I hate watching commercials. Hate it. I manage to work around them on most platforms, but I refuse to pay for YouTube no ads because I feel like I don’t watch it enough, but I do watch it for a bit daily, and my goodness the ads can get to me in that tiny window. Oooofta.
Whenever a particularly sell-y commercial barges into my headspace, this newsletter’s subject quote, a lyric, “Get the cool shoe shine!” also comes to mind. To me, the song’s about the absurdity of trends and the way many people almost fall into a trance at the shiny new thing everyone’s talking about.
The world is spinning too fast/ I’m buying lead Nike shoes/ To keep myself tethered/ To the days I’ve tried to lose/ My mama said to slow down/ You must make your own shoes/ Stop dancing to the music/ Of Gorillaz in a happy mood/
They’re overwhelmed by everything moving too fast, buying stuff to feel connected to the life they try to escape, mama says they got to ground – not escape
Keeping my groove on/ They do the bump/ They do the bump/ They do the bump/
They escape anyways…
Here you go!/ Get the cool/ Get the cool shoeshine/ Get the cool/ Get the cool shoeshine/
…to the new thing saying ‘I’ve got the solution!’ while just spinning things faster
To me, “getting the cool shoeshine” is another way of expressing “keeping up with the Jones’,” and while this (often unconscious) pursuit might be good for capitalism; it often leads to having debt and feeling empty, still trying to find the thing that makes it better. Shoeshine is also only used for nice shoes, signaling that you have shoes worthy of shining and the disposable income and time to keep them nice, and shoeshining is a service that signals that you can pay to have someone else sit at your feet and pretty them—like getting a pedicure—so the choice of ‘shoeshine’ as the hip new thing adheres to my theory.
Is the song actually about all this stuff? I don’t know. I think so, but I also thought “Teen Spirit” was about commodification and the silly “_____ is the new black” society encourages, but that one’s actually literal: Cobain apparently wore the songs namesake deodorant and the singer from band Bikini Kill wrote ‘Kurt smells like Teen Spirit’ on his wall, and *ta-da!* inspiration via perspiration, so what do I know about lyric interpretation?
Something I do know is that society feeds us messages about how stuff will improve how we feel in life; but it mostly just leads to a culture that’s obsessed with trends, with far too many people chasing something they’ll never catch up to.
Hope the last fortnight’s treated you well and your world’s not spinning too fast.
** SUBJECT/TITLE QUOTE: The subject’s quote, “Get the cool shoe shine!,” is from the (aptly) almost-too-catchy song, ‘19/2000’ released by The Gorillaz in 2001. **
Isn’t shame the worst? Knowing that you behaved in a way that hurt someone else, or yourself, or a project’s success, etc.—it sucks, it can make you feel worthless. And since it’s such a bad feeling, it often winds up being repressed by denying responsibility for one’s fuck-up, leading to more bad behavior (like blaming someone else), which just creates more of that shame.
The antidote to shame is kindness, exhibiting compassion and consideration, something that applies to oneself as well as others. Firstly there’s self-compassion, looking at your mistakes without damning yourself, recognizing that messing up is just a part of life…while also taking responsibility and learning the lesson. (Though it’s important to note shame isn’t always earned.) As for kindness to others, it feels good to help and it’s empowering to have a positive effect, which leads to more do-gooding, which means doing fewer things to feel shitty about. Don’t underestimate the power of acts of kindness.
As the song from the subject suggests, it’s natural for kindness to know no shame (as “the seasons know exactly when to change”).
Meg Hartley by Leafly Published on June 7, 2019 • Last updated July 28, 2020
For many suffering from chronic illness, cannabis is a godsend. From those dealing with the wrath of inflamed digestive systems, to the ones combating global musculoskeletal pain, and the millions who report that the agony in their heads is just the beginning of their symptoms—cannabis can help these fighters with their load of physical woes.
The ECS is present in every major bodily system, which is how its dysfunction can theoretically cause such a variety of conditions—and how cannabis manages to treat them.
But why? To explain, we need to back up a bit. You probably know that cannabinoids (like the popular CBD and THC) interact with the body’s endocannabinoid system (ECS), and that our bodies produce natural endocannabinoids that work with the ECS receptors to maintain health in all the other bodily systems. But do you know what happens when we don’t produce enough of these endocannabinoids?
