Lost in a helicopter (sensory-being/object mindfulness)

Another day, another sensory-being mindful walk. I don't get these so often now - my sensory-being* is usually shared, which is wonderful in its own way - so being given nearly half an hour to myself with the instruction/agreement to use it for a mindful wander was a relished treat.

And the fact that I could take up that opportunity in autumn is not taken for granted. My brain was in a place where I could lose myself in the moment where often I tend to either become overwhelmed because of associations and memories, or to avoid or dissociate for fear of that happening.

So anyway, off I toddled on my mindful wander. My feet found a spiky floor that they enjoyed feeling through my shoes, and then some benches that are pleasant to stand on. However my attention wasn't drawn after that by the Wander Path (oh pants, it looks like I still haven't written a post about that to link to!) like it often is - most times some sight or texture will invite me in to linger but none did. I didn't push it, just wandered on, waiting to see. It was the scent of the fir trees in the end that called me, but what it called me to was a helicopter - the kind that you used to spin in the wind as a child; sycamore seeds.

And so I was lost to the world for a good five or ten minutes, first feeling the flat sides between my fingers - still and moving - the veins of the seed pod making gentle ridges beneath my skin. Inspecting it closely, drawn into the visual pattern, then turning it sideways and seeing the pale, smooth line it made against the backdrop of fallen leaves on the path below, feeling that line between my thumb and index finger, smooth yet sharp, curving round infinitely. The bump of the seed at the end in contrast. Then deeply breathing in to see whether it had a scent of its own: not the sniff you do when you think you want to smell something, or you want to demonstrate that you are smelling, but the deep slow inhale through the nose that allows your sensory receptors to really do their job to the full. Helicopters have a scent. Then I have to say I was thinking about as many senses as possible and did have to find out if it had a taste too, so I did lick the helicopter. I felt the patterns from earlier on my tongue. I became more deeply acquainted with the helicopter, understanding more of its being with every new aspect I experienced and the longer I spent on each. I went back to smelling, and one side smelt stronger than the other. The first side smelt stronger after I licked it - maybe one side smelt stronger because I had licked it more? It felt different between my fingers from when it was dry. I held it up to the breeze, watched it spin to the ground and it was gone. My moment finished, it passed on to its own next moment; the fleeting crossing of our paths stretched out by my curiosity and a suspended moment in time.

*sensory-being explained here by Jo Grace of The Sensory Projects, where I first encountered the concept. Or search my previous posts for my own witterings on the subject and how it overlaps with mindfulness - you can start here.

Fine Mesh Part II: Sensory

Aside from language, I of course receive sensory information through a fine mesh. In fact perhaps this should have been Part I because the sensory world is more fundamental, but as a linguistic being my brain approached it through the linguistic lens first.

In the sensory plane my differentiations are again narrower and slight variation from normal or my expectation results in having to recategorise and my brain alerting me to "Error!". I think the narrowness of filter also means I can perceive sensory input as many, many pieces of data that I must process, rather than a whole or a few items. Or maybe the mesh is narrow because I perceive the input in that way?!

When perceiving through fine mesh, the simple data "I am hearing a sound and seeing a movement" may become "I am hearing another sound as well as the multitude of background noises, and the new sound is made up of differing pitches/timbres/volumes etc. I am also seeing a thousand new pictures a minute as something in my field of vision moves." My brain is trying to work out what all those pictures and sounds add up to and how that aligns with previous experiences to see whether I need to respond in any way.

It's no wonder I end up overwhelmed sometimes - even though I may not be consciously processing each item my brain is working overtime for me. A messy room becomes not just one messy room but 3264 (see "wild exaggeration" below!) items that need tidying.

It is said that autistic people tend to focus on the finer details rather than seeing the whole picture and it's hardly surprising if what we are perceiving is a whole lot of input that makes up the picture, rather than simply the picture! This goes for the metaphorical picture as well - any scenario in life such as a social situation or an event unfolding as well as a literal piece of art.

Perhaps prosopagnosia (face-blindness) is also related here. I am only very mildly affected by this, but maybe if I am perceiving many pieces of information it is harder to put them together to recognise one face. If there is a minor difference or lack of context the data don't all match so the connection is not made. And yet in compensating to over-recognise... maybe there is one feature that is similar and so in knowing that I need to make connections I assimilate the new face to one I know.

I've just realised that this chimes with something Temple Grandin speaks about in her book Thinking in Pictures that I was given for my birthday, and also Donna Williams in Somebody Somewhere. They both speak about fragmented perception and I have only just twigged that they are speaking of a similar (though in Donna Williams' case, much more extreme) idea. To literally see/hear/sense the fragments must be a very different way of being.

