Autism Answer: A Lifetime of Adapting

 From our New Year edition of The Loop (Follow THIS LINK to read the full edition)

 

 

A Lifetime of Adapting
(also, adopting)
 

                                                             

I am not special, yet I am special. This is true of us all. 

My mom, Lynette Louise (The Brain Broad), steps into the lives of people around the world - via film, book, interviews, speaking engagements, and as a practitioner in our homes - and helps us explore the dynamics existing in this paradox: we can honor our special-ness while learning from others who have experienced it before us. 

Also, we can honor our special-ness while adjusting our behaviors along the way in order to thrive in existing environments. 

She herself has done this more than many. As a child she wanted to become a mom (or a missionary) to save children. As many as possible, at least twelve. She became a mom, but a hysterectomy meant adopting in order to become a mom to so many. Eight of us kids were legally hers, but she also invited others to stay temporarily along the way. Others who needed saving. Eventually she adapted that desire: instead, she wanted to help children, in order to stop seeing them as needing to be saved.

She had careers and businesses, they were successful in her mind so long as they were good for her and us kids. When they weren't, she changed them.

Everything mom chose to do incorporated her special-ness, as well as ours. But, also, we all had to transition and change to make them work in existing environments. 

Mom is now retired from her most recent work as a neurofeedback & BioPlay practitioner in homes around the world, but she still speaks and writes. 

(In fact, she will be speaking at the upcoming YOUniquely YOU women's retreat in Bermuda - April 23-26 2026)

But, she is retired. And this has led my wildly busy (some might say - okay, I might say - inexorably busy) mom to reinvent and rediscover.

As all of us in The Loop know, that has included spending more consistent time with my brother, Dar. Together they have worked creatively on communication and shared some videos with us. 

[follow THIS link to revisit our communication edition of The Loop]

For me, as mom's personal assistant, her retirement has given me reason to transition deeper into my writing self, which in turn has transitioned into diving deeper into my personal self. Who I am, who I want to be now that my children are adults and most of my family lives faraway. 

I am not special. People my age (in our 50s) are similarly engaged. If I narrow it down further, women my age who were stay-at-home moms who now have adult children, we become even more similar. Yet, my journey, my biology, myself is unique. 

As we move into this new year I hope everyone will find the type of courage and beauty I see in this paradox: We are not special, yet we are all special. Our struggles are not unique to us yet we do experience them uniquely. Hence, we have unique insights to share.

This, I think, is why I keep discovering there are places to go when we choose to leave where we are, and those places are prepared to welcome us. 

Sometimes this will mean adapting to a retired lifestyle, or adapting to a home with no small children requiring all encompassing focus; sometimes it will mean adopting new beliefs, adopting new habits, maybe even adopting children. I do not know where you are in your journey, but I do know there are others who have been similarly where you are, where you've been, and where you're going.

I do know transitions and transformations are in your life.

Because they are in all lives. 

Happy new year wonderful friends in The Loop!

I hope you are finding pleasure on your path. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!

________

Tsara Shelton (X) 

 

Autism Answer: Humo(u)r - Laughing Well in the New Year

 

 

 

 

 

Did you eat your meat? 

If YES: you can have pudding. 

If NO: You cannot have any pudding

_________________________

There is nothing funny about not having any pudding if you did not eat your meat, And yet, if I am remembering correctly, the first time I laughed out loud at a joke online, it was that one. 

It’s hilarious!!

Simple, short, and not age restricted. Well, except you have to get the reference, and Pink Floyd is sort of an older person reference. 

Which brings me to the point of this post: I am old. Errrrr…. wait, that’s not supposed to be the point…. What did I come into this room for again? 

Oh, ya! I meant for my point to be this: humour is only funny when you get the joke. Heck, humour isn’t even humour in the United States. There it is something called “humor”. Entirely unique to that part of the world. Well, except that the Internet has made all grammar and spelling and slang and word usage sort of shared? So humour and humor can be known for what they are: different ways to say the same thing.

Which reminds me: This morning I sprayed my mouth with Axe body spray. Now, I talk with an Axe scent. 

Hilarious, right!? (Also, entirely false. I do not speak with either an Axe Scent or an accent. I am a simple girl with coffee breath who talks normal. Accents are from other places.)