Neither does science; not really, anyways. But Ethan Russo M.D., Director of Research and Development of the International Cannabis and Cannabinoids Institutehas theorized that clinical endocannabinoid deficiency could be the cause behind irritable bowel syndrome, fibromyalgia, migraine, and other treatment-resistant syndromes. The ECS is present in every major bodily system, which is how its dysfunction can theoretically cause such a variety of conditions—and how cannabis manages to treat them.
These conditions, along with others that fall into this realm, are generally thought to be incurable and chronic, usually lasting for the rest of the sufferer’s life. I spoke with Dr. Russo about this matter, and he offered hope for chronic illness fighters, saying that since these conditions are generally acquired (rather than congenital, from birth), it seems to suggest an ECS disturbance is behind the illness. So hopefully it can be reversed in some fashion.
What is clinical endocannabinoid deficiency?
The theory of Clinical Endocannabinoid Deficiency (CED) explains that these health conditions are due to a deficiency in endocannabinoid levels, akin to the way neurotransmitter deficiencies are behind other illnesses—like serotonin deficiency in depression. In other words, the theory posits that the cause of these syndromes is an insufficient amount of endocannabinoids functioning in the ECS.
The theory was first posed by Dr. Russo in 2001. Since then, he’s published several more well-cited papers on the topic.
“The vast majority of physicians just have no background in the ECS. It’s just not being taught.”
Dr. Russo’s 2016 paper, Clinical Endocannabinoid Deficiency Reconsidered, revisited this issue after substantial evidence for the theory was recorded. Firstly, statistically significant differences of the endocannabinoid anandamide were recorded in the cerebrospinal fluid of migraine sufferers. (Similar results have also been found in fibromyalgia fighters.) Decreased ECS function was found in another condition thought to fall into the CED rubric, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). And clinical data has shown that cannabinoid treatment and lifestyle changes aimed to promote the health of the ECS produced evidence for decreased pain, improved sleep, and other benefits in fighters—yet more evidence linking ECS dysfunction to these conditions.
From the paper: “If endocannabinoid function were decreased, it follows that a lowered pain threshold would be operative, along with derangements of digestion, mood, and sleep among the almost universal physiological systems subserved by the endocannabinoid system (ECS).”
The CED theory also posits that such deficiencies could be present due to genetic reasons or be the result of a disease or injury.
The study primarily focuses on IBS, migraine, and fibromyalgia—all of which involve increased pain sensations in the affected areas—but disorders that may fall under the CED rubric include: PTSD, glaucoma, cystic fibrosis, types of neuropathy, phantom limb pain, neonatal failure to thrive, infantile colic, menstrual pain, repetitive miscarriages, hyperemesis gravidarum, bipolar disease, and many others. Many of these diseases are little understood and remain treatment resistant.
How to improve ECS “tone”
Unfortunately, there’s no magic-pill solution here, but there are methods to improve your ECS “tone,” which is the term used to describe the functioning of this little-understood system. Dr. Russo had some advice on the matter—and it’s all about taking good care of yourself to help ensure that the ECS doesn’t get out of balance. Here’s some tips gleaned from his wisdom:
Heal your gut: There is increasing evidence that the gut microbiome, and the levels of bacteria within it, are a major regulator of the ECS. People should avoid unnecessary antibiotics, as these damage the natural microbiome balance in the gut. Also try pro- and prebiotics to get that biome in shape.
Eat right: Pro-inflammatory foods, such as fried foods with trans-fats, or too many calories in general are bad for the ECS. It’s also important to cultivate consciousness about what you’re eating—how you were taught might not be best what’s best for your body now.
Exercise: Sedentary behavior is harmful to the ECS, and exercise is essential to improving tone. However, many fighters of chronic illness will experience a flare in symptoms if they push it, so a low-impact aerobic program is recommended for many.
Look at family health: ECS dysfunction isn’t genetic like eye color, but there are genetic tendencies, so be extra careful if there are others in your family who are fighters of chronic illness. Also be mindful about unhealthy habits you may share.
