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  1. Here's how to help your kids deal with their anger issues.
  2. Where does the majority of anxiety come from in teenagers, and what can you do about it?
  3. Let's talk about Neuroception and Vagal Tone regulation, which is the way that you shake that feeling of perpetual dread.
  4. Here's 3 different and easy to use tools that you can use to know if your kid is happy and doing well, or struggling and masking.
  5. So... I posted this to my timeline to document and help me cope with the current world as this seems to help me cope a little better and a dear friend suggested that I document things..... This is to give people insight into what this pandemic is like from someone who has autism .... This is not an end all be all fits every situation sort of thing.. I am just documenting it so people can understand how one Aspie is trying to cope.. Right now I am overstimulated by people... news... places.. etc...... I have posted on my timeline in the past about over stimulation and its impacts on someone who is Autistic.... but here is a refresher. over stimulation comes in many many many forms when your autistic.... it can be lighting (florescent lighting for me) it can be noise.... it can be temp. It can be a crowded room or an uncrowded room with few people and everyone yelling..It can be the hum you hear because of electricity (yes I hear the hum) or the flicker of lights to the mhz of electricity.. it really could be anything to be honest.. Right now to me it feels like I am drinking from the fire hose when it comes to stimulation... so even the littlest things trigger stuff.... I have also been having mini melt downs... What is a mini melt down you may ask... glad you asked... a mini meltdown manifests for me in a few ways... In some cases I begin to stutter very badly, other cases I shut down and go silent, there are many many other ways I have mini meltdowns. But, sometimes I also get on a mini emotional roller coaster and overload (I imagine this is how some women who are on their cycle feel though being male I can't confirm)...Imagine breaking out in tears at telling someone thank you for being there.... It is this last one I want to talk about... because I think other Aspies might run into this during this time... so I want people to be aware and understand and help when they can.... So yesterday I went to the store and had a dejavu moment from an event that happened when I was younger. I went to a market in East Germany to buy something. During my trip last night I was having mini meltdowns and did not really realize it until I thought about it today... As I was hunting and gathering I was also watching the workers.. and they seemed very dejected... So I started making it a point of thanking those people for what they were doing... They were literally trying to make me safe.. even though I am sure they do not see it that way.... I do... so I started to walk up to a point (social distancing)... and thank each and every one of them... this is where the roller coaster starts... suddenly I started to get very very sad... and upset.... which triggered stimming.... it also caused me to panic buy some things I did not really have room for. I know some of this is normal herd mentality but some is also Aspie wanting to make sure I am safe and prepared... Sometimes I feel like a damned Boy Scout because of this and you can see it when I go to a con when I bring my full toolkit or my Jewish mother bag full of food on trips (thanks Mom... but to this day I still refuse to eat Vienna sausages (a story for another time))... The point I guess I am trying to make here is for those who are Autistic like me or have relatives who are, children who are... please understand when it seems like we are behaving weirder than normal... its all part of this over-stim situation.. We are trying to cope and adapt.... cause our world of binary rules and decision trees are not working right now... the scrabble board has been tossed in the air and we are scrambling to figure out how to put our world back in order.. so please be a little more patient with us.... cause we usually think NT's are a little bat #@!% crazy in normal situations... imagine that turned up to 11 and that's what we are having to deal with at the moment... and little things can trigger mini meltdowns.... empty shelves...etc... Again... Love each other... help each other and we will get through to the other side.... Closing the Cave door and leaving the candle in the window..