These jokes are only funny if you get them. (Not my jokes, those ones are funny inherently. If you don’t get them, try again.) And to “get” a joke you don’t usually have to be smart, you usually have to be in touch with the culture the jokes are commenting on.

If you have not heard Pink Floyd’s THE WALL, or more specifically Another Brick In The Wall Part 2, then a) you are maybe deaf, at which point I can’t help but wonder if you know the song? I’m quite curious about that actually! How popular is popular music in the deaf community? b) you might be young, because it is a song from an album that was released over three decades ago which does not make it any less awesome just less often talked about. If you do not know the song, then you may see the image above and think it is simply instructions someone left on their fridge. Did you eat your meat? No? Then no pudding for you. Fair rule I think, though for my children I may have asked did you eat your protein, since I am not a big meat eater. 

But I digress. Often. My best friend and I call it going on rabbit trails, which we find a cute way to say walking down an entirely different narrative path than originally intended, taking us a bit off the point we were originally trying to make. Or, as I said, digressing.

So, yes. I digress. The point is: If you have not heard Pink Floyd’s Another Brick In The Wall Part 2, specifically the part where we hear “If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding. How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?” then the joke will not be a joke, it will not be funny.  

If you live in a place or time where Axe body spray, and all its comical ads, do not exist then the pun I shared will not be funny. 

This is why comedy, humour, jokes, silliness, are all so gosh darned important. Laughter is healthy, joy is delightful, laughing together with friends and strangers alike is a spectacular way to build community and connections. Brotherhood and bonds. 

But it is vitally valuable to pay attention to what we laugh at, what we “get” and why. 

A blond is lost in the desert, scorching heat beating down on her from above, no water or shade anywhere to be seen. Suddenly, a genie appears. “I can grant you one wish,” he booms with authority. “Oh, thank goodness!” The blond is overwhelmed with relief. “Can I have a car door?” She asks. “Um, okay,” the genie says, confused but granting the wish as is his nature. Yet, he can’t help following up with a question, “Of all the things you could wish for, why a car door?” “It’s obvious, silly!” She explains, as if to a child, “It’s so hot out here I wanted to open the car window.” 

This is mostly funny. It helps if you "get" it, if you know there is a dumb blond stereotype, but it is also kind of funny if you don’t know about the stereotype as it can easily be inferred. I think, personally, it’s okay to laugh at these jokes because blonds are too pretty and need to be taken down a peg or two. Errrr…. wait, did I say that out loud? I mean, because it is common knowledge that blonds are not dumb. But, I suspect, it wasn’t always common knowledge. I suspect blonds were seen as sex kittens and man eaters and more, which led to jokes built to frame them in an unattractive light. 

There is so much power in paying attention to what we laugh about, to what our peers laugh about, and to what our culture laughs about. So much power. This does not mean we stifle or attack people and their jokes, no. This means we are aware of, conversational about, and intentional in the comedic space. Don’t laugh if you don’t find it funny. Talk about why. Don’t give too much attention to the stuff that feels cruel or dangerous, though do be willing to share the hows and whys of your feelings. 

When I was fourteen my boyfriend used to say, “I wouldn’t kick her out of bed,” when attractive girls walked by. Some of his friends would laugh, as would I. Some of his friends did not laugh, and even called him out. “Your girlfriend is right there, man,” a friend of his once said. “It’s okay,” I said joyfully, “it’s funny!” “She’s cool, she’s not a prude,” my boyfriend would say. And I would be proud. 

I was proud because he thought I was cool. But also because I’d hid my real feelings well. It HAD hurt me, every freaking time, and I was embarrassed about that. Embarrassed that I was such a weak needy girl that my feelings would be hurt by a joke.

Of course now I see it differently. It had been a cruel joke. Mainly because he would have hit me had I said something similar about a guy walking by. He would not have thought that was funny. But after he made the joke a few times and I did not ask him not to, well, it wasn’t really cruel anymore, was it? I told him I thought it was funny. 

Please don’t misunderstand me: there are many relationships where such a comment would be fine. Though I will go out on a limb and wager that most girlfriends laughing and saying they don’t mind are lying, I will also admit that lots of girlfriends don’t mind. Lots also want to invite her into bed. Lots of boyfriends don’t mind when their girlfriend makes such jokes, and they would like to invite other guys into their bed. Or hear about her sleeping with him behind his back, which is a kink for many people. Or simply girlfriends and boyfriends who have no feelings about the joke and think of it as only a joke. The point is: I had a boyfriend when I was fourteen. 