Sleep well and stress less: The ECS loves balance, and a body that’s stressed out and unrested is great at throwing all kinds of systems out-of-whack. So get those eight hours and get real about managing stress.
Dr. Russo says that there’s no “cure” for these conditions, but following these guidelines offers the opportunity for a major intervention in symptoms—which can look a whole lot like a cure.
Looking forward
As for what’s next, Dr. Russo is working on getting studies funded and running to provide further information on this topic, especially in relation to ECS and the gut’s microbiome. He’s also working on a diagnostic test for fibromyalgia sufferers—something that would be life-changing for those searching for a diagnosis, or who need to prove that they really have it.
And for now, he says that there needs to be more awareness about the ECS.
“The vast majority of physicians just have no background in the ECS,” he said. “Despite it being discovered almost 30 years ago, there’s been very little uptake of it in med school curricula—it’s just not being taught, and whether that’s an unfortunate association with the word ‘cannabis’ is unclear. But clearly we have a knowledge deficit in regard to it, and until we rectify that we won’t have the ability to treat our patients more effectively.”
So the next time you’re at the doctor, whether you suffer from a chronic illness, or not—think about asking your doctor what you can do to improve the health of your endocannabinoid system, just to see if they know what it is. (And maybe put some pressure on them to find out.)
“The antidote to loneliness isn’t just being around random people indiscriminately, the antidote to loneliness is emotional security.” ~Benedict Wells
Emotional security. The feeling of being at home in the presence of another. Safe to be who you are, good times or bad. Feeling seen and seeing the other clearly, accepting the other’s whole lovely mess. It’s good stuff, and it can be hard to find.
In fact, ever-increasing loneliness stats have led many experts to describe the problem as epidemic. You might assume it was caused by the pandemic, but it was a crisis long before lockdowns and social distancing.
In 2018, Cigna conducted a survey of U.S. adults and found that loneliness was at 54 percent, already at epidemic levels. Since then, it shot up to 61 percent in 2019, with three in five Americans reporting feeling lonely, and now sits at 58 percent—we’ve got ourselves a big problem. And it’s not just the fact that it’s unpleasant to feel disconnected from others and not have anyone to talk to; research also shows it’s also bad for our health.
As someone who went thirty-seven years not knowing I’m autistic, for most of my life I’ve hidden a lot of who I am (masking), making it impossible to feel truly connected and seen. So, despite formerly frequent socializing, I’ve been exceedingly familiar with feeling lonely for most of my life.
However, when health issues took me out of the day-to-day world altogether in 2015, I was surprised at how much worse it got. At first, rarely interacting with others was largely a much-needed relief, but a few months in, things got dark. I was communicating with the people I knew so little—sometimes it’d be months—that I felt ungrounded, like I could just disappear, or die, and no one would even know I was gone.
When I did get to talk to the people who I then considered close, it often felt like I wasn’t really allowed to talk about my life anymore because it’d become too sad. (So cringe. Positive vibes only.)
Even with the support of a therapist, feeling so alone in what I was going through made me feel like my life didn’t matter. And it’s not that I was associating with awful humans, it’s just how we’re socially conditioned. Society prioritizes seeming-pleasantness to a severe degree, and as a result most folks have no idea how to hold space for the hard stuff. We just aren’t taught to be emotionally equipped for providing that kind of support; instead, the general example is to repress and deflect.
It’s like we’ve decided compassion is inefficient and awkward, instead honoring placid insensitivity as a virtue. And, as a result, people feel like it’s not safe to talk about what’s really going on in their lives, what they’re really thinking and feeling. This, of course, creates loneliness.
Eventually, after half a decade of dealing with severe health and life trauma in isolation, I was diagnosed with autism, which was amazing in many ways… but also a core-shaking thing to handle with only the support of online groups and a telehealth therapist who had dozens of other clients. It was too much to process, and I had a nervous breakdown.
Afterward, I accepted that I needed to work harder to find people I could regularly and, especially, authentically connect with. It took some time, but I eventually found aligned friends via reaching out to people I didn’t actually know all that well (yet) but had met through very authentic circumstances.