  6. “James has autism,” I typed the next day. I was sending an email to our family and friends. I couldn’t imagine talking to them all, saying the words again and again on the phone. I knew some people would be mad that I was putting such big news in an email, but I also knew that some people would be relieved that I wasn’t telling them face-to-face. “The psychiatrist at Dayton Children’s diagnosed him, and we will, of course, seek a second opinion, but it looks like the diagnosis is correct. He also has Attention Deficit Disorder and Oppositional Behavior Defiance Disorder. But the main diagnosis is autism. I know that one day we will be the “Poster Parents” for Autism, and we will raise money and awareness and do walks …. but right now we are devastated,” I wrote. Then I hit send. I walked out into the living room. “Well, I did it,” I said to Sean. “Did what?” “I told everyone. I sent a mass email. Your family and mine.” “Okay,” Sean answered. “What did you say?” I told him, and Sean winced. “What?” I asked. “You don’t think I should have told them all of that?” “I don’t think you should have said we’ll be poster parents,” he said, with a laugh. “Now we have to live up to it.” The next day, when Sean came home from work, he came and sat by me. I looked up from my computer. “Did we get a lot of emails back?” he asked, glancing at the screen. “Yeah, everyone’s been really nice. Lots of “I’m so sorry,” or “We’re thinking about you.” I stood up and pushed the chair in with a bang. “So what’s wrong?” Sean asked. “I don’t know. None of them have said what I really wanted to hear, I guess.” “Which is?” “That it isn’t true.“ “Kristina.” Sean put his arm around me. “No, it’s fine. I’m alright.” Sean sighed. “You wrote my sisters?” “Yeah. They said they’re surprised. Becca said, ‘But he’s so smart!’ and added about 50 exclamation points.” “Ha!” Sean said. “Sounds like her.” A lot of people gave us suggestions of doctors to contact -- and diets to try. Good Lord, you should read all the advice about diets. ‘No dairy! No red dye’” “Well, what did you say back?” Sean asked. “Mostly, I just wrote what I thought that they wanted to hear.” “Like what?” “Oh, we’ve never thought about that! We’ll try that! Yes, yes, it’s good to finally have a diagnosis. Yes, I remember our second cousin’s step son who has it and yes, I know he did just fine in life.” I got up. “Jack? He’s weird.” Sean said. “I know.” I answered. I turned out the light to the study. “I also told everyone we are okay,” I said. “Are we?” Sean asked, as he walked down the hall. “No,” I answered.
  7. Throughout my life I have not been able to relate to people on a level where I feel connected, understood, or accepted, and even more painful . . . in a way I feel loved. There was always a missing piece, a sense of being different, excluded, isolated, and just not part of. I used to love rolling myself up in a rug and feel the tightness around me. I loved my grandmother’s heavy comforter. I could barely slip under it, and as I lied there with this heavy weight from the comforter on my chest, I felt safe. I was existing, floating, drifting in my own bubble and couldn’t get out. Sometimes it felt like everybody else was in a bubble and I couldn’t get in. Those moments I ‘knew’ everybody knew what was going on . . . and I didn’t. I experienced sexual abuse early and found no support. I feel that when your boundaries are broken it becomes hard to ‘sense’ who is safe and not. Who should I talk to? About what? What are they thinking . . . about me . . . am I prey, will I get hurt, and on and on and on. This uncertainty, this social blindness, lead to more ‘bad situations’ and left me more confused and ‘damaged.’ It was a painful existence, and I found my relief in Vodka. Checking Out of My Body As I started drinking at 13, my life drifted away, and the main focus became to stay numb. I became drift wood, aimlessly moving in time and space, bumping into situations which decided my next direction. Intimate relationships felt as if I ‘had to behave so he wouldn’t leave’. I never picked a boyfriend, he picked me. Suddenly I was somebody’s girlfriend and I didn’t even know how it happened, or how to get out of it. I didn’t know I could say ‘NO.” And much abuse followed. I have not felt the ‘love toward another’, that I hear about, until I met my current husband. We were friends for over a year, neighbors and drinking buddies, a platonic relationship as if we were siblings. He didn’t believe in beating women. I thought that was fascinating. He told me that we might as well get married, as if it was a practical idea since we liked to hang out with each other. I believe he has a ‘sling of neurodiversity’ too. We are celebrating 27 years in 2016. Before I experienced Somatic/Emotional Awakening I would sit in the kitchen with my family, knowing how much I loved them, knowing I was part of the family, I was the wife and the mother for god sake! And still, I could feel as if I was in my bubble light-years away from them, trying desperately to engage over dinner, that I cooked. I knew I was