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This post comes as a result of a reality show I watched earlier this week, where a number of volunteers were chosen to partake in a social experiment during which they were made to live in Mesolithic conditions, without recourse to modern technology. The survival of the tribe was largely dependant upon groupwork and even among neurotypicals, groupwork turned out to be an issue.
I've been on countless in-service training programmes where I've been bundled in a group with complete strangers and instructed to come up with a solution to a problem. I expend a lot of energy trying to come up with something to contribute to the group, while all the others seem to naturally generate the right words to say at the right time to the right people. It doesn't take long before everyone else in the group become aware of my silence. They miss the tedium I experience in thinking hard about what to say and the painful process of processing their words and conversations and making sense of it all. They weren't there when I woke up in the morning in intensely debilitating fear, dreading what problems I would encounter as a result of my social and communication problems. All they see and all they know is that 'this guy is not talking and for that matter, he's not making any effort. We are therefore choosing to dislike him'. This becomes glaringly obvious in the next item I dread: coffee break times. It's too short for me to dash outside and relax on a nearby park. Yet it's long enough to experience the full force of social isolation. Groups form around me while I stand or sit like a centrepiece, all by myself. I find it impossible to believe that these folks have previously never met and now they're all best friends with so much in common, numbers are exchanged, bonds are formed. Even the person who I befriended because I was the first to arrive at the venue and was able to offer her some assistance, has found a group of people and has formed a stronger friendship than mine. An attempt to join her little group was an eye opener: the group disbanded...and reformed elsewhere...Was it my breath? My dress sense? Do I have B.O.? Or do I simply keep invading people's privacy without realising it?
My days of hopping from one group to another, putting on a friendly face( wide forced grin) in the hope that one group might ask me about my music or my work or anything of interest that would get me talking to the group are over. I quit trying to be Mr Life and Soul of the Party. Period.
A few years ago, whilst I headed the department of English As an Additional Language (EAL) in a reputable secondary school in inner London, I had the singular opportunity of being invited on board a working party with the aim of revising the standard 'Stages of English Acquisition (threshold, beginner intermediate and advanced) for all the four skills (reading, writing, speaking and listening/ understanding). I felt so honoured to be chosen to influence such an important document that would inform the good practice in schools at the Local Authority level. This was a year before I learned I had Asperger's.
On the day, we all met in a host school. It was a large and daunting group. But when we were split into primary and secondary sections, my group was a lot smaller. It was made up of 4 people. Myself, an outstanding EAL teacher I had the opportunity of befriending months before, another EAL teacher by whom I had been previously mentored at the start of my tenure of office, and a male EAL and English teacher I had never met. What struck me most at first glance was his rebellious hair.
Then came the time for introductions. As I dreadfully waited for my turn to speak, each of the participants one by one listed their accomplishments and accolades. The male teacher spoke of his books and publications. My friend mentioned the trainings she had delivered all over the city, the materials and packs she had developed, passing some samples round. The experienced mentor had volumes to say and by that time, it had become apparent that I was the weakest link.
Mine was short and sweet. I spoke about my recent appointment as head and how I was progressively bringing change in the school with regards to EAL. At this point, the organiser stepped in to announce that she had decided to include me in order to provide me with exposure and experience. By this time, I had become so belittled and downtrodden I couldn't shrink any further. I tried to psych myself into seeing the positive in the situation, and foreseeing the skills and recognition I would gain at the end of the exercise. Did that work? Nope.
As the working party deliberated, each participant had a valuable contribution to make. They spoke of topics I had never heard about though I am an avid reader. They mentioned theories and debated existing stages of language acquisitions with theoretical ones. There was no way I could have made an adequate contribution to something I knew so little of. I suddenly realised that whenever the opportunity arose, I would echo the last words of people in the hope that it would register into people's minds that my voice was also heard. The rest of the time, I battled with anxiety and waited anxiously for the end of the session.
Then, I remembered that my driving lesson was due in an hours time and the commute home was quite a distance. I switched off and began to ruminate about being late for my prepaid lesson, and losing my fee as well as valuable practice time. I was therefore, unable to grant the session any more of my battered attention as my mind was now a blatant battlefield. A carnage of words and thoughts and emotions. My head and heart pounded like a thousand galloping horsemen launching a brutal assault. My stomach churned with butterflies like a hurricane. I knew I couldn't take anymore. What I did not know was that it had a name. Sensory overload.
When they finally closed, I was the first to dash out. I survived the commute and made it just on time for the driving lesson. I was a complete wreck during the lesson and it was unusually dark. Outside and inside. I was completely drained and exhausted from all the (attempted) interactions.
In the days that followed, I told anybody who would listen that I was part of the group that is creating the newly revised EAL guidance. I felt extremely proud as I remembered the effort I exerted and the exhaustion I experienced. I felt they had paid off. I was so proud I failed to notice that I wasn't invited to any more sessions. After three months, the very detailed and comprehensive document was ready. A copy was emailed to me. I noticed that everyone's name was printed in the acknowledgement page. Everyone's except mine. And to cheer me up, I didn't pass the driving test for which I sprinted across London to make it on time for the practice.
I start a new job tomorrow. I've told myself that I'm going to put my fears and feelings aside and be a team player. I have read a book on assertiveness. I have read another on teamwork. I'm just hoping and believing that maybe...maybe, tomorrow, things might be a bit different.