Routinely talking and connecting with them has changed my life. I’m still homebound for health reasons, and it’s still hard, but despite still being without human company like 95 percent of the time, I don’t feel like I could just float away anymore; I now feel warmly and safely connected, even seen and understood.
Honestly assessing if I had people with the bandwidth to connect regularly, that also know how to hold the kind of safe-feeling emotional space I need, was the first step to having consistent connection with people who let me be my whole self; relationships that do provide that precious and hard-to-find feeling of emotional security—progressively replacing my loneliness with connected perspective, understanding, and acceptance.
If your honest self-assessment comes to the same conclusion as mine—“I need to confront this loneliness thing”—these sorts of authentic-connection-seeking efforts can do the same for you.
8 Ways to Combat the Loneliness Epidemic
1. Honestly assess your needs.
Do you feel lonely? What do you need to feel socially connected? Which interactions leave you feeling drained and which ones lift you up, making you feel less alone? Do you feel safe to be your whole self with the people in your life? What are some characteristics of those who’ve made you feel safe?
2. Reach out (and reach back).
Once you’ve got an idea of what you need, reach out to someone who makes you feel relaxed, safe to just be you, and see if they want to catch up. Maybe they’ll be down for it, and maybe they won’t, but keep trying.
If you don’t really know anyone you feel safe to be authentic with, try joining like-minded activity groups or using a platonic friend-finding app. And if someone who seems safe reaches out, don’t let fear stop you from reaching back.
3. Set and respect boundaries.
What you need from someone and what they’re able to provide might not mesh. It’s important to understand that some of us are comfortable with having open, potentially vulnerable, conversations, and others prefer to stick to more shallow waters. And the same is true for the reverse.
It’s okay to prioritize time with those who connect in a harmonious way and also to distance yourself where needed. Life is pretty demanding and people can only do so much, so try not to take it personally if people can’t meet what you need, and let others (gently) know when you can’t meet theirs.
4. Practice ‘holding space.’
Make sure you’re present enough to really listen and ensure you’ve understood and/or been understood (we rely far too much on easily misinterpreted nonverbal communication).
Learning to stay in the moment—resisting deflection, going into judgment or fix-it mode—is crucial to creating authentic connection in your life (and that includes holding space for your own honest, but difficult, emotions).
It can be scary to hold space, and/or ask someone to, but we need to get over our societal fear of awkward experiences; isn’t it worth it when it could lead to connection, growth, and clarity?
5. Resist the pressure to lean on small talk.
It can be tempting to stick to trivial matters, but it’s not without harm. I concur with the take on small talk that Natasha Lyonne shared on an early February episode of Late Night with Seth Meyers:
“I don’t believe in it. I would say I aggressively don’t like it. I think it’s damaging to society as a whole… it’s like John Lennon said, just gimme some truth. I think it’s really dangerous because when you ask a person ‘How are you?’ their only option is to lie aggressively, right? Society says you’re supposed to say, ‘Oh, I’m good’ and keep it moving, but you’re not good, are you?”
It’s isolating that we’re expected to talk in pleasantries, especially since it often happens even in relationships considered close.
6. Gossip doesn’t count as connection.
In the same interview, Meyers fights for small talk as a segue into shit-talk, and Lyonne suggests that maybe instead of talking about other people they could segue into some other talk (she suggests inanimate objects, which I don’t hate).
Our society depends on gossip far too much. People very often rely on it to judge another’s trustworthiness, a fact that is manipulated all the time. And if you’ve ever played the game “telephone,” you know it’s not exactly a science to depend on hearsay.
Real conversations, asking direct questions, can be intimidating—but it’s a hell of a lot better than writing someone off because of what so-in-so told so-in-so. Also, gossip isn’t connection. It might feel like fleeting togetherness à la “we hate them,” but you know your shite-talking cohort’s talking about you as well. It’s fake. If gossip’s the primary mode of convo, you’re just flapping jaws.
7. Reflect on and articulate your feels.
When we don’t understand why we feel alone, it makes it much harder to address, so it’s unfortunate that introspection is underrated in our society (sometimes even ridiculed, which is revealing).
