Author: chadwickbaldwin

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About chadwickbaldwin

A Canadian teacher in China

Scratching

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I have near permanent wounds on my body. Places that I won’t let completely heal. Not because I want to have these, but because I scratch.

Stimming is a way for autistic people to manage themselves. It is a repeated action that we do to either move our focus from a sensation we cannot handle, or to help ground us back in reality when we need to focus our minds. Stimming comes in all sorts of activities, one of the most common ones is the hand flapping. Each stim we design helps us with one aspect of our life.

My son would flap his hands in class when he was in elementary school. The teacher didn’t know what was happening, and I didn’t register it was a problem, so I just told her to be patient.

When things are getting too serious and boring, like standing at a school meeting, I may start to stim. in these situations I may just make a silyl face (often tongue out with crossed eyes). When I’m a bit nervous or uncomfortable, I may do a short dance. When I am thinking or processing new information, I scratch.

I sometimes scratch my head. This sounds normal, but It’s not. I put both of my hands on my scalp and dig my fingers in and move them back and forth vigorously. If I happen to feel something our of the ordinary, up there, I will dig. There have been days in my past, where I found a bug bite, or bump from an old scar, and completely dug it up, leaving a section of my hair matted in blood.

Similarly when I scratch my arms or legs, I tend to pick at bug bites, pimples, scars, and wounds. I don’t do this consciously. I will be lost in thought and then I realise my arm is bleeding, and I have to get a band aid or tissue.

There was a time when I was a teenager, that I found a wart on my finger. (I think it was a wart), and I used a pen knife to slowly remove it. It took me a week to remove it completely. I would cut a section off, then bandage it up, then the next day start picking at it, (and nibbling at it), then cut a bit more off, and bandage it up. It never occured to me to talk to a doctor about this. It was just part of my adjusting myself.

I would never have seriously hurt myself, and I still would never. This however, is hard to explain to people when you have dried blood in your hair, or you are explaining something to your coworker, and you accidentally pop a scab off you rarm, and need a tissue or bandage.

If I have to try to rein it in, so it’s less obvious, I pick at my fingernails. I will run my finger along my fingernails, and if I find any edgers, or irregularities, I will just start picking at it. This leads to part of my nail peeling off, and sometimes, my finger bleeding. Often, however, it just leads to more unven finger nails

There was a time In Korea when I became obsessed with carving my nail. I put my thumb in my mouth, and rubbed it left and right on my front teeth. Over a week of this, I had carved a dent into my thumb nail. and then I would watch it as it grew down my thumb, finally when the dent reached the clippable area, I clipped it and started the process over.

I am often told to “Just stop picking” and I wish It was that simple. If it was a conscious action, it might be possible. But stimming is often an unconscious thing. Sometimes you just do things, scratching, cross eyes, or dancing. and the more you try to ignore the urge, the harder it can become. It is usually best to just do the action and get it out of the way so you can be regulated and move back on task.

To an observer, many of these stimms may seem unacceptable, or even harmful. Imagine standing in a line with all your coworkers for a “Sport Day” parade, and you start stimming by dancing or making faces. It is seen as rude and inappropriate. However, to an understanding individual, they know that I, or other Autistics may not be able to focus, or handle the situations overwhelming sensations without this.

When my students start doing something that could be a stim, I watch and observe before I react. If it is not harmful, then I may not react quickly. Sometimes, it takes me a few weeks to begin dealing with a situation to help the child. I don’t want students to self-harm, even if it is small like mine. I need to be careful that I keep dangerous behaviour at bay while still allowing the child to stim as a way to regulate themselves. If it is an overwhelm, I may be able to remove the cause, but otherwise we want the child to learn how to help themselves with this.

Wrong

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I have found myself talking a lot lately about what my childhood was like in some aspects. Parents of my students, My teaching team, students in my Newspaper club, all seem to want to know about my past. I have been upfront with my teaching team about my autism. To my students I just admit to being different. My own daughter told them about my balance issues, and me falling down the stairs often.

Coloring in Black

When I was a child, I would be given a coloring page by a teacher and given the instructions to “Color it.” While my classmates would share and trade the colored crayons with each other, all trying to make the most beautiful piece of art they could, I would take 1.

Usually Black.

Then I would get lost in the action of filling in all the spaces of the page. It did not occur to me that each of the spaces might require a different color. I would just zone out, forget about the world, and be focused, hyperfocused if you will, on the act of filling in these spaces.

My teachers used to report that there was something wrong with me. My picture that had started with a building, or a pretty pony, was now pitch black, with no traces of the original picture. It was all clearly colored, not scribbled on, but they didn’t seem to understand. There must be something wrong.

