In my role as librarian, I was introduced to an interesting picture book about an adult not taking in a child’s world. Fixed to their phone, the adult never looks up to see what the child is wondering at, questioning, experiencing. So the child craved attention that the adult couldn’t give. From the child’s point of view, the adult is absent and uncaring.
As a teacher, I learnt to look ‘beyond the behaviour’. In this case, why is the adult not engaging with the child’s world, interests and imagination? The adult IS there, ie physically present, in the same room, on the same walk etc, and yet to the reader it’s obvious the child must be feeling terribly alone. Why?
As a grown-up, I can feel lonely in a crowded room. Often surrounded by people chatting, laughing, enjoying the social atmosphere, in my head I experience the noise, light, scent, taste, texture separately and all at once and therefore in excess. This is sensory overload. I now avoid situations that overload me, that are too much. Why? because it hurts: physically and mentally. And it takes a long time to recover from.
Like the difference between a corner shop and a hyper-market, I can tolerate parties in small doses, if there’s somewhere quiet to retreat to (a safe space) and if I’m in comfortable company (this applies to work and pleasure).
Having friends, colleagues and family who understand this is vital for maintaining a healthy mind and outlook. For everyday function and functionality.
Crash and Burn
For those who prefer metaphors, imagine this:
You say you are a car driver, that you can drive. You have passed your test in the theory and practice of driving. Does that make you a safe driver? More to the point, what makes you a safe driver?
Imagine the impact of each of these things:
The car takes petrol. You add diesel.
The windscreen is dirty. You never wash it.
The fog lights don’t work. You don’t find out why.
The brake lights don’t work. You don’t notice.
Every road surface feels bumpy. You haven’t checked the tyre pressure.
The heating doesn’t come on. You constantly complain.
You’re given a Haynes manual for your make and model: You give it away.
Does your car get you from A-B safely? No, it does not. It breaks down. You get a flat tyre on the motorway. You crash. Why? Because as a driver you have done the social-situation-party-host-equivalent of shouting at your guests, spiking their drinks with drugs, blinding them with multi-coloured flashing disco lights and making them dance around their handbags because you didn’t provide a cloakroom.
And the moral is? Passing your test is just the beginning.
If you think you are now a car driver, think again. Ask yourself, what do I need to help me be a safe driver? And then, hopefully, you’ll be less likely to breakdown, get a flat tyre, crash. And more likely to enjoy the journey, wherever it takes you.
P.S. Did you spot the connection to writing and 'getting unstuck'?
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