This is not entirely true of course, there were periods in elementary that I did have friends. These didn’t last long, and I mostly hung out with one of my brothers’ friends.

Then last night I began reminiscing about back then. My situation was not entirely due to my autism, but I am sure that it exasperated it. I moved to several elementary schools when I was young. In my 8 years of elementary, I had at least 4 schools. (Grade 7 was elementary when I was young): Steeples, Sparwood Elementary, Gordon Terrace, Amy Woodland. I didn’t really have much time to make friends at each.

I remember specifically at 3 of these schools I would spend my recesses walking circles around the entire school. Every recess I would walk in circles watching others play. Sometimes I was alone, sometimes not. I remember at Amy Woodland, I would have one of the parent volunteers walk with me. Mrs. Nadeau. I also remember having a girl named Tanya check up on me several times.

I remember having a kind of phobia relating to group play. If I had 1 or 2 people to play with I was happy, but any more than that and I would start to panic. Team sports in P.E. class were tough for this reason. I remember having 2 boys I thought were friends tell me once that they couldn’t play with me anymore. I never found out what I did to make them say that.

I remember having my blackouts every now and then during elementary. Something or someone would get me so lost in my head I would actually blackout and my body would react to things. I used to believe I had a monster hidden in me. Some of the things my monster did, that I don’t remember, but I was told by either other kids, my principal, or my parents include:

  • hitting a child in the head with my metal lunch box.
  • running away from a group and smacking into a wall at full speed.
  • running away from another child / group and running into a tree.
  • throwing a rock on the school roof, which slid down and hit someone on the head.
  • kicking a metal door repeatedly
  • throwing someone into a snowbank.
  • headbutting someone.

Once I was so stimulated, that I knew I would black out and I was terrified, so I walked as fast as I could away from a group, and ran into my cousin. (I think it was my cousin). I remember yelling at him to hit me, and screamed at him to hit me. Eventually he did, and I lay on the ground clutching my stomach. The pain helped me focus and block out all the other sensations. At that time, I remember thinking I deserved it.

That cousin (step-cousin actually), never played with me again. Not at school, not at home, not at family gatherings. Another relationship destroyed.

I didn’t know how to be a good friend at that time. I didn’t know what was expected of me. TV & Movies didn’t help explain that stuff, and books didn’t either.

As an educator, I watch close to see if my students ever need an ear. I am still often oblivious to what they are really feeling, or need. My students over the last couple of years have asked me several times, “Mr. Chad, Why do you keep asking if I am Ok?” It’s usually because I misread a situation. I’m older and more experienced, but still cannot read facial expressions perfectly yet. But I would rather ask, than not.

I have a student this year who loves to stay and read peacefully in the library during recess time. I always remind him to keep an eye on the clock, which of course he doesn’t. I think back about how nice it would have been to just have a quiet room to read in during my recesses. Maybe my monster wouldn’t have been so bad.

Special

Your not dumb, your just special.

Well aren’t you just special.

Your so special they have Olympics for people like you.

Special kids can’t play with us ordinary kids.

The word special was used to replace the word retarded. Case by case. when people call someone special, they don’t mean it in a good way. Special gets ingrained in our minds along with the many other words people use to describe us. lazy, dumb, slow, stupid, retarded, a monster. Autistic kids grow up hearing these things all the time. and we start to believe them.

Which is ironic, because when I was a young person I started off believing that Special was something you loved more. I had a special bear named Trevor. I had special games I loved to play. I had special books I kept in a special place.

But then you get the school. and for the next 12 years Special sucks.

I wish it ended there, but adult life can be just as hard.

I know I have a hard time communicating some things to people. Heck, certain topics that are normal for some people give me a panic attack to bring up.

How are you? Does this person want a real answer or just an acknowledgment of my existence?

What’s wrong? Where do I start? This could be a 40 minute info dump.

But other things like just talking with a person who is over you in an organization can be hard. I really like my principal, he’s a great guy, and has been on my side since I got here. But, I still have a panic attack if he initiates conversations or asks to talk.

Because it is now ingrained into my head that I screwed up somehow, and need to be better. But no matter how I try, I can’t. Why? Because I’m Special.

I have been trying to help my students do better with their relationships. Teach them how to help be more empathic and welcoming. some are getting it, but others I just can’t connect with, and I SHOULD be able to. Other teachers can.

One of my kids as internalized lazy because other teachers and his parents have been calling him that for years. But I see his struggles. He needs help being redirected, and needs a distraction free area. But the real world doesn’t offer that, and most classrooms don’t either. Not without the label of Special.

Sorry, no focus on today’s article, just needed to type to stop crying.

Thank you all for reading.