Additional point: We are living in a time when we have easier than ever access to cultures different from our own, to diverse comedy streams and memes, to the funny bones of previously elusive or silenced communities. How wonderful! Let's learn what others are laughing about and why. 

Humour is a great place for recognizing who we are as an individual, a family, a country, a world. Seriously, it is. Seriously, it is the most fun way to get serious. 

However, we must be careful not to censor humour so much, but instead investigate it. If you are inclined, laugh freely and loudly and with great guffaws! 

But also notice. 

Why is it funny? Should it be funny?

Just another brick isn’t such a big deal. But all the bricks? Eventually our bricks build, well, a wall. 

What I’m saying is: go ahead and laugh, but take the time to notice and reflect. Wonder what it means to find something funny. Do the work. 

After all, if you don’t eat your meat, you can’t have any pudding.

Happy New Year, friends!!

Laugh well!!!

Hugs, smiles, and love!!

(@TsaraShelton) 

Autism Answer: Linger Longer

 

 

My mom (long hair) and her friend Conni (short hair) laying on a towel in the grass when they were twelve years old

When I was a little girl I used to look deep and long at photos of my mom when she was a little girl. I would focus, unfocus, refocus my eyes, will myself to fall into it; into my mom before she was a woman.

The woman I looked up at with all the love in the world had been a little girl; was still a little girl in those photos. A little girl, like me. 

But not me. 

How? How was my mom once a girl? What did that mean? 

I wanted wanted wanted to know her thoughts, her experiences, her dreams. I tried to imagine them, but it was tainted, wrong, it was me imagining. I wanted to KNOW. I'd ask her, and lucky for me my mom was the sort of woman who would answer these probing questions from her daughter. And I was confident she was answering honestly. But they were the answers of a woman, shared with a girl who was not her, and I knew that fell far short from knowing. 

I'd try again. Bringing mom's imperfect answers with me I'd fall into the eyes of the girl in the photo, try to disappear most of the girl that was me - hold onto only enough of me to remember what it was I was seeking from the image of my mom as she was, which was a moment of my mom as she became... 

This is what it can be to look at and imagine. To take our time, think, wonder. Linger. Linger longer. I was not the only one doing it, I'm sure.

Lately, though, I notice so many people looking merely for seemingly superficial purposes. Quick successive jolts of image inducing reactions, it seems like? Perhaps for the jolt of chemicals our brains release when seeing something beautiful, shocking, sexy, rage inducing. 

I see people look quickly, move on; seek more. 

There is less moving within, moving along, allowing more, thinking and wondering and exploring the images; going where they take us, thinking about things along the way. People still linger, but it seems they stay only until the initial jolt of emotion has waned and then they move on for more of that, more closely related to the jolt. Reading and leaving comments is too often a way to stay jolted, it is not often enough a type of deeper exploration. 

It is entirely human to engage in emotion through our senses. I think this is what I was doing as a little girl desiring to know my mom as she was; to feel myself be known by her as well. Yes, I think I was doing that too. Wanting the little girl that was my mom to know the little girl that was me. 

But I worry that without the longer linger, without the deeper explorations and thoughts, the adjusting of ourselves along the way, the noticing of our thoughts and the recognition of our limitations, we are merely addicts. Brain-chemical junkies. 

Not all of us have vision, or are able to use sight in this way, but those of us who are able might want to consider lingering longer. Listening to what we are thinking, and exploring why we are thinking it. Teasing out the motivations - our own, the image sharers - and allowing the chemicals to run their course before we seek the next hit. 

We are relentlessly exposed to images intended to make us want, hunger, hate. 

Images intended to make us smile, laugh, feel peace. 

These images on their own can also encourage us to think. But if we do not linger long enough, they simply encourage an addiction to more images giving us a feeling. 

A feeling that is our own, yet we are too easily allowing outside images to do the job of jump-starting our emotions. Of corralling them.

I like the idea of lingering longer.

Of exploring what my inside is telling me - not only from the first jolt but on into the day. To allow thinking and exploring to be organically my own, not overly influenced, though admittedly influenced.

I like influence, I like sharing, I like learning from outside of me. 