Gaining emotional awareness and being able to express our feelings is key to reducing loneliness. To quote sociological researcher Brené Brown, “The more difficult it is for us to articulate our experiences of loss, longing, and feeling lost to the people around us, the more disconnected and alone we feel.”
When we don’t have the words to describe our emotional experience, emotional communication becomes foreign—but by gaining emotional awareness and vocabulary, that kind of connection becomes possible.
Crucially, we must know that it’s okay to feel whatever it is that we feel, as many of us are taught that emotions like anger or fear aren’t okay. They are. Using tools like the emotion wheel, journaling, and therapy can be of great assistance, as well as opening up to trusted others and holding space when they open up to you.
8. Know (and love) yourself to connect authentically.
Finding relationships where I felt supported the way I needed to be involved a lot more time getting to know myself than I thought it would; tons of self-reflection and, ironically, solitude were necessary for me to find the self-acceptance it takes to have any shot at finding authentic support.
To again quote Brené Brown, “Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them—we can only love others as much as we love ourselves.”
As far as how to get started on fostering self-love, I think all love grows from appreciation, something many of us find hardest when it’s pointed in our own direction. Appreciate your efforts to choose growth by reading articles on a website like this over mindless scrolling, or reaching out for connection instead of your favorite escape. And acknowledge your needs in addition to your efforts. You deserve love (the whole you).
—
Self-reflection and cultivating emotionally secure relationships inherently involves vulnerability, but our social norms dictate staying away from that—safe in the shallows of small talk, leaving the depths to be explored in fifty-minute therapy slots by a complete stranger who won’t have the same security with you (if you’re lucky enough to have the coverage).
While therapy can be very helpful, emotional support shouldn’t primarily be found at a price as one of many clients on a therapist’s roster. We need to have the emotional tools to express our feelings and support another’s.
And, in addition to our individual efforts toward authentic connection, we, as a society, need to recognize the costs of mass loneliness and prioritize having a populace that knows how to be there for each other in good times and bad. It’s time to learn how to allow space for authentic connection in our lives and relationships. We need it, we deserve it, and we can do it.
First, I need to welcome my new Substack subscribers as well as those imported from my old newsletter, Fuckless News! Welcome. This is Halcyon Tidings, a bi-weekly dose of real but uplifting takes on life, getting through it, and trying to be the best humans we can be. (Also much randomness.)
Ever hear your mouth bubbling out a reply to someone while your mind was still on this other thing that happened, or another that might?
The world can be so overwhelming, leaving most of us in a state of reaction, a kind of autopilot that leaves us trying to communicate around the contents and triggers of our thought soup. This results in a lack of awareness in regard to why we do and say. It’s how I lived much of my life, doing the thing my brain’s patterned to do (even if it’s not helpful or authentic) while my mind was a million miles away. The subject’s quote is from a song about always moving on to the next place trying to escape the deafening mental clatter, something I used to relate to on a visceral level. It felt like I could settle my headspace, my internal world, by adjusting my life situations and/or location (ironically remaining outwardly unsettled 😅). But, as they say, “Wherever you go, there you are,” and eventually I accepted that it’s an inside job.
That acceptance brought my sporadic focus on mindfulness into a meditation practice, something that’s given me firsthand insight into the value of consciously knowing what’s going on in one’s thoughts and being able to reflect on mental patterns (metacognition). This awareness facilitates a presence of the moment that means less of that mentally reactive “thoughts so loud” place society tends to create. (And encourage?) It’s not magic, of course, and I still know mental overwhelm, but consciously working on staying aware of my headspace helps me grab the wheel rather than falling into unconscious behavioral patterns—and, in such an unpredictable world, sometimes feeling (and being) even a little bit more in control can go a long way.
It’s meditation and mindfulness that really helped me on this path, but other ways to find presence can be: simply (but regularly) sitting somewhere and just letting your mind go off for a while, taking long walks in nature, or being absorbed in creating art, be it a painting, meal, or snow angel. There are lots of ways to allow more awareness into your headspace, helping to really get you into the moment.