Another aspect of sensory input being finely sifted for me is similar to what I described in the previous post about linguistic accuracy. I may see things (or hear, smell, taste, feel etc) in a more precise or attuned way, so I might register a display at school not being straight or symmetrical more quickly than others and be more bothered by it. A speck of dirt on a dish I've washed is detected by my fine mesh and recategorised as "not clean". Perhaps that's why I love asymmetrical designs: errors don't glare in the same way, and an intentional "error" is fun because you meant it (cf. puns, wild exaggeration of numbers, language play like spoonerisms or swapping vowels, mismatched socks etc...). 

I tend to eat one food per forkful because too many flavours and textures at once are overwhelming and I don't taste or feel any of them - in fact it blew my mind when I realised as a grown up that some people would put meat and vegetables on their fork together! It had just never occurred to me to do that! I can enjoy them and taste them better one at a time, so I do. In a sauce, where the flavours should blend together sometimes I can't process them all like that and one gets picked on by my brain and that is all I can taste (usually salt but sometimes a herb or other spice). I only add salt to bland foods such as chips for this reason - then I am not missing out some other flavour by tasting the salt. Ma Peggy and Peggy Toes (one of Little Peggy's Aunties) have extremely fine meshes for taste - Ma Peggy couldn't drink milk from a particular supermarket for several years because she couldn't stand the flavour and Peggy Toes can detect a change in a familiar recipe in an instant, asking what has been done differently.

I don't have perfect pitch but my pitching is closer than average. A slight error in tuning is bothersome. Some CD/mp3 players have a function where the music can be slowed down or sped up and this is used at times in dance classes to match the music to the speed required for an exercise. I could always hear when this had been left on accidentally, even if just by one notch, and often nobody noticed unless I commented (when they would usually discount my tentative comment - which was actually a desperate plea to put me out of my misery! - unless they checked, when they always found it to be so!). Even when it had been set deliberately it caused me constant discomfort to hear the distortion even if slight. My fine mesh alerted me perpetually to the slight difference from normality: "This is wrong".

These are just some examples - I could probably find them for other senses, these are just those that pop to mind first.

As with my need for precision in language, these issues if verbalised can get me labelled as obnoxious, pedantic, fussy, a pain, so again I often try to mask by not raising them. Of course that makes my comments inconsistent and perhaps thus less believable and even more inviting of the judgmental labels. And the mesh or my tolerance for variation/error does change with my stress levels which means sometimes I notice less or am able to mask more.

Well, I've wandered far from the original beginnings of my musings but it's been very interesting! Some of it is just ideas or typing as I think so it might not make much sense or I might change my mind about it in future, but I'd be interested to hear your thoughts and experiences.

Do you have fine meshes or course meshes, or a variety? Do you like your mesh style? Are there other types of meshes I've not thought of beyond linguistic and sensory? 

For me, despite the extra brainspace it takes up in perceiving, understanding and interacting with the world and the anxiety caused by my mesh being different from a lot of people's, the world is tremendously beautiful through my detailed and nuanced lenses and I wouldn't want it any other way. Precision is pleasing, details are delightful and accuracy is absolutely blooming lovely.

Edited to add rambling thoughts:

Could another lens be social? What would a social fine mesh be? Narrowly defined roles, behaviour, phrases, patterns in communication. That is what autistic people try and do in order to understand non-autistic communication and "get it right". But of course there is no fine mesh and we are inevitably lacking in some way. So we wish for a fine mesh because we are fine-mesh people, but the non-autistic social world has no fine mesh.

Fine Mesh Part I: Language

I experience the world through a finer mesh than average. Perhaps that is a large part of what being autistic means to me.

Mr Peggy and I often observe that my definitions for things are narrower than his - colours, words, categories and subcategories of object. For me the window of variation before something becomes a different thing is small. It is also important to me that things are correctly identified. If the wrong (for me) word is used it is not accurate. Inaccuracy sets off an alert of "Error! This cannot exist! It is not true!" in my brain which is incredibly difficult to quiet without being resolved. The fine mesh makes this happen a lot more often.

So I tend to be very precise with language. Pedantic is a word that has been applied throughout my life - probably accurate ;) 

My need for accuracy is partly related to truth - as explained above if a "wrong" word is used it registers as untrue, untruth being close to intolerable. And of course my default outlook being black-and-white doesn't help! But also, if things are not accurate and true as expected, the chaos of the world becomes even more overwhelming. I am confused because I don't understand what people are talking about, or it takes me longer to work out. In conversation this just looks like I'm being an awkward pedant when in reality I'm working overtime to keep up. And to really top off the world's chaos, if I can't depend on one thing being true - sometimes the very foundation of my understanding of the world (language) - what can I depend on? If words and concepts can change their meaning what else can? What is stable and dependable? How can I share an understanding with someone else if we are working on different foundations? Everything swims and the constants that I function on sink beneath my feet. I mean, imagine if gravity just stopped being true, right?! It wouldn't only be my world that became topsy-turvy!