I like seeing my mom as a girl, looking into her eyes and asking what she sees and how she hopes to be seen. 

We are what we consume and those of us with sight are obligated to consume images. 

When we linger longer we can find time to include the nutrition our capacity to think, care, and understand truly requires. To exercise those muscles; that skill.

Happy New Year friends!

I hope you'll linger longer with me!

(Even though I used the word exercise. tee hee!) 

Hugs, smiles, and love!! 

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (X.com)

Family portrait: my aunt Delmarie, my grandma, my grandpa, my mom (left to right)

Autism Answer: Life Lessons and Leftovers

 

My boys (circa a lot of years ago)

My four boys are now men. 

 

I care so much about them.

 

When they were small every single choice I consciously made worked its way through the "how do I think this will affect them" filter. 

 

Back then it was intense. I did not see myself as separate from them. Instead, we were a unit. A unit of individuals with the right and necessity of discovering and becoming a healthy version of our natural selves. But, still - a unit. 

 

When my sons were small, I did not feel like we were poor. We had too much support, really, to feel poor. My mom and my sister (who were not wealthy) didn't hesitate to offer us vacations, homes, vehicles, gas money, dance classes, foods with fancy names, trips to museums and science centers. So we didn't feel poor, exactly. But I did not often make money and my husband at the time worked hard but made little.

 

Groceries were a weekly worry. Grocery store trips were emotionally and financially draining. I cared so much about feeding the hunger in our home nutritiously, while not losing site of the value in frivolity and fun. The ideas, the items, the foods: I wanted to offer nutrition, and example the vigor and joy of it. 

 

I didn't do too bad. I cared a lot, and that came through. 

 

But I also missed a few things, made missteps and mistakes, and that came through too. 

 

One of the things that comes to mind in this moment: 

 

All four of my sons remember me in their youth with slightly different perspectives. But one thing that is consistent in their memories is the habit I had of often giving them the food and waiting happily for leftovers before I would eat. Not at every meal, not every day, but when the food was either a treat or limited, this was my happy habit. I wasn't dramatic about it. It wasn't a sacrifice or anything, I tried to be sure they recognized that I was not growing and they were. That I was in less need than them. And that I was not actually hungry for anything more than seeing my children's bellies and bodies filled. 

 

As men, my sons now often bring up this version of me while insisting on seeing me eat. My oldest son is following a passion for feeding people and the satisfaction he expresses while watching me enjoy his food is powerful. 

 

Confession: I am warmed by a sense of gratification when any of my sons comments on my habit of eating mostly leftovers when they were little. 

 

I recognize, though, the possible pitfalls of this sort of pride. 

 

I recognize them, because I am a little bit guilty of them. 

 

For one thing, I am a little bit guilty of feeling GOOD about sacrificing my own meals in order to feed them. A little bit of proof that I CARED so much. Now, I did care and I did remember to put the focus on their growing bodies and needs, but I know that the deeper belief (that I was being a good mom and showing love by denying myself the treats) would have revealed itself somewhere. That in some quieter way I was also telling them that sacrificing my own needs was a sign of love. 

 

Another pitfall: I am a little bit guilty of feeling GOOD about not eating when I was hungry because it might finally make me THIN. Oh, I cared too much about teaching my sons to value women of every shape and size to say it. I asked them to applaud women who had passion and kindness and to know that meant they would likely have figures and curves and soft rolls as nature desires. Because of this I never would have said, to them or to myself, that I was excited at the idea that maybe sacrificing food for the sake of my children might have the side effect of making me thin. And thin, though not necessarily healthy, can borrow her sister's clothes without fear of embarrassing the people around her. Hence thin, particularly if you are a woman, is desirable. I tried exceptionally hard not to teach this, but I felt it. So, it likely surfaced. 

 

Yet another guilty pitfall of this little habit I had is how proud I was of being able to find joy in being too broke to feed myself. In my attempt to show them I was happy, I was comfortable not eating, they were the ones growing and I was not (nor did I want to grow) so no big deal, I consistently gave the impression that being broke was totally cool. That it might be a sign we were better than the moms who ate alongside their children for every meal. We were amazing at having a good attitude while being broke, which meant we were learning a skill the richer folks were not learning. Yikes! This is not a lesson I wanted to teach, but I admit to being a little bit guilty of THINKING it. Of maybe even BELIEVING it. 