Do your thoughts ever get so loud you can’t hear your mouth? Maybe it’s time to start thinking about your thinking. 💭
* SUBJECT/TITLE QUOTE: “But my thoughts were so loud, I couldn’t hear my mouth” is a lyric from the 2004 song ‘The World At Large’ by Modest Mouse, an ideal anthem for Xennial wanderers in the overwhelming aughts.
It’s been one year since the pandemic started, a year that’s brought significant changes for just about everyone.
Some of us have been overly trapped in a house with too many people; but others of us have been all on our own for quarantine, left alone with our minds, and a pet, if we’re lucky.
Going from a life of being out in the world, talking with people, experiencing novelty and freedom — to being all alone in your apartment, like, every day, can be immensely difficult.
In October of 2015, I had my last day working at a health company that had been extremely compassionate in regard to my sick time. I had been crashing right after work most days for years, and the days where I couldn’t leave the house at all had started to outnumber the days that I could.
Since then, it’s been a life of treasuring the days where I do feel good enough to leave the house.
I’d learn that I had a B12 level of 132 pg/mL; the doctor noting that I’d have been paralyzed within a month, and dead within a year. A year and a half later, having been tested for just about every other ailment — I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, explaining the pain all over my body, but leaving me with many unanswered questions.
And, finally, just this summer I was diagnosed with Level Two autism, a mind-blowing diagnosis, for sure, but one that has brought me the answers to those questions, tools, and a literally like-minded community (if only online, for now).
So, when the pandemic started, I was already on year four of near-complete solitude — I have been completely by myself for the vast majority of my hours, for five freakin’ years.
At first, it was really hard. Not gonna lie.
But this solitude has brought me treasures, as well. Transformational ones.
May we all be infinitely more awesome versions of ourselves by the time the world reopens, ready to rock its socks right off.
Our world constantly feeds us information to process and react to, and while letting all that go might be difficult; its absence can be immensely centering, especially with some intention and effort.
Though the arrival of vaccines is exciting, the reality is that many of us (especially my fellow high-risk peeps) are probably going to be solo’ing it up for some time — so I thought that I’d share the gifts that isolation has brought me, and how to get at ‘em.
The most important relationship is the one we have with ourselves. For a lot of us, it’s easy to be thrown into everyone else’s world, letting other people occupy our mental spaces rather than focusing on cultivating our own internal peace. It’s important to engage in activities that help us feel closer to ourselves; for me, it’s spirituality and making art (ta-da) — maybe for you, it’s gourmet cooking whilst listening to personal development podcasts. But whatever it is, making it happen regularly is absolutely worth the effort.
Self-care, like meditation and daily movement, is not optional. Similarly, it’s important to hold ourselves accountable for taking care of our minds and bodies, which can be tricky when your whole routine is thrown out of wack. Luckily, to get rolling all you need is a bit of floor space, maybe some direction and inspiration from YouTube, and willpower derived from knowing that self-care leads to happier and more productive days — making you your best you.
It’s okay to follow your own rhythm. Our society pushes a fast-paced lifestyle that starts at 6:30 am, and even if you’ve been laid off, or your hours have become more flexible; it’s likely you’re still feeling pressure to keep it up. Take this opportunity to learn about your own internal rhythms — see what time you wake up natural, be busy on a Sunday and chilled out on Monday, discover what truly works for you.
Authenticity is key to sanity. I first started falling ill regularly over a decade ago, and the forced solitude helped me realize that I wasn’t being my full self when around others, that I feared doing so, and it made me anxious, almost constantly, which I hid, constantly. After a few months alone, unobserved, unguarded, unedited; I found myself being sillier, as well as feeling more joy and peace, and I’m better able to bring that into my relationships when I do have the energy to connect. . Notice how you are alone, and how you are with others — is there a gap? As the great Brené Brown says, “If you trade your authenticity for safety, you may experience the following: anxiety, depression, eating disorders, addiction, rage, blame, resentment, and inexplicable grief,” which is something I can personally vouch for. Mind the gap, my friend, then close it good.
Societal conditioning is utter nonsense. All this time alone, without being persistently exposed to and influenced by the views of others, being able to control the amount of conditioning I’m exposed to — has helped me to really see our society for what it is. (And, very often, it’s not great.) . Inspect your psyche and motivations, how much is “mother culture” affecting your goals, assumptions, and beliefs? How does advertising affect you? Social media? Keep your eyes peeled for internal reactions (especially shame) when encountering aspects of socialization and our society, observe how conditioning can be an insidious mofo.