I was just happy I had colored it. I followed the instructions. I did not understand why this caused such commotion. The other children couldn’t even color in the lines, and were haphazardly colored with a lot of white space shown. But their pictures were considered beautiful. Mine was clearly colored in the lines, and no white spaces left. It just cost the whole black crayon, or most of it.

Nobody explained this to me. Not even as I grew up. I was an adult when I figured this out on my own.

Coloring still soothes me to this day.

Living with Dad

When I was quite young, I moved in with my father and stepmother. It was a new town and a new school. It was a small town, with a small town school. Differences are not understood, or appreciated in small towns. I used to get off the school bus so overwhelmed by the other kids, that I would have shut downs.

Once I apparently got off the bus and smacked another kid in the head with my metal lunch box. I don’t remember doing this, but I remember getting off the bus, and then I was suddenly in the principal’s office, not knowing what had happened. I was of course lectured about this. To this day, I don’t know who I hit, or if they were the cause of the shut down, or if they just happen to be too close, when I lashed out.

I had been told, of course that when I was really young I would lash out at my brothers, like an animal. I don’t have memories of this either. But I do remember promising to never let the monster out again. I hated myself for many years, and would come home from school and lock myself away just so that I could calm down and make sure nobody else got hurt.

My dad, and stepmom were unprepared for this, and they began looking for solutions. My condition was not well known back then. They believed something was wrong with me, and looked for ways to ‘cure’ me. I remember hearing something about electric shock therapy being considered. My mother took me back to her house before they decided.

Recess

Elementary was not an easy time. While other children would run and play with their friends, I would purposely walk laps around the school, or the school yard, depending on which school I was at. I would mostly look at the ground and focus on the walk. This was another method I had devised to keep the monster from escaping. But even when I was not overwhelmed, I kept it up. Routine is very important, and it would seem strange not to walk around in loops.

I made friends with the parent volunteers that would walk around the school for student safety. Teachers in those days did not monitor the playground. Parents did. Teachers stayed indoors, and I believe, enjoyed the little time they had without the children.

The Skateboard Incident

I had a skateboard. I liked it, and would ride on it around my house. One time I had to go to the corner store to get something for my stepdad. I rode my skateboard. I ran into some of my classmates, who had never seen me on my board. They asked me, in a very rude way, if I was a skater.

I have a skateboard, I ride my skateboard, thus by my logic, I am a skater. I was completely oblivious to the fact that there was, and still is, a whole subculture of people called “skaters.” So I said yes. They then began demanding that I do some tricks for them to prove it. I had never heard of these terms. One was called an “Ollie.” When I didn’t know what they were talking about they called me a “poser.” I did not know this term either, but the way they said it hurt. That was the last time I rode my skateboard. It sat in the corner of my room for years.

I didn’t know what I had done to make them angry or upset with me. All I knew was something about that board made people dislike me. So I stopped.

There were other things I stopped for the same reason. I stopped admitting I liked wrestling, but didn’t want to wrestle, that made people angry. I stopped bringing toys to school for show and tell, because I had the wrong toys. I stopped talking about books because I took twice as long as everyone else to read, and apparently that is bad. I even tried my hand at poetry once, but that almost got me beat up.

I was told by my mother that I would be a smart child, but that also seemed to make people upset with me, so I settled for the average grades. Not too high, people didn’t like that. Not too low, Mom wouldn’t like that. So I would just do enough, then doodle in my book. Which I could then fill in the doodles to calm myself.led an “Ollie.” When I didn’t know what they were talking about they called me a “poser.” I did not know this term either, but the way they said it hurt. That was the last time I rode my skateboard. It sat in the corner of my room for years.

I didn’t know what I had done to make them angry or upset with me. All I knew was something about that board made people dislike me. So I stopped.

There were other things I stopped for the same reason. I stopped admitting I liked wrestling, but didn’t want to wrestle, that made people angry. I stopped bringing toys to school for show and tell, because I had the wrong toys. I stopped talking about books because I took twice as long as everyone else to read, and apparently that is bad. I even tried my hand at poetry once, but that almost got me beat up.

I was told by my mother that I would be a smart child, but that also seemed to make people upset with me, so I settled for the average grades. Not too high, people didn’t like that. Not too low, Mom wouldn’t like that. So I would just do enough, then doodle in my book. Which I could then fill in the doodles to calm myself.

Now

If someone had told me back then that filling a page in black crayon wasn’t wrong, just different, I think I would have believed in myself a little more. That’s what I hope to give my students. I have been at schools that ignore the odd kids. I have been at schools that outright ostracize them. I have been at school where they want to help the “spectrum kids,” but the leadership doesn’t understand them, and doesn’t accept advice from teachers that do.