 

So, from now on when my sons comment of this habit I had, and my inevitable feeling of a pride-like pleasure creeps in, I will focus on the part that I do not mind feeling gratitude for. The part where my sons, all four of them, saw me. Saw me care about them, saw me be with them, saw me try to nourish them. 

 

We were one unit. 

 

One unit made of of individuals. 

 

We still are. 

 

They are grown men and I still make choices with them at the helm. But I am aware, and satisfied with, the truth that my choices affect them less now. Appropriately so. 

 

Moving forward into new years I still think about what my choices might mean for them. But now those movements are more about me and my soul mate, and what we hope to build for a future that is consistently him and me, while inviting our children and grandchildren. 

 

Inviting them to visit but, more importantly, inviting them to see in my choices something healthy.

 

Interestingly, this includes me eating meals alongside my loved ones, and also eating - my favorite food - leftovers! 

 

It turns out that my distaste for waste has instilled in me a love of leftovers! 

 

Hence, when I am around my grandchildren, my nieces, my sons and my step-daughter, I love that everyone knows to share with me the leftovers. It is, funnily enough, often enough to sustain me.

 

I like to think my love of leftovers is finally on solid ground. Not a sacrifice, or secret desire to be thin, or a nod to the perks of poverty, but a good ol' distaste for waste. 

 

Wait, my distaste for waste grew naturally out of me noticing a dangerous lack of caring about waste in the society that surrounds me. 

 

Hence, I suspect it is not without pitfalls. 

 

You know what? That's an issue for another year! 

 

Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to nibble on this plate of leftover cheeses and crackers. Wouldn't want to allow for more waste! 

 

Happy New Year everyone!

 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!!!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

 

RANDOM: In the photo above my sons are eating apples. I am certain, I ate the cores. 

Autism Answer: Be Brave

My son, Declyn, being a superhero

"You will either step forward into growth, or you will step backward into safety." ~Abraham Maslow

Be brave.

The idea has tantalized and even tortured me for nearly fifty years. It seems so simple, so clear, so obvious: step up and do what you think is right even when it frightens you. Done.

It seems clear and obvious, right? But only when I'm not feeling frightened and uncertain.

Fear and uncertainty muddy the waters and seeing clearly is not an option. In fact, when I am afraid, seeing anything at all is a challenge. I shrink inside myself and leave my body to stand there taking the brunt of things. My eyes are clouded, my head is dulled, my ears fill with cotton, and from far away in the dark I watch the unfolding of things through the murky vision of fear.

This type of extreme fear, I admit, does not happen often. But a more insidious version, an easier to justify version, does.

I noticed it when I was younger and my mom asked me to take my brothers places. I would want my brothers to have big wonderful lives, be welcomed in the world regardless of their uncommon behaviors, but I did not want to be seen failing at helping them learn or knowing what should be accepted. I would take them places when my mom asked, but I would spend the entire outing afraid and behaving for the viewers rather than for the proper growth of my brothers. And I never took them out if mom didn't ask. Not because I didn't want them to have opportunities provided by the outings, but because I was afraid of doing it wrong. No, of being seen doing it wrong.

So I would justify my fear in cruel ways. I'd think of my mom as crazy for expecting the world to be okay with our weirdo family, and I would think of myself as stupid and weak for not knowing what to do, and I would think of one day having kids of my own who I would parent so wonderfully the would not be as disruptive as my brothers. <--- Boy, was I wrong! My sons were wild and disruptive and it was mainly because of how I parented them.

Also, I notice the insidious fear when I want something to happen, or I have an idea I think is valuable and worth sharing, or I have a nudge I want to give my children - the water is muddied and I am unsure of myself. Can I push for what I want to happen? Are my ideas childish and completely unoriginal? Are my observations or suggestions even at all right for my children and their children? And so, because I am afraid, I might do or say nothing.

But this doesn't always feel like fear and, instead, can feel like being thoughtful or polite.

Well, sort of. The truth is I've grown to notice the difference. I can mostly tell when I am avoiding something out of fear vs when I'm not doing or saying something because it is maybe not good timing or simply not necessary to say or do.

Not only have I grown to notice the difference, but over the last few years I've overcome the fear more and more. I've begun to practice saying and doing things despite the fear. It's something that sort of happened for me even more because of the pandemic. I (along with so many others) was reminded that life could lock me down at any time and by being brave I would more likely be happy with the life I'm locked in.

