Autism Answer: Different By Degrees

 

DANE

feeling like himself in a dress

feeling lovable when feminine

feeling loving while nurturing

feeling envy for the ones born with it

seeking fabrics and surgeries

avoiding past acquaintances

comparing herself to the ones advocating for it

being different by degrees

becoming different by degrees

 

DARLA

feeling like herself when youthful

feeling lovable when vibrant

feeling loving when energetically attentive

feeling envy for the ones not yet grown out of it

seeking moisturizers and surgeries

avoiding reflecting mirrors

comparing herself to the ones budgeting for it

focusing different by degrees

fighting becoming different by degrees

 

DEBBIE

feeling like herself while stimming

feeling lovable when praised

feeling loving while assimilating

feeling envy toward savants

seeking sensory pleasure and protection

avoiding social scenes

comparing herself to siblings

asking for different by degrees

being different by degrees  

 

Different

 by degrees 

_______

Tsara (X.com)

Autism Answers: A Lack of Ideas

Shoes and headphones on the road, looking for new ideas

 

I don’t have new ideas. I tend to do things the way I see them done or the way I’ve been taught to do them. Never do I think to myself, “hmmmm… this is kind of cumbersome or imperfect, I wonder if there’s a better way?” and, hence, I don’t explore the idea of better ways. Even when I am thinking things along the lines of, “It’s too bad this is cumbersome or imperfect,” my automatic next thought is, “but if there was a better way it would be how everyone did it.” So, again, I don’t explore the idea of more ideas.

 

When I was little, I watched my mom create, explore, and insist on more ideas. I watched my little sister stomp her foot, push her fists into her hips, and, rosy-cheeked and cheeky, tell the grown-ups that her ideas were better ones. In both cases, I felt embarrassed, inadequate, and annoyed. Who the heck were they that they would have ideas? That they would be the ones who knew better when looking around I saw everyone else doing things – confidently and in great numbers – based on the old ideas. 

 

I was a mess of wanting back then. I wanted to be wise and have ideas like them. I wanted them to stop standing out of the crowd with their ideas. I wanted them to stop getting us in trouble by refusing to back down. When they would explain the reasons their ideas were better, I couldn’t help but agree with them, but then when others insisted that things had been done this way for so long and we should keep doing them this way, I couldn’t help but agree with them. I wanted not to be like that. 

 

My mom adopted many of my siblings (I am the oldest of eight) and among us were challenges ranging from sexual trauma to malnourishment to severe autism to fetal alcohol syndrome and more. New ideas were necessary for us to grow up healthy, capable, and happy. 

 

Attempting to navigate the world doing things the way they had been done was continually injuring us. 

 

It wasn’t easy for me, but I got better at trusting my mom and my sister’s ideas, despite the status quo fighting us almost every step of the way. It became easier as the health of me and my siblings clearly benefited from these other ways of doing things. Soon, I recognized how everyone benefited, regardless of disability, dysfunction, sexuality. My mom and my little sister, for some reason I can’t fathom, have always been hyper-aware of discrimination. They’ve always had an eye on equity with an all-encompassing empathy, and they insisted on the same from others. For me, this understanding of a lack of empathy for the outliers embedded in most of the old ideas only revealed itself when I was living with and loving people who are outliers. 

 

My lack of ideas was directly tied to a lack of diversity. Yet it was my resistance to the new ideas that feels particularly relevant. Embarrassing but relevant.

 

It should not have taken me so long to give the different ideas a chance. Particularly since I actually thought they sounded good. When explained to me, I did see their value. But the moment I looked around and saw way more people doing things the usual way, the way they were already being done, a few things happened. I got afraid, for one. Of standing out and not fitting in. Of needing to prove the value of doing it different and not being able to do so. Also, I couldn't believe the world didn’t already know what my mom or my sister knew. Hadn’t already weighed the pros and cons of their ideas – with equitable and inclusive and kind intentions - and landed on the way it’s being done. I knew there were people in the world who cared more about power and money than people but I was absolutely certain that those people were fewer and farther between than they are, which led me to believe our society must be equitable and good already.