Even on a simple day to day level, imagine you visit a different part of the country and ask for a bun. In the North you'll get cake; in the South, bread. (Hey, even bread and cake can be a contentious divide - banana cake or banana bread?!) Surprising, even funny, as a one off, but imagine everything being like that. It would be completely incomprehensible, exhausting, terrifying. You'd have no idea what to expect. And knowing what to expect is hugely important to everybody, but especially to autistic people precisely for the reasons I'm talking about here: because the world is so chaotic and our base anxiety levels are so high, and because a slightly different alternative may be completely intolerable on a sensory level too (such as a slightly different texture or colour) - to be suddenly and unexpectedly faced with an intolerable experience instead of what you imagined/expected can be highly distressing.

As a side note, one way I consciously mask every day is to not correct external inaccuracies. I correct myself frequently when speaking (and when writing - it's why I use so many parentheses and go back and edit "intolerable" to "close to intolerable"), not because I am holding myself to some high standard or criticising myself, but because it is more natural than allowing a possible misunderstanding to remain. It is easier and less effort to refine for accuracy than to contain those impulses .

A lot of corrections to other people's speech or to written material do escape because I don't catch them quickly enough, and the masking doesn't always work very well because it turns out my face usually doesn't succeed in wearing the mask even if I restrain myself from comment. I come across as overly critical but I am actually spending a lot of energy on inhibiting reflexes to make everyone else more comfortable! In fact if I correct you a lot it means I feel more comfortable in your presence to mask less!! I wish it were easier for people to know that it's not personal, neither is it judgmental (people think I think they're stupid if I "correct" them, which ain't true!) and I'm not being obnoxious. I'm refiltering what they've said so that it fits through my fine mesh and I can process it better, nothing more, nothing less.

More to come on fine mesh through a sensory lens.

Stimmy

I'm pretty sure when I went for a gallop after a heavy therapy session this afternoon that I raised some eyebrows. 

Sometimes I have to choose between blending in and staying regulated.* I could have chosen to remain inconspicuous and probably felt stressed and dysregulated all evening, maybe with a few meltdowns in the next day or two, and some struggles to use the right coping strategies. Instead I opted for a five minute galloped perimeter of the car park. I happened upon some beautiful crocuses and exclaimed "CROCUSES!" in a loud voice (nobody was very close!). I enjoyed that so I repeated it a few times. Stopped to take some pictures of the crocuses, resumed my gallop and tiptoed along the kerb back to my car. Tiptoes are great when I'm riding high; it's like it focuses all the sensation into a small but intensive area. I also like to spread my arms as though for balancing. They join in on the gallop too. And a few jumps interspersed for good measure.

Stimming is fun but stimming is also seriously important. 

I think stimming is one of the autistic traits most misunderstood. The word is misunderstood, the actions are misunderstood and the reasons for and importance of stimming are misunderstood. 

Let's start with the word. Basically, it's what it says on the metaphorical tin: a shortening for self-stimulatory behaviour, ie repetitive actions that give sensory feedback for the person using them.  Everybody stims: maybe you're a pen-clicker or a foot-wagger or a hair-twizzler. Stims tend to happen when people are tired or anxious or bored. They regulate our stress/arousal levels.

I don't know if it's just locally or just in childcare but I have frequently heard the term stimming used as a synonym for actions that would be sexual in adults. Of course, these can be a form of stimming, but in some places this seems to be the only meaning of the word, which becomes confusing and unhelpful when trying to talk about stimming in general. Just an aside, but it's a bit of a bugbear of mine because it can be so misleading!

Autistic people often stim more frequently, for longer, and more obviously than others. Maybe because living in a world designed for people who aren't autistic means stress levels are constantly raised. Or because sensory processing is different (the same sound/taste/smell/touch/motion/other sensation registers more strongly or weakly, perhaps with an emotional response as well). Or because the person is less aware of or less concerned with what others think. Or because they are more likely to pay attention to what their body wants (or their body is more likely to demand it!). Probably a thousand reasons.

According to the NAS (National Autistic Society) website, "stimming or self-stimulatory behaviour includes arm or hand-flapping, finger-flicking, rocking, jumping, spinning or twirling, head-banging and complex body movements. It includes the repetitive use of an object, such as flicking a rubber band or twirling a piece of string, or repetitive activities involving the senses (such as repeatedly feeling a particular texture)." 

I have little stims like rubbing my top lip with my thumbnail or pressing my thumb together with each finger in turn, medium ones like spinning my Tangle, or pulling my eyebrows, and big ones like galloping. Some I only use in certain contexts and some I only need in certain contexts. Some are for when I'm calm or contemplative, some are for when I'm wound up, and some pop up in a variety of situations.