It's been almost easy! And even though I am sometimes met with resistance, or I am sometimes left learning my ideas are silly or my understanding of a situation is wrong or what I am wanting to make happen isn't going to work, I am also mostly seeing my life respond by being more mine. More something I am an active player in creating and designing.

One tiny example: I want to work creatively with my love. At the moment we sit side by side working, and sometimes we work together, but I really love the idea of often working and creating together. I was afraid to say so because I didn't want to be a burden, or to put him in the position of saying he didn't want to champion my work, or something like that. Silly, I know. But fear is often silly. Anyway, I stepped through the fog of fear and said what I hoped for and, funnily enough, he was thinking of something similar. So, rather than wonder what would happen, now we'll see what will happen.

“You can’t walk gingerly. You have to step in and say I am gong to love you robustly, and we are going to get to the end of this!” ~Dr. Lynette Louise ("The Brain Broad")

My mom loves us robustly. 

She took our family on outings and taught all of us how to be brave, how to ask for the world to accept who we are while teaching us to find ways to fit properly into the world. It is not cool to say, "Shut up and accept everything," and it is not cool to say, "We are strange and it frightens people so let's stay home," and instead, as with all things, there was a dance of learning, shifting, changing, trying, doing, doing, doing, that had to be done. For everyone everywhere we went. "We stretch people," mom would tell herself when she needed to remember it was worth the work of doing it well.

So, this new year I am going to stretch myself. I am going to love my life robustly. I am going to be brave. I am going to continue saying what I hope for, writing what I'm afraid isn't good, telling my thoughts to my sons even if maybe I've got it all wrong.

Mostly, though, I will be brave about the way I want to live.

Last year I came up with a new year idea that was similar. I gave myself a "Yes Week" every month wherein I would use the month to think about the stuff that was rolling around in my gut as issues perhaps worth speaking up about, and then I would use the last week to speak up about them. As expected, it worked! And as expected, it was not done in such an organized fashion, but it became a healthy habit.

Hence, the idea to be brave is not so scary to me this year. I mean, yes, I'm raising the bar for myself. I intend to be brave in more moments and with more things, but what would have scared the sh*t out of me ten years ago is not so scary to me now.

When I was a little girl I had a memorable, horrible, most painfully frightening nightmare: My mom was being attacked in our home by a cluster of evil clowns while I hid under a table. It stuck with me and was an exact example of what frightens me most about myself: That I am a coward. That I am not brave. That I will hide under a table because I am so afraid of being the one that is seen, the one that is hurt, the one who is the victim, that I will not move toward the scary chaos of clowns to help even the person I love most.

A version of this fear still visits me in nightmares but the better I get at stepping forward into growth, rather than stepping backward into safety, the less the nightmares affect me.

Looking over all my years I can see the influence I have on myself; the impressive impact these small promises I make to me can have. A few of my ideas fizzled (like the one where I vowed to buy myself one pair of pants a month so my pants wouldn't all have holes in them. I think I bought two pairs? But the fizzle wasn't me giving up, it was me realizing I didn't want what I thought I wanted.) but most of them have simply become a part of me. Nothing dramatic in the moment, just small trajectory shifts. Shifts that are dramatic in the long run.

So, I will be brave.

I will say the thing I want and I will share the idea I think is of value and I will nudge the child even if I might be wrong and I will write the story that might not be good.

I will not always be right or wise.

But I will be brave.

I will be brave and see if I like the influence I have on me and our lives.

Happy New Year to you, my wonderful friends!!!
I hope it brings you beautiful things!
 

Hugs, smiles, and love!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Autism Answer: A YES Day Expansion Pack for the New Year

 

YES to coffee, books, and bare feet.

Today – Friday – is my “YES Day”. What is a yes day, you ask? YES! I love that you asked! 

In a nutshell: My YES day is the day I say YES to the things I want throughout the week.

I don’t remember how many years ago I started saying “YES” to myself instead of, “No, not healthy” or “No, not responsible” when I wanted something. These were things like foods and too much coffee or reading/dancing/walking/chit-chatting while sipping too much coffee. I don't remember when it started but I do remember loving the change I made for myself.