 

But loving my brothers and sisters, loving my mom, loving myself, meant seeing I was wrong. 

 

As I grew more certain of this, and as I began to see the proof of it, I made it a point to seek new and different ideas, born from lives that rely on them. The ideas run the gamut from practical ways to build private and public spaces, to shifting our social commentary, to making political change, to examining and reforming some of our deep seeded beliefs about humanity.

 

Life-hacks are a helpful trend and I like discovering new ways of doing mundane things. These are almost always suggestions I not only wouldn’t have come up with on my own but I never would have tried coming up with a solution to begin with. Because I am just not that type. 

 

When I was young, I thought it might be because I was not smart. But whether or not that was true then, it is not true now. I still do not tend to invent new ideas. But I am smart enough to seek them out, to truly consider them, and to decide for myself if I think they will make life better in the long run for the most people. Funnily, life hacks meant only to make things faster or easier are not often ones I choose to implement. I’ve discovered that ideas meant to speed up tasks take away greatly from the wisdom of and connection to the task. Of course, that’s not always the case. But often it is.

 

Ideas are never ending, always evolving, forever in need of refreshing. Without a willingness to consider new ones, without a purposeful seeking of ideas grown from uncommon soil, without the intention to actually listen and actually consider changing, we sit in our old rot and spoil. 

 

Some of us have the skill of seeing what isn’t obvious to those they are surrounded by. I am not that. 

However, those of us who are less able to see are powerful too. We are able to listen, to learn, to make friends and family of those who – often by necessity – are seeing what isn’t obvious, and willing to share it with us. Not all ideas are better just because they are different or new, but they are ideas. Which are always worth exploring.

 

A lack of ideas is not the fault of ideas. It is the fault of idea seekers who are unwilling. Unwilling to stick out, unwilling to be wrong, unwilling to listen to outliers and other people vastly different from themselves.

 

Let's be idea seekers who are willing.

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Autism Answer: I Don't See What They See

 

 

eye glasses on a glass table, out of focus furniture in the background

The kids all crowded around the game table—

Wait, I say kids and perhaps you imagine young children. The playful energy, adults necessarily nearby watching for mood shifts and play gone too far. You think of little voices, shy little ones, hyper boys ready to push.

But I’m referring to young adults. They are kids to us older adults who either birthed them, or are relatives of those who birthed them. Now that I’ve clarified, you picture similar but different people, right?

There is still the high energy, some are shy, maybe hyper boys pushing each other, but it’s different. Adults are watching in this case as well, but with less likely need to step in, though not none.

Did I mention alcohol?

Ah, maybe shift a bit again. There is alcohol. It’s a birthday celebration for the youngest cousin who is now drinking age.

There are about ten of them. Mostly girls, a few boys, all decked out in swim gear and sporting sun kissed cheeks, sun burnt shoulders here and there. The shy one isn’t overly shy, the boys not any more hyper than the girls. It is sunny, there is a pool near the game table, everyone is getting along, the older adults are fairly relaxed and enjoying the beautiful scene.

It is beautiful.

Should I, I’m honestly asking, describe beautiful people in order to ask you to picture the scene beautifully?

What color skin should they have? What sizes should their bodies be? What disabilities should I include, if any? Sure, you'll want diversity, but to what degree?

I was there and it was beautiful. I could clearly feel that. I enjoyed the range of conversations and energy styles. I loved noticing how some of the cousins reached out to newly introduced friends. How some sons and daughters delighted in a social opportunity of this sort.

It got a little less beautiful, in my opinion, with more alcohol.

But, for several hours, it was all simply beautiful.

Kids and adults alike.

However, I ask in earnest regarding appearances of people because, I confess, I hardly noticed and I cannot accurately describe much of what they looked like.

Yet, at least one of the adults (in our older adult group) said enough things about physical appearances that I couldn’t help wondering, not for the first time, what don’t I see?