there, physically, but I could not feel part of, or that I belonged. Does this make me into an Autistic person, a person who is neurologically diverse, a trauma survivor, bipolar, or what? Although I haven’t been tested for autism looking back at my life it seems quite clear to me that I was having similar issues I hear from people on the autism spectrum who attended our workshops. Survival Mode I didn’t understand the world and saw everything as a threat, existing in survival mode, or as we call it “Defense Mode.” Now I work with Danny Raede to help others get out of Defense Mode and Come Alive! I sobered up at 32, married my current husband, and had a child at 10 months of sobriety. My world was a whirlwind of emotions. Our newborn daughter Kristina, my answer to everything, my new ‘higher power’, was 2 months old . . . when she had an operation, which left her brain dead. We had to turn off her life support, which left me raw, confused, and pretty messed up at one year of sobriety. I felt as if my skin was pulled off and everything around me was lemon juice. I became pregnant again. To protect my unborn child, I was thrown into therapy. I had an attention span of 10 seconds and the world was ‘after me.’ My social/emotional/psychological development was impaired due to early trauma, and I was diagnosed as an ‘eight-year old trauma victim.’ Charming! Why I believe I have autism What makes me believe I have Autism, or am neurologically different is after 26 years of sobriety, working the program with different sponsors, and also sponsoring others, I have still not been able to find, and/or connect with another human being to form a long lasting close friendship. My husband is my only close friend, and sometimes he is really tired of me. Much of what I say has a ‘bite’ to it, that I, of course, notice too late. I am too direct and ‘off the beat’ in conversations. Like I haven’t learned the dance and keep on stepping on peoples’ toes. I have had ‘friends,’ people I thought were friends, but later realized I had just been used as a glorified baby sitter. In my observation our social anxiety makes us behave ‘weird’ in society’s eyes. My own anxiety felt like a pressure in my chest, a stomach cramp, I had a million mosquitoes under my skin, constantly scratching, itching, picking on myself. I was so overwhelmed with sensations that I felt panicky at all times, as if I was locked in an emotional and mental straight jacket. I could only spend my attention on how not to explode; there was no extra attentions, awareness, about others. I could be talking with someone and biting my nails, or picking on a scab during the conversation, anything to distract me from feeling . . . anything. My body was filled with sensations and "shakings." I was so uncomfortable that it felt I had to ‘hold on’ to myself. It felt like living on an earthquake, holding on to something so I didn’t fall. My body was filled with sensations of "shakings." I was overly concerned about what you thought of me, every second. My brain had a million thoughts, and I never knew which one would come through my mouth. With the behavior I exhibited (I can see it now) people were uncomfortable around me and sure didn’t want more of me than what they had to go through to be socially correct. Due to people being socially correct and polite, I could never pick up they actually didn’t want to get to know me more. I didn’t even see my husband as someone to support me. I was born in Sweden and conditioned to take care of myself. Now, with my awkwardness that became a struggle, and in the US there were only bartending and house cleaning available for someone like me. It has taken me 25 years of training, education, and practice to become who I am. Had my husband not lived next door, and had he not been as lonely as I was, I doubt we would ever have become a couple. Women on the spectrum have more difficulty Unless we’re blessed with access, education and support as we go through the gauntlet of life, and unless we are truly great at what we do, we will not succeed in the workforce. The politics and cut-throat mentality is above the head of an Autistic person. I do not know that an autistic person can ‘play the game’ as well, and to be a woman on top of it is just two strikes against us. Our other choice is to find someone who can support us: A sad alternative. I believe men may have a better shot at getting careers and jobs. They are encourage to do science and math in school, they can be rude, odd, laud, introverted, still there is more room for them to be different, they are just ‘boys,’ eccentric, or special. A man may be lonely because of his awkward behaviors, but if he has a skill and can charge for it, he can be successful. It is said that there are plenty of Asperger’s in engineering, computers, attorneys, doctor, and musicians. We women even marry men like that, sometimes settling for less emotionally, just to not be alone, just to have a husband, just to be ‘safe’. It’s a strange world. On the other hand, we women do not have the opportunities to be rude, odd, laud, or