I touched on the reasons for stimming above, but they are of course infinite. Major ones include enjoyment, to gain sensory input, to reduce sensory input and to calm and soothe stress eg from unpredictability/change/sensory overload/emotional overload. There is always a reason for stimming: even if the stim is harmful in itself (eg. hand banging or excessive skin picking) it is serving an important purpose. If the stim is not harmful there is no reason to stop it just because it is deemed "strange". If it is harmful or the person wants to stop it in order to mask (masking is risky but is chosen by many people in some circumstances, or happens unwittingly), it is vital to find another way to serve the need it was fulfilling.

When people come across someone stimming in an "unusual" way - perhaps rocking, squeaking, spinning or hand flapping - many emotions may arise. Fear of the unknown, confusion, worry about whether the person is safe or what they may do next, or even simply surprise. The more we talk about it, the more I hope that the natural response will become surprise, or perhaps even happiness that people feel comfortable enough to stim freely in our presence.

I looked odd for sure. But I was regulated after that. Five minutes of weirdo for a chilled out evening, I'll take that.

*There are increasingly spaces where this choice is less necessary, and by writing this kind of thing I hope more places become like that. As I decrease my masking I am tending to find that although I may not be inconspicuous, in some places I am still accepted and respected even when I stim. In autistic online spaces stimming is celebrated and when new "stimmy" finds are discovered they are shared to help other people. Yay to this kind of thing!

Tiny Things

When everything feels bleak around me and hope is hard to see, when I feel trapped or desperate, I often find that it is some small thing of beauty that saves me. 

A tiny unnoteworthy scrap can catch my focus and become treasure that brings a window of escape to get me through the fog or darkness. Yesterday it was a leaf that I impaled (or threaded, depending on your mood...) onto a twig. So tiny and simple, yet with infinite journeys of discovery, new every moment from every angle as it is moved in the light. Shape and shadow inviting me in and away from the heaviness in my heart. And of course my many Peggies helped at other moments.

Once before, it was a holly leaf. The group facilitator seemed slightly put out that it seemed to hold more of my attention than she did, but she didn't know that an hour or two earlier it helped to keep me alive. Thankfully I have rarely ever had suicidal impulses, but in a dark moment those spiky points, the glossy shine and the smooth edges, they absorbed me enough to get back to a place of safety. I think it's only reasonable that I dwelt with them a little longer. Staring in wonder. Entranced by the power of a single leaf. Two years later I still have that leaf, nestled in my treasure basket for mindful moments when it's needed.

I don't usually talk here about my faith, but I can't let this post pass without reflecting that of course, it is not the little things that save me, it is their maker. He offers them in my moments of need and he holds me in his hand through darkness and light, and the darkness is not dark to him. But through the little things, he saves me over and over again as he has saved me once and for all and given me the only true hope that endures after all suffering.

Also note: this song "Tiny Things" by Yvonne Lyon

Sensory Signals and Sensory Solutions

I have been glad this week that I am aware of my sensory world and how it interacts with my wellbeing. It is helpful that I have practised paying attention to what my sensory inclinations are telling me and how I can utilise sensory experiences as a tool. 

I have just begun some rather heavy and intense therapy work and have really noticed the impact in a sensory way - both as a signal of how I am doing and as a solution to how I am doing. 

I found this interesting because although sensory awareness tasks are often used for grounding, I didn't expect to see the effects of doing this difficult work in a sensory way. The work is cognitive and emotional: the after-effects should be too. Of course, they are, but they are also sensory, and noting that is helpful to me as it is easier for me to observe in myself than just guessing how I'm feeling. And if I were in danger of forgetting that I can use sensory experiences to calm and soothe, spotting the signs of unrest in a sensory way reminds me I can address the unease directly rather than getting caught up in cognition and emotions, which are infinitely complicated. 

It is important when you leave the sessions to leave what happens there as much as possible, to try and minimise the effect on daily life: it is even suggested to change clothes when you get home. As someone who can find transitions difficult anyway (although I do like to compartmentalise, which works in my favour here), when I came out of my session on Thursday I didn't feel ready to jump straight in the car and back into life. I felt I was in a hurry as there had been other things I was hoping to do, but I knew I needed to listen to my body. It wanted to have a little walk and calm and reorientate itself with its senses so that's what we did. I bundled Baby Peggy up and we took a slow and mindful (sensory-engaged/sensory-led) circuit of the Wander Path around the car park. I thought I had post about this path before but cannot for the life of me find the post to link to!

Cold air, bright sun, dark shade, birdsong, trees. Soft conifers to brush hands through, and their scent on your fingers after rubbing the fronds. This smell has grounded me well many times over the past two and a half years. I often used to return to the lingering remnants of sap on my fingers after sitting in my favourite pine tree in the hospital grounds. Even after washing them they would stick together, and the distinctive scent cut through whatever else my brain was trying to do.

And so I calmed and regulated myself with my senses and returned to the world when my body told me it was ready.