I would want to eat a pie (YES, I said a pie, not a piece of pie) and tell myself, “Yes! On Friday,” and then I would want to read, rather than work, and tell myself, “Yes! On Friday,” and then I would want to drink too much coffee while hanging out with my kids rather than do dishes and sweep floors and would excitedly say to me, “Yes! On Friday.” Suddenly I was telling myself YES to all the things I wanted while still getting most of my work done and not wildly overeating junk food. The cool thing about putting everything to one day is, well, it’s just one day. You simply aren’t going to eat all those pies. And even if I do actually read, walk, dance, and chit-chat all day rather than get stuff done, it’s not a big deal. In fact, it’s fantastic and fun!

Of course, in reality giving myself a YES day doesn’t play out in such an organized fashion. If my sons are able to chit-chat with me on a Wednesday I’m going to take advantage of it. And if people are gathered around pie and coffee on a Saturday while I’m around, I’m going to appreciate such luck and enjoy it. And if, on a Monday night, someone puts music on and starts singing along and dancing in the living room while I’m changing cat litter and knowing I need to still sweep and clean toilets, I might instead join in and dance along. The point of my YES day is to love my life and keep me healthy. Sometimes that means recognizing when important moments are happening now, not on Friday.

But in general, I tell myself YES and give the fun to Friday.

This has been fantastic for me! And I plan to keep it going as long as it continues to be fantastic. Although, now, I’m considering expanding it a bit for the new year and seeing how that goes.

I’m thinking I might give myself a YES week at the end of the month; for the less concrete, more ambiguous things. The things that I tuck away in myself to deal with alone, or not say out loud for fear of being misunderstood or for fear of being disliked, or wrong. The things that are whispers in my heart and or mind that can turn into snapping at the wrong moment or avoiding situations or feeling low self esteem. The stuff that makes you want to yell at a character in a movie or book, “Just talk to them about what your thinking! Just tell them what happened! Just say what you’re worrying about!”

To be completely candid, I don’t have a lot of that. In fact, I have more of a being completely candid habit. (TMI – too much information - should be my middle name. Actually, maybe my first name.) But I am human and so I do have those things.

Main Example: When I talk to my sons, every single one of them, there are different things I worry about and fear saying or telling them. I want to nudge them, but not push. I want to reveal things I notice about them, but not give them a feeling of being judged. I want to be supportive, but I also want to give them the space needed to support themselves. In these areas of want I have so many things going on in my heart.

The thing is, though, I don’t want to be so afraid of pushing them too hard or having them feel judged that I don’t do anything, or I don’t do enough. Or, actually here it is: that I don’t do the thing I feel I should do. I don’t say the thing I feel I should say.

So, the expansion pack on my YES day: say YES to these deeper feelings, the desire to express them. Say YES and tell myself that the last week of the month (or something similar) is when. That way I'll have several weeks to think about whether or not I’m being fair with the thing I want to say or simply reactionary. Whether or not I truly think something should be done or whether I think someone else thinks it should be done. And to get the courage to say and/or do it well.

I’m hoping, as it has been with my YES day, this will lead to happy habits. Where I hardly notice the “not yet” aspect of putting things till Friday and always notice the “now is the right time” opportunities when they show up on a different day. 

It's funny. I don't think of myself as needing a YES week for these deeper things and yet, as I tell it to you (confession: at first I was thinking it would be more of a good idea for other people, particularly types who tend to keep everything inside and then explode their feelings creating unnecessary fallout) I'm excited and surprised by the many things I already know I will consider taking care of during my YES week. I already kind of do this by taking advantage of my PMS. When my hormones cause that familiar moodiness, I listen to what comes to the surface, examine it's value, and take care of the stuff I recognize as being a lasting issue for me, not only when my mood is sensitive. However, that is a little less proactive than the YES week I'm imagining. When I use my hormones I simply notice when things annoy me (admittedly, there's rarely anything) but now I plan to look. Like the difference between being offered cookies by a friend or perusing aisles at the grocery store with the intention of purchasing food for the week. I'm thinking of grocery shopping my aisles with the intention of nourishment. 

I'm curious what will come of this. 

For now, though, I will enjoy my YES day! There is a pie in the fridge calling my name and I am going to snuggle my man with every intention of encouraging some heavy petting. :D

I hope you are also saying YES to making delightful plans for yourself as well!

Have a wonderful today and a fabulous new year! 

Hugs, smiles, and love!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)