introverted without being judged and ‘cast away’. For some reason, if we women are scratching at all on the edge of social norms, we’re doomed . . . forever! We have to move away, start over, and hope for more acceptance somewhere else. I moved 6000 miles, but unfortunately took myself with me, and just repeated my story, over and over, and over again. Connecting the brain with the body Emotional and Somatic Balancing Techniques are ways to learn how to connect our brain with our body. In my world Autism is a “Bad Skype Connection,” It’s all there, there is just some disconnected parts that make our vision, and interpretation blurry. When we cannot see what’s going on around us we get scared, retreat into defense mode, bite before we get hurt, and obsessively focus on figuring out ‘what’s wrong,’ with us, with you, with people, places, and situations. Emotional and Somatic Balancing Techniques are ways to help a person connect with their body and feel the awesomeness of feeling centered. There is a wonderful sense of safety in the body, if we can connect and move into the present moment. Every human has this ability; we have just been conditioned out of connection with self. And for Autistic people I wonder if we ever had the opportunity to be connected at all. Therefore, it’s extra important for people on the spectrum to re-connect and find their homeostasis, their center, their peace. It’s there, just hidden. Everything for Autistics is amplified I believe we, on the spectrum, feel more than the average person, more intensely, more physically in our skin and fascia tissues that everything is amplified; like living inside a loudspeaker, full of needles. It’s loud and prickly. This creates tension and pain in our bodies, it becomes too much, and we ‘leave,’ numb out, check out with various addictive behavior patterns. We become so preoccupied with our self, just to survive the silly routines of a day. We hide in our brain with opinions and explanations for everything, and no ability for intuition to lead us. We train and practice behaviors that will keep us safe, and we become ridged and almost robotic. Coming out of a fog When I woke up to my body and realized I could connect, it felt like I came up for air. I have been swimming in confusion for years, and got a breath of air and a glimpse of how it could be. By then my girls were 13 and 14. What a loss of precious time and bonding. I had robbed them of having an emotionally present and loving mother. That’s a price we paid for my Autism. After a few sessions I felt as if I had come out of a fog. I could see other people, I could feel without hurting. I have had many sessions due to all my issues. After 16 years of sobriety, therapy, breath work and anger management I still was crazy, screaming at my children and husband, with no friend or colleges. At 16 years of recovery I stumbled over the book “Awaken The Tiger” by Dr. Peter Levine, and woke up to Somatic Experiencing. It saved my life. It saved my marriage. It saved my relationship with my two girls. When I work with people we let the body tell the story. We discuss conditions and situations and stay close to the body-sensations that arise. If we let the body learn how to relax, we can get free of the tension and pain. It’s just not enough to talk about it. I teach different exercises and modules dependent on the client. If there is also an addiction present, we deal with that a little differently. Stop. Drop. Check One technique I have developed is the Stop. Drop. Check. Stop – and scan your environment, Ask “Am I safe?” If not, create a safe space. Drop – and exhale into your body, as if you’re letting go of your breath. Bring your attention inward. Surrender, not to the outward surrounding, but to yourself, internally. Check – Ask “How am I feeling in my body?” With the next exhale – go deeper. You will feel and recognize your sensations, give them a little space, and it will shift. It will always shift. There will be a little ‘aha’ and you will have more space to make a decision about what to do next. Then – and only then, do you respond in a way that is best for YOU! This way you will learn how to allow any emotions, comfortable or/and uncomfortable. And you learn how to drop below your emotions and tap into your intuition in the moment. That’s were your true answer lies. And that's where you find the response that is best for YOU. *** For over 25 years, Eva Angvert Harren, has masterfully developed and taught her BEAM LiFE step-by-step body-centered awareness approach to people who wanted to move beyond their limiting beliefs about themselves and their possibilities. Eva Angvert Harren specializes in a Body Centered approach to Healing and Complete Wellness. She helps you “Reclaim, Restore, and Recover” your body-mind to Be Reaction Free! Eva is a Certified Integral Coach, www.newventureswest.com, Somatic Experiencing Practitioner (SEP) www.traumahealing.com, and a Certified TIPI Specialist, www.emotionregulationtipi.com. For more information about Eva, go to www.BeamLifeCoaching.com or call: 510-825-7574.