And then as the days went by I kept noticing that my sensory tolerance was not as accommodating as usual. I have been fine introducing solids to Baby Peggy and dealing with the mess, wet and stickiness but on Friday I did NOT want his Ready Brek on me. (And it was EVERYWHERE! Have you ever seen someone eat Ready Brek by the handful? Apparently it needs help to get from the spoon into the mouth...) On Saturday I did NOT want him touching my skin (other than hands!) and twizzling with my clothes. On Sunday I needed to use my Tangle to keep me grounded like I haven't for a long time. Which in turn became associated with times when I relied heavily on them. Which then required more grounding. My nails, which need cutting, are driving me mad. The flipsy-flopsy slappery flimmery labels on muslins and clothes are more bothersome than normal when they TOUCH me. (I know those aren't words you will have heard of, but they are my best way of expressing the yucksome experience of such a sensation.)

But the daytime contact naps that have returned with Baby Peggy having a cold mean his warm relaxed weight calms my body. The walk with the trees and the birds refreshed me perfectly. The snug cocoon of the duvet soothes my whole system. My stims like nail-rubbing regulate my general anxiety levels. And simply noticing that my tolerance is below par means I can choose to minimise stressful activities as much as possible, be kind to myself and do things that help me recover as much as possible. 

Snuggles always help!

Sensory awareness is such a useful tool as both a signal of problems and a solution to them, and because I can use it for myself, I can also use it as an aid to inform me about what other people around me might need - Baby Peggy, pupils in my work environment, even friends, family and acquaintances at times. Yay to signals and solutions!

Rambling

Probably my favourite walk I've been on since the teeny one came along. In the moment, mindful in the best sense of the word, and connected.

A dog has had a happy time here too!

Cool air on my face, muted quietness dulling the country sounds under a layer of cloud, and the contrast between the angular scrunchy stones waking up each spot of my feet and the soft springy damp turf. 

The smell of damp earth and trees. The silent swoop of a buzzard. The warmth and gentle breath of the baby sleeping close against me in the sling. His coos and curious expression as he wakes up and looks around. The patterns of the spiralling straw in its bales that mirrors the perfect swirl of hair on the back of his head.

The shadows and changing light in the furrows of the ploughed fields as twilight falls. Relative freedom from memories as I stay present in the moment, walking in the more agricultural areas away from all the trees that carry the strongest reminders, and giving thanks for all the good things in my life, and for hope.

The sensory delights and trials of parenting a newborn

There is a fundamental change when you first become a new parent. Your house becomes a different kind of house, and you become a different kind of person. I live in a House with Baby Toys, a House Where you Might Find a (clean) Nappy on the Living Room Floor. A House with Baby Clothes on the Line. I am a Person with a Car Seat in Their Car, a Person who uses the Lift Because of the Pram, A Person Who is Late Because the Baby Needed Feeding. 

I like being a Person With Baby Feet On Their Leg!

Of course not everything changes (See my previous post! Although things are very different now from when I wrote that), but the shift is pretty major and there is a lot of re-categorisation work for the brain to do as it tries to make sense of what life is now.

Along with this shift come many new or changed sensory experiences. These must be different for everybody and must affect everybody differently but I think I would have found it interesting to read some examples before I gave birth. In fact I'd still be interested to read others' experiences now! And different experiences of the sensory aspects of pregnancy for that matter.

A few of the notable sensory specialities of having a new baby for me:

Smell experiences. 

You'll be able to think of plenty of smells associated with babies, I'm sure. But I have a super strong awareness of some of the less obvious ones. I smell different. I don't know if it's the hormones or just from being so close to each other, but my body smell has changed. In the early days I definitely smelt like him; now it could be either or both. 

There is also a pervasive aroma of dried milk and our mixed sweats. Thankfully I actually like this smell, possibly because I'm all full of hormones, or possibly because as a bodily smell it is easier to process and therefore calming as an early developmental experience.

(Note, on checking and finishing this post six weeks after I started it, so just about three months into Baby Peggy, these experiences are much less intense. I guess he smells much less like a newborn, we are all a bit better at feeding so a bit less dried milk and skin to skin, and it isn't so hot so we aren't as sweaty!!)

Touch experiences.

One of the biggest difficulties I encountered and potential barriers to me breastfeeding was the wetness. I discovered I really hate being wet, and even worse, wet fabric. If makes me uncomfortable and miserable and irritable. There is a lot of wetness involved in feeding a baby. Leaking milk from the side you're not using, fountains when baby gets overwhelmed and comes off mid-let-down, dribbles when the latch isn't good, and of course spitting up after feeds. It might seem disproportionate but the constant getting wet really affected my mood, to the extent that even though feeding was going well I questioned whether I could continue. Thankfully I was able to problem-solve with a little help and with a never-ending supply of muslins, and milk collection shells and reusable breast pads I can stay happily dry when feeding and in between. What a relief!

