Helena Mary Cole

The Bible College I went to had such a relationship with the local secular university that all course credits could be transferred between them. Any course taken at either school could count towards one’s degree from either kinda-thing. This meant that students from the Bible College often took courses at both, and would commute by bus throughout the day to the University downtown, and then come back to the College, where our student housing was located. Sometimes the number of our students on the bus was quite numerous, if, for example, a bunch of us were trying to make it to an 8:30 class all at once. We would make the commute in packs.

Before class, this was fun and entertaining for me. Our Bible College boasted a student body full of the usual characters. Important topics would be discussed such as: if every single Canadian were allowed to have a seat in parliament, and everyone sat in a circle when parliament was in session, how big a building would we need to build? Good times. Everyone was also given a specific function in the parliament. I was named the Minister of Redhead Affairs because I happened to be the only campus redhead there at the time (I think the others might have vied for the job if they’d been present).

On the way to class, I was perfectly happy to be with people, mostly listening, but enjoying the conversation. On the way home from class, it was a different story. Even an hour-long class is a lot for an autistic brain to take in. I’d be extremely tired, and I’d have a real need to be alone and try to process everything I’d just heard. All I wanted for the commute home was to stare out the window and be left in peace. Being social after class, even a one-on-one conversation, would cost me energy I barely had. I could do it, if it was only one person, but it would be like climbing out of a six-foot hole in the ground after ten hours of hard, physical labour. I could do it, but the energy it cost was almost beyond what I had left.

The bus stop to get from downtown back to the Bible College campus was located in front of a coffee shop with a slightly recessed entrance. People would often jam themselves in there as best they could to keep out of the harsh Manitoba winter weather. I jammed myself in there to hide. I would put up my hood, use other people as a shield, and keep a careful eye on whether anyone from the College was crossing the street to catch the same bus back. If you saw anybody you recognized, it was expected that you’d ride together. We were a small community, like a family. And that was why it was always imperative for me to go unrecognized, and also to deliberately hide from anyone I recognized.

It wasn’t about being anti-social. For me, it was all about not having the energy to be social, about needing to recharge before I could regain the capacity to be around people. If someone I knew really well came along, that was a different story. If the group was big enough, that was also somewhat acceptable as the pressure to talk wouldn’t be on me quite so much. But one person from the College coming along, seeing me, joining me at the bus stop… This was not at all desirable. The need not to have to talk was real.

Sometimes, I was very lucky and no one from the College would come along. Sometimes, I was able to successfully hide thanks to my winter scarf and hood, and looking determinedly at the ground. The person wouldn’t even know I was there until it was time to get off the bus. Sometimes, I was recognized by my green parka or some other betraying token, and the person would come and greet me, and I was in for twenty minutes to half an hour of climbing out of that six-foot hole and wishing I could just collapse back down and spend the evening in the dirt. My heart would sink.

But I always forced myself to rise to the occasion and talk. The effort it cost me! But the rule is, you talk. In former days, I had never even been able to talk on buses at all, so as far as I was concerned, I was doing remarkably well, just opening up my mouth and saying something. Then the bus ride would always mercifully end, and I’d be free to go back to my dorm room or apartment and either process my day in the company of a flatmate I knew well, or else be gloriously alone.

It happened more than once that I’d make this colossal effort to talk to someone during the commute, and feel pretty good about how I did with making conversation with them, but then the next time I saw that person, they wouldn’t even say hi to me. It was very confusing to me. I’d be thinking, “Really??? I put all that energy into talking to you on the bus, fighting directly against my own wishes, so that you wouldn’t have to sit in what you’d surely call ‘uncomfortable silence,’ and now you’re not even going to say hi to me the next time you see me??? What the heck???”

I didn’t understand it for many years. The best I can come up with is that the person could tell I was uncomfortable and didn’t want to talk, and took offense at that. I’m not as good at hiding what’s going on in my head as I think. It’s equally true that the rule is NOT “you talk,” it’s more like, “you converse appropriately.” Of course, I didn’t know that. Not having a good feel for how to manage a conversation in which I respond well to the other person’s cues, I’m sure I always came up lacking. Despite my efforts to prove that I wasn’t always Silent Woman, I guess I still came across as awkward and weird.

Autistic people do try, sometimes very hard, to live up to the social expectations of the world around us. We do try. We shove our own feelings down in the name of trying to make other people comfortable. I will force myself to talk sometimes, even when I have a real need to be silent.

One of the places where the non-autistic world could really meet autistic people halfway would be to get comfortable with silence, even in the presence of other people. The only reason why I ever get uncomfortable with silence is if I’m with someone I don’t know all that well, and I’m constantly worrying that they’re uncomfortable with the silence. I’d be perfectly happy sitting in silence, but I almost never consult my own feelings (something I need to work on).

What I’m saying is this: if I come across as awkward in conversation, it’s not because I don’t like you. It has nothing to do with you. It could be that I’m exhausted trying to process something that just happened (such as just having sat through a lecture), or something that is happening (such as sensory overwhelm from noise, bright lights, etc). It could just be the fact that I’m autistic. And it would be nice if people could sometimes do me the courtesy of pushing through their discomfort with the silence and allow me to take care of my own needs, without taking offence.

From time to time.