Writing comes relatively easily to me, as do speaking and performing if I’m well-prepared. Ask me a random question and you may get some strange answers.

Embarrassing memories come up each time Rotherham, in Yorkshire, is mentioned. I’m sure Rotherham is a lovely place, but many years ago I was taken there with my then-boyfriend’s family to visit an uncle and aunt. The boyfriend, let’s call him Roger, had a sister. I’ll call her Marlene. Approaching their living room on my own, I overheard a conversation between Marlene and her uncle. “She doesn’t care what she says to anyone!” Marlene was saying disparagingly. They both stopped talking as soon as they saw me. She looked away. My skin crawled. Perhaps you know those uncomfortable silences. I had no idea what she meant, which made it worse.

As a young person I often did what many autistics do, adopting enthusiastically words and phrases that others used. Known as ‘echolalia’, it’s a bit like speaking in shorthand and it covered the fact that I wasn’t finding my own words quickly. None of this was conscious. One of my university tutors later remarked that I was not good at what he called “esoteric extrapolation”. That kind of blue sky thinking was beyond me, but analysis was easy because it was logical, had a starting point and developed step by step. Working under exam conditions can also leave me unable to think.

I’ve often said that having an autistic brain is like travelling long distance without the benefit of dual carriageways and motorways. You get there, but it takes a bit longer. Neuroscience is discovering that our unused neural connections don’t seem to get get pruned out during childhood as they do in more neurotypical brains. Questions and responses have further to travel. You can read a New Scientist article about this here:

Lack of neuron ‘pruning’ may be behind many brain-related conditions | New Scientist

A charity I once worked for asked me to represent them on a high-profile committee chaired by a well-known and respected CEO. I was quiet, listening and formulating my own views but saying little. The chair asked me what I thought about the topic in hand. I blanked, and could only respond that I had nothing to add. I will never forget the look of disdain on his face. Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t say something random, but I did feel inadequate and I had no understanding at that time about what was going on in my head.

I was reminded of all this at a meeting recently with some people who were relatively new to me. In response to what was being discussed, I suggested something that occurred to me in the moment, and one person quite reasonably asked me questions about it. My ability to respond coherently dried up, and I found myself saying some very odd things. I invariably leave meetings like that wondering why on earth I said what I said, and what I might have said if I’d had a bit of neural pruning rather than having to fight my way through a mental bramble thicket. Apparently I still haven’t learned not to make opportunistic suggestions unless I’m very clear about following up coherently. Being with people who don’t know me well needs caution, and getting caught up in enthusiasm can lead to the bramble thicket, to feeling silly, and ultimately, to feeling unsafe.

This journey into ageing autistically is bringing many insights.

Photo: gatekeeper butterfly on bramble.