Tummy to tummy 💗

Some of the most rewarding sensory aspects of having a baby are tactile for me. Having Baby Peggy's weight and warmth on me is super calming: worlds beyond a weighted blanket or even a squeeze vest I think. Having him in the sling when I do stressful things helps keep me calm. But the real trump card is the moments when I find us tummy to tummy. There is something primal, visceral, soul-filling, about that particular sensation that just transcends the words I have to describe it with! 

Those are the main ones which were huge for me but potential other considerations:

Sound experiences.

Babies cry. Some more than others, but all babies cry a certain amount. The sound is designed to be hard to tolerate. This can make it extra problematic for people who are particularly sensitive to certain sounds. Or perhaps some people with strong auditory sensitivities have found ways to cope (certain types of earplugs I have heard of, and I'm sure there may be other things that help) and so don't find it much worse than other sounds. Or perhaps the processing is different and so the emotion and the sound may be less strong (or indeed stronger) in some people.

Luckily we like his favourite
singing hedgehog too!

For me another one to note is changes to the soundscape of the house. Someone will undoubtedly give you noisy toys. We have a baby gym that makes noises but thankfully they are noises I don't mind hearing repeatedly (some I would struggle to cope with so we may be "losing" a lot of batteries if we acquire too many electronic toys in future!), but it can still be surprising if the baby is not on the mat and one of us sets hedgehog off unexpectedly!

The sounds of his shuffling and snuffling at night are also new, the washing machine is on more often, I tend to listen to music more because he likes it (and the types of music he likes, especially in the car!). When he was tiny he made a funny sound at the end of a yawn that inexplicably infuriated me for a moment every time, but then it also used to sound like we were on a pirate ship at night as he snored, which was actually quite soothing and very cute.

And of course his cooing and early vocalisation practice. Which melts my heart every time. And with that grin...

I've had to rethink my
whole laundry-hanging
system!

Visual experiences.

As I mentioned earlier, the house looks different. Baby toys, baby clothes, nappy buckets, baby bath, baby sleeping places (we even had to move our bed slightly to accommodate his bedside crib, which is not only a visual adjustment but can affect the proprioceptive and other senses as you navigate the room!). General baby paraphernalia all over the place! I know of one friend who very slowly made these adjustments throughout her pregnancy - perhaps a helpful tip.

But also, you get to look at a really cute baby.

Taste experiences.

I didn't think there was anything to write here, but as I come to check over and finish this post a few weeks on, I have had to trial a dairy free diet for his digestion, so am having to adjust to new tastes as well! Thankfully there is a lot available these days so it has been easier than I feared. NB cashew milk is the closest I've found to cow's so far, oat is nice too, coconut yoghurts are not nice but coconut ice cream is (well, Aldi's chocolate brownie ice cream, anyway...). I don't reckon vegan cheese would be worth trying...

Other senses.

Getting back on these
bad boys!

My proprioceptive and vestibular senses are a bit sad since having a baby as they become rather neglected when permanently glued to another being who can't control the movement of their body. I use these two senses to keep myself regulated and feeling well, so I really notice it when I haven't been able to stretch or move in ways that feel good for a while. When my body isn't happy, I'm less happy. So recently, now that I've become aware of this and now that Baby Peggy is sleeping and playing a little more independently at times, I try and prioritise moving my body even if just for a few minutes each time he is somewhere that's not me. It really helps. 

Sometimes you can
sneak a bit of vestibular
input even with a baby...

Interoception-wise, I have to try and be extra conscious because I am not super-sensitive in this area. I often realise fairly late on that I need the toilet, or am thirsty or too hot, so now I try and intentionally attend to all these needs before I sit down to feed - go to the toilet, make sure I have a drink nearby (although I think breastfeeding actually makes me more conscious of thirst) and am dressed right for the temperature. Thankfully on the evenings and weekends Mr Peggy is great at refilling my water whenever it is empty, bringing me the food I need, putting my fuzzy socks on for me etc!

So there are my thoughts on the sensory aspects of having a baby. Please let me know your experiences and thoughts - I'd be really interested!

Sleepy feet!

So a few weeks ago I had a funny conversation with my OT. Not the one about whether I can put both feet behind my head, though that one was funny too. (It turns out I can, in case you were wondering and don't follow me on Facebook.)

On my agenda for our meeting was Item 4: Feet. He enquired as to the nature of what we should discuss about feet. I explained that my feet don't like being in shoes all day: they get very sad.

"Where is the pain?" he asked. 

What pain? When did I say they hurt? "There isn't any pain," I explained, "they just go sort of dead."

"Ah, so you can't feel them, like they're numb. Have you tried some different shoes?"