Comments wanting to become conversation on weight, skin health, ethnicity, and the like, were confusing me a little, giving me a feeling that I am missing something.

Yes, I do see our outsides. I see weight and color and skin. But it is a part so included in the whole that it’s not often specifically noticed. I am aware of the clues on our outsides that point to how we’re doing on our insides and so I don’t try to not see. Yet, for much of my life I’ve noticed - based on the comments of my peers - I am often not seeing what they are seeing. My mom has pointed it out to me a few times, so I know I’m not wrong. A room full of people can be commenting on how something or someone looks, and I often don’t see what they see. (Please note, I don’t mean only bad stuff. I’m not talking about gossipy comments, although I do mean those as well. I’m referring to simply noticing how people and things look.)

This sometimes feeds a worry of mine, about myself.

A little after the birthday celebration, a celebration where most of us were waltzing around in swimsuits, I was asked if I had felt comfortable, attractive even,  at the gathering.  Ummmm…. I felt hopeful that I was not too boring, wanting to be helpful but not get in the way, curious about these people – many of whom I was meeting for the first time – and their stories. Was I supposed to think, also, about appearance? About looking appropriately, I don’t know, good?

Oh, sure, when I first stepped into the yard wearing my swimsuit, my hair unwashed and sloppily ponytail-ed, I was wishing I’d shaved my legs and bikini line, wished my bathing suit wasn’t the wrong size putting me in the position of having to adjust it more often than I’d like. At one point I was told there was dark under my eyes so I presumed I was looking a little old and tired. But I simply shrugged it off and continually stepped into the group hoping to add something beautiful. A listening ear, a helping hand, an interesting, maybe even funny, story or two.

I didn’t much see what I look like or what others look like.

I have wondered this before. Is being “body positive” more than being comfortable in my body? Am I missing something when I don’t much notice the differences, the variety of beauty? When I don’t see what they see?

And I have wondered often, did I embarrass someone? For lack of understanding, for not knowing what I don’t see, did I embarrass someone?

I know I sometimes do.

“Mom,” my youngest son once said in his usual thoughtful careful manner, “could you please come to my school event, but wear pants that don’t have so many holes in them?”

I don’t pretend to not see at all. I recognize a neat smile, eyes that are unique, an extra long beard. But, as I said, it is all part of a much bigger whole.

Books and covers, I was thinking about before sitting down to write this out. I do notice myself attracted to a book cover based on looks. If it looks like the type of texture that feels good in my hands, if it has colors and images that appeal to me, I notice. I think my attraction is in large part due to the experience of knowing which colors and styles are popular in my favorite genres. I see it and want to touch it, to know more about the story and feelings I might find inside. It is quickly more than the cover. As I read the hints and meaning represented on the cover reveal themselves. They change for me.

The kids, I guess, were like covers on books. People were looking at them and seeing more than I was because the other adults knew them better. They knew more of the stories inside and, hence, were able to recognize more meaning beyond the cover itself within the cover itself.

I saw them too, but not as much with my eyes. Hardly with my eyes. I guess, since kids are not books, there wasn’t the need to pick and choose which ones to pay attention to, which cover to reach out and hold. Their stories would simply reveal themselves and I was open to all the genres around me.  

I do try to use seeing more, but I often get it wrong. My mom has noticed. She’s noticed for years. I don’t seem to see what others are seeing. My sister has noticed, too. When I have been watching her kids in her house and she comes home, she's learned to be careful not to immediately say, "I need to clean this house," because, most likely, I think I already did it for her. I often see clean, I often see not broken, when others see dirty and broken.

I don’t mind, mostly. This is not a huge issue and hardly worth exploring. But sometimes I worry that it means I am the reason everyone is feeling uncomfortable, and I don’t know it. Because I don’t see right, I might not know how wrong I look.

I don’t see quite the same as others so when I try, I worry I’m getting it wrong. The point is, to fix it I’d have to see what they see.