When parents or colleagues ask me what my childhood was like, I often hesitate. Do I tell them the truth; that difference was treated as wrong? Or do I tell them what I wish had been true?

It’s even more heartbreaking when the parents, also ignore, refuse to acknowledge, or help their kids. I have met parents who want others to “fix their kid” and won’t hear that they, as adults, need to learn how to work with their child. How dare someone tell them that their kid needs them to step up and learn something new. Shame on us for wanting to help the child survive their family.

I still try to have difficult conversations with families and school leadership about these things. And I know we all can make a difference. I know we can make the world a place where a little boy or girl is not afraid to be themselves, and enjoy the things they do. Where they will never feel like what they are is wrong.

Down Time or Extra Cash?

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Some things happened today that made me reflect on how important my down time, and my family time are to me. I got to thinking about part time work.

Part Time Jobs

For those in the know, working anywhere that is not directly connected to your Visa registration, is illegal. 8 years ago this became very pertinent. I worked at an elementary school that owned the next door kindergarten. The Kindergarten had a different name, but was linked. An Example would be if I worked at a School called “Beijing Elementary School” and the Kindergarten was called something like “Beijing Elementary Super-tots.” At one point, the school began to assign teachers who worked in the elementary to have classes next door in the Kindergarten. They got raided by the police and those teachers lost their visas.

So keep that in mind, it can be dangerous to work outside your legal company. Many teachers don’t let that bother them, and they take on private tutoring jobs at people’s houses, or they work in the evening at a cram-school. They figure, the police don’t raid places at night, or go to people’s apartments, so they are safe. And the money is good. (1000RMB per hour, or about $150 USD an hour). I have seen places get raided at night. I have heard about security guards of apartment compounds reporting frequent visitors, who are picked up at the community gate. (If you have study material coming from the house, you get deported.)

So I don’t do it. I have done it in the past, but never for the money. I have done Easter or Christmas events at cram schools for the children. But we are careful about this, I don’t get paid, but instead have my children involved in the events, so it is volunteering. That is permissable, but I still don’t like it.

Family Time

16 years ago, when we were pregnant with my second child, I was offered a lot of part time jobs. Everyone was telling me that a second child will be expensive, and that I will need to work harder to earn more.

I told them no.

Unlike many families here, My wife and I have almost always been on our own. At that time, my wife needed me at home to help out with our son, and the house. She did not need me coming home late. She needed help, and as her husband it was my job to do so.

I went through a time, where I convinced myself I had to work more, and when I was building up the school I was at, I worked a ton of extra hours (I think I timed it at 75 hours per week including class, curriculum development, standards modification, and planning for the new program.) It caused a lot of strain on my family, and myself, and I promised I would never do that again.

Now I help with homework, and enjoy time with my wife and children whenever I can.

Burnout

Now here’s the thought that started this article in the first place. I am working within my limits. Over the last several years I have realized how much I really need my down time. As I study up on my autism, I learn more about myself. I recognize why I feel so exhausted when I get home from a day at work. Just being with people, even kind and nice people, is draining. I still have to mask a lot.

My Mask helps me deal with the fact that sounds hurt. It helps me deal with smell difficulties, and needing social distancing. It helps me contain urges to flap, twitch, or break out in silly dances. While all of these things are much less in demand at my new school, they are still there. And No, doing a silly dance or flapping with people does not help like flapping or twitching on your own. It is called stimming.

Stimming is an action we do to help regulate our own feelings and minds. It helps us focus our minds, and experience our authentic emotions. The moment we are doing it with others, we are focused too much on the other people and it does not help in the slightest.

I have a few students in my class who are on the spectrum. Two of them like my attention. One has tactile sensitivity. He absolutely loves fuzzy things, including my arm. The other cannot handle loud constant noise, and handles this with sharp sudden noises. He enjoys throwing books on the floor to make this sound as he can feel it and it breaks up the sound of a busy classroom.

I love helping them, in my class, or at recess. But If I were to be asked to help them after school I would have to decline. Yes, I can sympathize with them, but I know I would not be much help to them if I am in need of my down time. I truly hope that their families are allowing them to have their down time to recuperate from the day, too.

If you have read any of my earlier articles, you are aware of how exhausting it can be for myself and other autistics to deal with the world. I do not wish to make anyones time more difficult. In fact I wish to do the exact opposite. But I cannot do that, if I cannot manage myself. So no part time work, no to things that break up my family time, or down time.