Insoles I already owned with a
massive metatarsal support and arch

Nope. It's like they're not there... they're not a part of me... I need to be able to feel them... They need more sensory input. We got there in the end! Luckily I'm pretty sensory-aware and was able to explain more to him about the exact kind of input I needed after I rejected all his initial suggestions because they were all wrong! Once he knew what I meant we came up with some great ideas. And I must get round to trying those toe socks we all had in the 90s, if I can find some cotton ones...

Trampoline park socks I already owned

The funny thing is, when I tell some people about the feet problem they know exactly what I mean straight away. Others have no clue what I am talking about whatsoever. Is this an example of the double empathy problem? We don't understand each others' method of communication. Or perhaps just that it is not a problem for some people (or not one that they are sensory-aware enough to recognise) and so they don't have language to describe it or to understand my description of it?

Compression socks (technically for
plantar fasciitis), dead thin and fit
easily under normal socks

Who knows, but it struck me as a good example of those times when I think I am talking about a simple everyday concept only to find someone has no idea what I am on about. Maybe I should start a running list of them, that could be interesting! I have a feeling the people that know what I mean tend to either be autistic/neurodiverse in some way or spend a lot of time with people with sensory differences...

Best buys from the last year

If you know me you'll know I'm not big on having "things" and buying stuff or spending money unless I need to or it's something I'm going to really enjoy (like a holiday!). But here are things that I have bought or received over the last year that have repaid me infinitely for my investments. All except the first one under £10 or £20 but genuinely life-changing.

Bose noise cancelling headphones. Definitely my biggest investment but totally worth it. My sister very kindly lent me hers while I was in the general hospital and actually I didn't use them too much there. Maybe because I didn't need them much, as I was originally going to write, being in a side room so having a door I could close. But probably more because I didn't realise I needed them. I didn't realise what a difference they could make. I had some normal in-ear headphones I used at times when I wanted to listen to something without closing my door so I thought that was fine - it was all I had ever known. But when some particular noises on the specialist unit became too much I tried out the noise cancelling headphones properly. I never looked back! The sound quality is fantastic and the noise cancelling reduces or eliminates a lot of background noise, particularly low-pitched hums eg. fridge/freezers in supermarkets, traffic noise. They make it more possible for me to use the telephone because at least I can actually hear the person on the other end, and they mean that I have varying degrees of removal from the ambient sound-world. If I play music loudly enough I can't hear my surroundings, or if I just use the noise cancelling I can hear my surroundings but the over-all input is reduced enough to reduce my stress levels. Sometimes just putting them on without turning them on is enough to take the edge off things that are just a little too loud, such as amplified music or voices at church.

Onesie. I love my onesie so much and wear it most evenings. revolutionary dressing gown alternative for people who can't help flailing around. Made of thick jersey (think joggers/tracksuit/hoody material) it is cosy without being that yucky stuff that is sold as fleece these days. Actual fleece is good - the furry stuff NO! Especially if it's shiny. 

Stanley (gift). Stanley is my weighted sloth. He is full of beans literally. He can go in the microwave and be cosy warm if you can cope with the smell his beans make, but if not, he is good for sitting on the knee, accompanying you in the car if in need of some extra comfort, swinging around in therapy sessions to help you stay regulated enough to say what you need to say, and he's very calming if you sit him on your head. NB. It doesn't have to be a Sloth, that is just the animal chosen by Mr Peggy who bestowed this most excellent gift on me last Christmas (OK, so technically not my own best buy, but a best buy!).

A tin of black paint, with gifted variety of sensory lights, shelf and beanbag. This was all that was required to make my sensory nook, and that has been a complete gamechanger. Low stim environment where I can go any time I am at home, to destress, recharge, regulate and either maintain calm or tolerate distress. Also more recently acquired: dark tent so I can have a nook when we go away places, and blinds for the car windows in case I need a bit of down time when I'm out and about.

Love my nook!

Compression socks. These are new and technically designed for plantar fasciitis, but I use them in a sensory way. My feet get sad and dead when they are in shoes all day at work. They need some light sensory input so that I can be aware of them being part of me during the day and this helps to keep me regulated. Wearing them for about half the day under my socks is about right. Other days I use insoles with a big metatarsal support or trampoline park socks with the little anti-slip bobbles on the bottom.

Tangles. You'll rarely see me in public without one! They keep my hands awake and give low-level anxiety an outlet so that it doesn't build up as quickly. They also seem to be quite a good indicator of my stress levels for other people, who can be better able to tell how I am feeling by what I am doing with a Tangle than by any other verbal or non-verbal indicator...
I have a nice collection of other fidget toys/stim tools from spiky spring rings (love these!) to squeezy balls (!) to magic snake cubes and natural objects like stones. Just shout if you'd like any inspiration!

Why am I a body-listener?