Here’s the rub, I mostly like not seeing. It is a newer discovery about myself. I like it. I like hardly noticing these things.

And it is hard to learn a new skill. So, maybe I also like liking it, so I don’t have to learn.

There is the risk of missing an important clue about a loved one or myself, a change in appearance that is a symptom in need of investigation. So far, though, others have been helpful in pointing these things out. (Recently, when a cat was losing weight but I hadn’t noticed, the problem was addressed, because other people noticed.)

So, for now, I think I like not seeing.

Do you see?

Hugs, smiles, and love!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Autism Answer: "What's Wrong?" vs "Are you okay?"

 

I tend to feel cared about when someone notices a shift in my mood and reaches out, asking about how I'm doing. 

 

However, I confess, when asked "what's wrong" I like it less. I try to remind myself, they are simply caring. But my knee jerk reaction is, they think something is wrong. 

 

Yet, if asked "are you okay" or "what's on your mind" or something similar, I tend to feel more encouraged to explore my mood. I have less of a defensive reaction. Instead, I feel invited to share any reason I may have for the shift in mood. And in truth, there is often no big reason. Our moods move around. It isn't always because something is wrong. Maybe we simply ate sugar and are feeling it, or our hormones are doing a natural shift, or we read something that's put us in an introspective moody seeming place. Or, maybe something hurtful or challenging or unhealthy is going on. Maybe talking it out or telling someone who cares can help us feel better. 

 

I don't think it's wrong to ask "What's wrong?" I know I'm lucky when someone cares and asks about my feelings. I know my reaction to "What's wrong," is my reaction, not necessarily based on the meaning behind it. Sure, it infers the person thinks something is wrong, but the bigger inference is the person noticed my mood and cares in some way. 

 

I bet there are people who would feel more comfortable with hearing, "What's wrong?" if they needed to talk. Maybe it would mean they feel as though the asker of the question is really ready to hear the problem. Perhaps a simple, "Are you okay?" would give them the feeling the asker wants to hear, "Yes, I'm fine," rather than anything deeper. I can easily imagine a person feeling not defensive by "What's wrong?" but, instead, more truly noticed and cared about. As though the question means, "I am prepared to take the time to hear what's going on for you because I care and see you, and notice something is amiss, and I want you to unburden yourself by telling me what's wrong." 

 

I am not that person. But I believe others may be. 

 

What do we do in a world where people react differently, yet often in drastic ways, to various words and phrases? We shouldn't simply strike words and phrases out of our language because they might be a problem for some people when they might be a lifeline for others. 

 

I recommend, instead, we be truthful with ourselves and our loved ones. Our reactions are completely valid and interesting and personal. But they are not so personal that no one will understand or learn from them. I say we explore and share. 

 

So, please, if you see me seeming down or in an unusual mood, don't hesitate to ask me if I'm okay or what I'm thinking about. I hope you won't ask me "What's wrong?" but if you do, please forgive my potential childish defensive reaction. If I push back because I feel a sudden need to insist that nothing is wrong with me and I have every right to have more than my one, most common, happy silly mood. (By the way, I do love my happy silly mood, I just also like my many other moods.)

 

Please note: I'm working on that reaction. But I'm not quite there so I apologize in advance for the temper tantrum I might have. However, the upside to my temper tantrum is you can confidently say, "see, I was right, something is wrong," at that point. tee hee!

 

Let's be contemplative and kind, rather than combative and unrelenting, while exploring reactions to words and phrases, friends!

 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Autism Answer: Body Positive - The Way I See It

Sipping coffee with the sun bursting through the window behind me.

 

It is summer where I live. 

As I sit at my desk I'm surrounded by reminders. Behind me cats are shedding and seeking cool tile for sleeping. My love taps on his computer only when necessary and heads outdoors (shirtless when I'm lucky!) to take care of the pool, dig up dirt & reorganize landscaping, climb ladders & fix stuff winter broke.  Out the widow ahead of me I see a river teaming with life. People kayak and canoe, birds hop and fly, fish splash, green growth floats past lazily. On the path and sidewalk people skate, walk, bike, roll, and enjoy all manner of interesting seasonal transportation. 