  8. Are the holidays something you dread? Maybe it’s too many people, high expectation placed upon you or even worse low expectations? You’re not alone. I can tell you that I approach holidays from a very different place now that I know better. What do I mean by know better? I mean listening to my own body and being honest about the capacity I have for celebrations, as well as listening to my twins Lillian & Chloe. Before I understood what Asperger’s/Autism was, I took my daughters behavior personally. I thought Lillian’s refusal to go to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma & Grandpa’s was a direct defiant behavior. When she had a meltdown at the dinner, I thought she was trying to make the day about her and get her way to make us go home. I was wrong! Lillian’s refusal to go to Thanksgiving dinner was because she knew she would be in a good amount of discomfort. She may not have realized why but she knew it would happen and when it did, she just needed to leave. The noise of everyone socializing, the smells of all the food, and the expectation that she needed to participate in these conversations was too much. So yes, she screamed to make it stop and for me to take her to a safe place. I did not hear or see this at the time and for that I have apologized profusely. Today we talk about the events that are coming up and build a strategy to make it possible for Lillian and Chloe to be there. I am now okay if being there is not an option. Each event is different some examples of what we plan for could be a clear exit strategy. Whether this means I or my husband leaves with them or now that they are old enough to Uber home themselves. We see if there might be a quiet room where they could just chill for a little while if they start to have too much stimuli. We have found sometimes when they just remove themselves from the chaos for a little while they are able to return for a bit more time. Just knowing that there is a plan and that I will listen to Lillian & Chloe has made a world of difference. Lillian & Chloe were not trying to make the holidays about themselves, in fact it is most likely the opposite. They did not want to bring attention to the difficult time they were having. As parents we need to listen to our children. They are telling you what they need even when they don’t have the words. Written by Gail Carrier, Founder of OurTism
  9. “I feel like I’m shielding our son from having a Christmas,” I said to Sean. “I know. Not very merry, is it?” he answered. He was untangling the lights that we were going to put on the tree. “His counselor actually said that we should try to keep things normal.” “Well, that’s fun,” Sean said. He yanked too hard at one of the knots, and two little bulbs popped out, extinguishing all the lights. “Your sister is still coming next week?” “Yeah,” Sean said. “I’ll write the email,” I said. Weeks in advance of company coming, I would “talk them down” before they even arrived. “Let James do his own thing,” I wrote in an e-mail to them. “Go and talk to him, but if he wants to sit in another room, away from the noise, that’s okay.” My sister-in-law called right away. “All that’s fine!” she chirped. “The important thing is that we’ll be together!” I tried not to panic. “I know that Becky will want to play with his Legoes, but James just built a new invention…” She assured me that they would bring their own, that they would respect James’ privacy, and that they would not force him to do anything he didn’t want to do. Siill, when they arrived, my sister-in-law “peeked in” on James, who was holed up in his room and convinced him to come downstairs. The rest of the day was a dance of trying to intervene between Becky and him.. Becky was ten, five years younger than James. She arrived in her typical fashion, loud and laughing. Right away, Becky demanded to know why James didn’t have to dress up like she did. At dinner, she wanted some of his mac-n-cheese. And afterward, when the children were sent off to play a game, she announced that her Legoes were “girl” Legoes. She wanted to play with James’ “boy” Legoes. We left the table to settle the argument, and I quickly suggested that we open presents. I winced as she squealed and screamed, declaring that she got to pass out the presents. James hated loud noises, and he hated not being in charge even more. Later on, we decided to play a game. It required that everyone write down words as fast as they could. James had a hard time with his handwriting, like many autistic children, so I offered to “scribe” for him. He shot me a “Don’t start” look. When Becky broke