In my previous post I found myself playing the piano. It made me reflect on how thankful I am for the skills that I have been taught throughout my life that bring themselves into play to try and help me. Playing music, listening to music, letting my body move in the ways it wants and needs to, seeking out dark and quiet space alone. Most of these skills were taught to me in a different context from how they help me at the moment, but they repay my investment (and that of those who teach/taught me or enabled my learning in different ways) in them over and over. I'm enormously grateful for my ability to listen in to what it is that might help in any moment - in fact it more often happens quite subconsciously that I find a compulsion towards an activity which will help to regulate me.

I began to consider this inner awareness and its origins. Is it innate in me or have I learnt it? Currently reading about Developmental Movement Play (and recently listening to a podcast sent me by a dear friend) I am reminded that that our culture as a whole tends to be painfully disembodied, with the exception of a few disciplines that have a clear focus on inhabiting the body such as yoga. Why am I less so? Is it because I have always been active? Perhaps yes, and perhaps no. The activities I took part in as a child, teenager and young adult demanded mastery of the body. This involves high-definition awareness of what the body is doing but leaves little space for asking it what it would like to be doing. 

Is it because I have spent time practising yoga and tai chi? Perhaps this has helped, but I have a feeling I did not quite grasp this aspect of yoga until after I had discovered developmental movement play. Was that the magic moment? It was magical in many ways, but the approach of JABADAO (search my blog for more posts about JABADAO) and body-listening, body-communication etc seemed to come quite naturally to me. It was as if I had found what I was made for, how to really be. I noted that it wasn't like this for everybody.

So that stuff was and is instrumental in bringing the whole concept to my thinking brain (as opposed to my body-brain wherein it had been confined previously) and helping me to utilise and develop the skills to be consciously aware of what my body and brain need - to stop and ask them, and to follow their suggestions, but I don't think it can take all the credit. I think what it did was to begin to free what was hidden in there all along, squashed somewhat by trying to fit in to our society, but not squashed as much as most people! Because my brain is more focused on the sensory world than some brains, I find it easier to access these things, or harder to ignore them. So sometimes I love autism!

The body speaks if we care to listen

I'm super dysregulated today. 

My first clue was that I was standing on my tiptoes waiting for my tai chi class to start. I actually thought I was feeling a little calmer this morning because our shower has been fixed so my morning routine is finally back to normal (see the executive function post to imagine the difficulties with figuring out how to wash yourself and start your day when your routine is not available!). But when Instructor Peggy (he's definitely part of my network of supportive Peggies!) joked about how tall I was I began to pay attention to my body and discover unease there, outed by my body's attempts to regulate itself. I noted that even though attention had been drawn to me, my feet really wanted to stay with the extra pressure of being on tiptoe. I was anxious. 

Later in the day my body has led me to playing the piano, reading, painting, and rolling on the floor. I've noticed it hasn't wanted to do any of them for very long, whereas often it will stay with one occupation all morning or afternoon. It's feeling unsettled, which makes a lot of sense given the amount of changes and unpredictability and stressful situations coming up in the next week. Each activity has helped a little in the moment, but I don't settle to anything. Now it has sent me blogging, instructing me to delay the supermarket trip (it felt a supermarket meltdown coming on - I wonder whether it will after I've done this). It's trying to help me out - sometimes my body knows better than my brain. 

Yesterday it popped me in the nook for most of the day which was quite appropriate but clearly today is different. The anxiety is mounting and so the body is looking for the best way to stay regulated. Let's see what it brings me to over the next few days!

I didn't have a supermarket meltdown. I took my time, used my familiar soundtrack and navigated the shop without drama. I have enough experience by now to know that my body usually guides me soundly. Now maybe I should listen to its guidance on emotions too... I reject them but then they just escape or leak out uninvited - tears in that restorative yoga pose, dreams about having meltdowns, they're all messages telling me something needs attention.

The Oldways

 If I wasn't already known as the village crazy lady then walking barefoot down the street stroking my hand with the fronds of a fabulous piece of reed should have done it!

This walk was long overdue and as soon as I left the house my feet let me know they wanted to be on the ground, not the flip flops I had put them in. I ignored them for the duration of the appointment I had gone out for, but as soon as it was over I had to let them be free. 

My feet found so many wonderful treats and treasures for me and led me to where I needed to be. 

Long grass, short grass, cool grass, warm grass. Hot hard tarmac. Smooth paving. Earth baked dry and earth with a spring. Soft dirt, spiky stones. Bark that wakes up each millimetre of forgotten sole.

Insects buzzing, breeze in the trees, pigeons beating the air with their wings. Doves cooing, tiny popping as water evaporates under the sun from the drying stream, and the odd drip from the grasses growing into the water. A distant pheasant. Butterflies dancing. Songbirds chattering. And me, finally still. Sitting, silent. Breeze stroking my skin in the warm shadow. Bare feet, breathing the life around me, being part of this place in this moment.