Everyone is dressed in the summer attire most comfortable to them. 

The weather is hot and humid. Some of us respond by wearing as little as possible, some of us respond by wearing light fabrics over most of our bodies, some of us respond by sweating in sweaters and feeling perfectly good about it. 

I like it all.  

When I was a young girl growing up in Ontario, Canada I rarely wore clothes that allowed skin to show. Long pants, long sleeves, long bulky sweaters were more comfortable to me than shorts and Ts in summer because shorts and Ts showed parts of me I was uncomfortable having seen. I wore t-shirts, yes, but always with a sweater or flannel wrapped around my waist as a safety net. When I went through my phase of wearing skirts and heels I did so wearing panty hose to cover my skin. My blouses were most often sleeved. Regardless of the weather, that was what I felt comfortable wearing. 

Then, I moved to Texas. I had two small children at the time. Little people who would climb all over me, need hugs and holding, need lap sitting and sleep snuggling. The heat in Texas nearly made me mad, and I started to dislike myself as a mom when every time one of my boys wanted to hug me I instinctively pushed them away because it was too hot to handle more things on me. More things touching me. So, I decided to be comfortable wearing t-shirts and shorts. Once that was comfortable suddenly I wanted less. Tinier shirts, shorter shorts. The smaller amount of clothes the better. Any itty bitty breeze that existed I wanted to feel as much of as possible. I wasn't any more comfortable with the look of my skin but I was far more comfortable exposing it in order to feel not so dang hot. After a while, I forgot to be uncomfortable with the look of my skin.

I know you don't care much about me or my evolving fashion sense, the entirety of which has to do with my desire always to be comfortable. But I think it's a nice little peek into how what we and others wear shouldn't be overly judged. We are kinder and our better selves when we're comfortable. So if someone is comfortable wearing something you don't like or understand, maybe don't waste time judging it. In fact, if it is appropriate to do so, make good use of your time by asking questions! What is comfortable about wearing a sweater in the sweltering heat? What feels cozy about not wearing a bra even though we can tell you're not wearing a bra? Get curious in a kind way. We learn so much about ourselves when asking and answering questions. 

I've been thinking lately about the balance between liking the body I'm in while continuing to actively take care of it. Even work on making it better. Sure, I can say it's only because I care about keeping my body healthy but, the truth is, I'm in a new relationship and find myself back in the headspace (one I haven't spent time in since my teen years!) of hoping I look good.

So I thought it would be fun for me to answer these questions I recently came across about working out and body image. While answering these questions for myself, my best friend called and we talked about the answers together. It turns out we have a lot of similar opinions on the issues though the things we choose to do about them are quite different. The conversation was fun! Feel free to peek at these questions yourself, check out my answers and consider your own. Are we surprisingly similar? Wildly different? An interesting mix of the two? 

Having a positive feeling about the body you're in - and there are so many types of bodies! - is a valid part of holistic health. But that doesn't mean shrugging your shoulders to any potential problems and just saying, "Well, I'm body positive so I guess I like it." When we love we pay attention. We notice things and check in. We are brave and do the work of admitting when something isn't okay so we can find a way to fix it. <--- This is all stuff I'm loving about being in love, by the way. :D

So, here are my answers to some questions meant to help me continue to find balance between loving my body and wanting to help it be better.

I hope you'll share some of your thoughts as well! 

The Way I See It:

1. Why do you work out?

I confess, I don't exactly work out. However, I do actively and purposefully include activities into my day that will work out my body. I have never been able to consistently put aside a set amount of time to exercise, I don't enjoy the work out and I don't get that accomplished energetic feeling others talk about afterward. But I do strongly believe that my health is my own responsibility so I do things like dance, roller skate, stretch, and go for walks in order to keep my body looking and feeling healthy.