a rule, James pounced. “It’s not fair!” he cried. “That’s not the way to play!” “It’s okay, just this once,” I tried. “Is it a rule or not?” he demanded. There weren’t any one-time favors in James’ world. After all, life hadn’t given him any. “I’ll just sit this game out,” Becky said. She was a good girl. She was trying, she really was. “No!” James cried. “If you start something, you have to finish it.” Underneath the table, I saw him clenching his fists. I tried to distract him by announcing that it was time for dessert. “I want first and seconds all on one plate!” James cried. “We have company, remember,” I whispered, ushering him into the living room. “We have to serve everyone for the first round, and then if there’s enough, we offer seconds.” “Whatever,” James said in disgust, and he flopped into the recliner. I started to tell him to sit on one of the folding chairs, that the “good” chairs were reserved for our guests, but I swallowed the words. There were so many words stuck in me -- the cautions, the interruptions, the soothings, the explanations, the excuses… and I realized I hated Christmas. It had become a half-hearted attempt to play at what Christmas should be. I went over to Sean and told him that I needed a little fresh air. “A little too much to drink?” he asked. “I have not even had one sip,” I whispered. “Unlike you.” I sat down on the deck. The frigid air didn’t even bother me. My thoughts swirled in my head like the snow around me. You can’t make a true Christmas while trying to soften its impact. You can’t have a special day while sticking to the routine. It’s not Christmas to bake special foods for your guests AND regular foods for your autistic child. It’s not Christmas to go to Church at midnight, and wonder if his meds have worn off. Or not go because yours have. It’s not Christmas when you buy your son a toy, watching with anticipation as he unwraps it, only to have him explode in rage because you bought the AK 980 X model instead of the AK 980 Z. Christmas used to feel special and pretty and full of surprises. I used to cram everything in, weeks spent with family, long visits with friends, day-long shopping marathons, rejoicing in the special moments that are special just because they don’t happen everyday. Now I distilled the experiences for James so they didn’t hit too hard, don’t disturb him, and don’t affect the equilibrium that it’s taken so long to establish. He got overstimulated by too much commotion. Or noise. Or people. Or food. Or sugar. Or lights. Or. Or. Or. My longing for hot chocolate, tons of cookies, twinkling lights, midnight mass, and warm embraces hadn’t gone away. I still longed for the excess, abandon, and excitement of Christmas. I lifted my head and whispered, “I don’t have autism!” The next day I made cookies. I pulled out the recipes for Peanut Blossoms, Chocolate Rum Chip, and Pepper Kokkers. Scouring the pantry for the dusty bottles of ingredients hardly used any other time of the year, I realized that I couldn’t find the expensive vanilla from the gourmet store. I looked and looked, but it was nowhere to be seen. Just when I was about to give up, I realized that it was right in front, face-down. I righted it and read, “A True Extract of Vanilla.” I read the words again, “extract,” I slowly unscrewed the lid to take in the deep fragrance, potent and pure. And it saved me. I realized that I could save Christmas for me and James, by extracting the essentials. We could have the essence of Christmas in just a few preserved rituals and traditions that we both enjoyed. Maybe I could give him “tastes” of the Christmas instead of a feast. I could give him moments, not endless vacations. I could give him one or two guests at a time, not the entire family. I could give him an hour of Christmas songs on the radio, not the entire months of November and December. If I was honest, I got sick of the music after a month too. I could also allow myself certain presents. I could give myself white lights on the tree. I could savor one special meal on Christmas Eve instead of a smorgasbord of meals throughout the Season. I could buy him the gift that I know he wants, check the model numbers carefully, and I could sit back, confident, and relish his reaction. Might not be the surprise that I want, but it would be the reaction that I want. On Christmas morning, James handed me a Target bag. “I forgot to wrap it,” he said. “That’s okay!” I cried. Inside was a soft, blue sweater. I held it up in front of me. “Will it fit?” he asked anxiously. “Perfectly,” I answered.
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