2. What body image issues are you currently fighting against?

My biggest challenge at the moment is wanting to believe I look sexy. I'm in a fantastic relationship and for the first time in my forty-six years I'm enjoying great sex. I love that. The only down side is I'm noticing this new need to believe I look sexy to my partner. I feel sexy when we're being intimate, but throughout the course of a day I'll catch myself hoping I look sexy. Suddenly I'll notice that my stomach is flabby, there is an overwhelming amount of cellulite on the back of my thighs, and my breasts are like deflated balloons. In a way I feel like a teenager again. Wanting to look good but not believing people when they say I do. Luckily I'm not a teenager so I know better and don't let it hurt or influence me too much. Yet, it is there.

3. Do you think it's possible to love your body if you still want to change something about it?

I absolutely believe that. Because loving our bodies means being willing to see when we need to make changes in order to keep them healthy. We are always evolving and the health needs our bodies change, too. And quite often the clues for changes we need to make will be in how our body looks. I think the trick is keeping an eye on why we want to change something about our bodies. Even if the why is that we want to like the look of it, that's okay. As long as we want to like the look of it for ourselves, and not only for other people. And as long as we don't fall into the "grass is greener" mindset. When I'm struggling to know if I want to change because it's what I want or because it's what society tells me to want, I imagine living alone in the world. Does the cellulite still matter to me then? If the answer is no, I decide it's not worth my worry.

4. Do you think diet and fitness culture is toxic?

I think it can be, yes. Just like any movement or culture, we can get caught up and take it too far and hurt ourselves and people around us. And when there is a whole group of people doing it with us we are at greater risk of not seeing when it isn't healthy for us. Each person will have different reasons for caring about diet and fitness, and finding a healthy balance will look different for each person and family, so I think it's important to keep an eye on yourself and not judge others too harshly in order to avoid toxic culture.

5. What lessons have you learned about body confidence? What would you still like to work on?

Personally, learning to focus on how I feel in my body rather than how I look in my body has made a huge difference in my life. On top of that, practicing not comparing myself to others but rather appreciating the diversity of shapes, sizes, and abilities has given me a great boost. I would, though, like to work on this new wanting to believe I look sexy thing. It's annoying! And it is definitely my job to work on it since my partner has given me all the signs and said in all the ways that I do look sexy to him. I feel embarrassed that I want to believe I look sexy, but I do.

Hmmmm.... maybe working on feeling embarrassed about it is where I can start. It can be hard to figure something out when you're brain is busy being embarrassed. So there it is. I want to believe I look sexy to my partner and I think that means continuing to take care of my body while trusting he's serious when he says I'm sexy to him.

 

So there I have it. A few things I'm sticking with and something to work on. 

I wonder if my love thinks me learning about myself is sexy? tee hee!

Happy summer, friends! 

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

Autism Answer: A Hand Holding Me

Often my partner will place a hand on me, my hip, my shoulder, my thigh, my arm, my chest, and I will feel at once broken apart and held together. The way that hand holds me I feel safe and encouraged to let go, I breathe deep and swim in colors, my energy spreads out and connects with the universe yet I feel we're alone with only our love. Our love. 

It lasts. This unique feeling, this new feeling stays with me while I work, write, skate, read, dance. Oh, how it grows when I dance! I facilitate the growth, encourage it, now that I know this feeling. I close my eyes and feel that hand on me. I feel it hold me with a tenderness that's somehow strong, promising not to let go. That magic hand. And I fall deeper into the music. My body moves and I escape its borders, growing out into the room and imagining scenes I'm every part of and so is the universe; it is not about me yet always me. That hand promises I can go where I will without fear because it will hold me, my partner will hold me, and I won't be lost. 

I look into the eyes that look at me and feel connected, feel supported, feel seen. How had I not noticed this lacking in my life? Or, more honestly, why did I think only I could see me and hoping others would was childish and weak? In fact, with my partner I see more. 

I seek those eyes for stories of their own that might break free when my hand touches the body they belong to. What part of me, or who I am, is like that magic hand for my partner? Love has not made me never worry, I worry that I don't have a magic hand at all. I worry that I am not giving back the intensity I am being given. 

But love has given me the confidence to try, to ask. Because I want this love to continue to grow with our participation, with our desires and hopes gathering sustenance, so the avoidance of asking would take more strength than fear of the answers; fear of failure. 

Being in love, being loved, being touched by a hand that gives me freedom to become, a hand that doesn't try to paint over my scars but instead explores them to understand, is surprising me. It is unexpected and deeply, deeply, wonderful. I want this for me. 

I want this for others. 

It doesn't matter to me if the love is experienced by people of the same or different genders. If the love is experienced by people with the same skin color or spiritual beliefs. If one is more able bodied than the other, or one is much richer, or one is a generation or two older. It doesn't matter if there are more than two people experiencing the love together, I want this for others. 

There is danger in wanting this kind of love so bad we lie to ourselves or justify cruelties (others' and our own) in order to invent it. We might build it out of all the wrong materials on a faulty foundation and simply pretend it is what it isn't. 

But it isn't our place to assume someone else has done this merely because their love looks unlike something we imagine love should look like. 

The hand that holds me, places itself on my skin and cracks open a new world of meaningful memories and safe vulnerability, is magic to me. 

I want this. 

I love this. 

I am better with this. 

I am better with this. 

 ____ 

 

NOTE: Today, May 17th, is International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia, Interphobia and Transphobia. I wrote this love story today because I am an advocate for love, inclusion, and not judging who loves who. My mom is bi-sexual, my son is gay, my other son is bi-sexual, my nibbling is nonbinary, I could go on. I want everyone I love to find healthy love. And that is easier done when the world relaxes it's judgements regarding what love is supposed to look like. 

Hugs, smiles, and love! 

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Autism Answer: In The Parking Lot

In the car

I was sitting in our car waiting for my hubby to come out of the auto parts store, my window slightly open and a cool spring breeze tickling my cheeks. 

A big old noisy truck pulled up beside me and a nice looking elderly couple smiled at me from their open windows. I comfortably smiled back. 

Humming to myself I watched as the gentleman from the truck stepped awkwardly out of his vehicle (perhaps babying tender muscles or creaky joints, I thought) and I shared another smile with the woman who chose to stay behind. Kindred spirits, I felt. She picked up her phone and began to scroll. I giggled, picked up my phone and took the selfies in this post. 

Then my husband came out to the car carrying a new alternator, placed it by my feet on the passenger side, and excused himself to head back into the store. I stretched, kissed his cheek while he uncomfortably allowed it (displays of affection are nervous things for my husband so I rarely do them but sometimes, well, sometimes I can hardly help it) and I watched as he moved with a quick shuffle toward the store. Our age is showing, I happily sighed. I like it. 

As my look drifted toward the woman in the truck I was shocked out of my moment by angry eyes and an accusatory shaking of her head. I tried a smile but she only huffed and looked back down at her phone. 

Hmmm.... what had I done? The kiss was literally a peck on the cheek. I would ask nothing more than that of my husband, anyhow. Hmmm... had I imagined the anger? Perhaps. Wait. Here comes the gentleman she was with. Sharply she said, "we have to go." That's how she welcomed him back. Ya, I think it might be something about me. Oh, well. Probably the mixed-race relationship thing, or maybe my husband's age compared to mine. We used to get angry stares pretty often. Or, maybe, she also doesn't like displays of affection. Even tiny ones. I suppose it could have been my humming that bothered her. 

Of course, it may have had absolutely nothing at all to do with me and may have been something on her phone that shifted her mood, our eye contact and her head-shaking completely unnoticed by her in whatever headspace she was in. That's quite possible. Equally as possible as any reason I had imagined already, and all the others I hadn't. 

Anyway, they drove away while I stayed. Humming and thinking and enjoying the breeze. 

Sitting in our car waiting for my hubby to come out of the auto parts store. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

___________________________________________

Running errands with my husband