The key to never being bored is caring more. My mother always used to say, “If you’re bored, you’re boring,” which irritated me as a restless teen, but I’ve come to see its wisdom. Engaging people are always engaging with something, learning about their new passion, supporting the people around them (if only from afar), and generally cultivating their curiosity at every turn — and the key to it all is caring. . While happy hours and concerts allude, opportunities for caring are still abundant, and one is never bored whilst giving a shit about something. (It just can’t be done.) Whether it’s getting involved with your community somehow, taking up a new hobby, or exploring your obsession with some random topic you love with all your heart; bid adieu to boredom and get it get it.
It’s crucial to know what company uplifts, and who drains you. When availability for interaction is limited, it’s especially important to be particular. Once I started examining how I felt after talking with people (in-person or otherwise), I realized that I very often wound up in a negative space afterward; realizing that they hadn’t asked me a single question, that an errant comment was making me insecure, or that I was feeling otherwise diminished, less seen. . My experience was certainly colored by my unconsciously deflecting to mask my autism (and other coping methods), but this isn’t an uncommon issue. Some of us are keener to hold space, and others are keener to take it — it’s important to find balance in both our behavior and in the company we keep. The forced space of quarantine can help ween out potentially toxic relations, leaving more time for connection that uplifts.
While I hope that this isolation is broken sooner than later, I try to remember the overwhelmingly external times in my life, the days I had too many places to go, too many people to talk to — and remember that those times will come again, and they’ll likely send me into a light nostalgia over my present situation.
Let’s make the best of being here, now, shall we?
May we all be infinitely more awesome versions of ourselves by the time the world reopens, ready to rock its socks right off.
Welcome to Halcyon Tidings, a bi-weekly dose of real but uplifting takes on life, getting through it, and trying to be the best humans we can be. (Also much randomness.)
Right now I’m thinking a lot about security in life, on a personal level, but also wondering how many of us actually feel secure in our lives. I had a delightfully quirky therapist who once responded to similar wonderings of mine by sharing, “I feel completely and totally secure,” with the most contented and safe vibe I’ve ever felt. It was the first time I’d ever heard anyone say something like that, and I believed her. She’d also shared enough for me to guess she wasn’t well-off—perhaps irrelevant as wealthy people often seem to be the most anxious in that regard—and she must’ve been in her mid-70’s, still working. But she radiated security from her core, and glowed for it.
That glow, and our personable visits, got me through a very scary, painfully insecure (and lonely) time. It helped me believe that I could cultivate that feeling of safety within myself as well, rather than relying on the mad rollercoaster of life to find such stillness.
I honestly haven’t been able to do it yet, not really. For short periods I have, even during scary times (I’m disabled and have been going through the SSDI process for close to a decade); but the “what if’s?!” and fearful tears still occupy far, far, too much of my emotional space. I’m 40 now (heyyy middle age 💃), so I suppose she had 30+ years on me. Hopefully I’ll grow into someone with such authentic peace in the face of life’s infinite challenges and unknowns.
For now I’m just trying to focus on active surrender—doing all I can do, then trying my best to let go and actually recharge in my downtime, finding a feeling of security by soaking up appreciation for whatever the moment is offering instead of letting my mind spin out in exhausting futility. (Appreciation Ex., As I draft this, the blanket by my face is so so soft, and same for the warm doggo curled up at my knees, gotta love the coze.)
I hope this month has treated you well, and all of 2023 for that matter. (Collectively, I feel like we’re very very due for a good year!) And thanks for reading.
* SUBJECT/TITLE QUOTE: “Super perfundo on the early eve of your day” is from 2001’s Waking Life, a film about consciousness, life, philosophy, everything (and nothing) all at once. *
Her pic on the shelter website, and our first day — so grateful we rescued each other!
I’ve wanted a dog of my own for decades, but after years and years of isolation due to chronic illnesses and autistic burnout I started to feel like I needed one. I needed to not cry alone, a cheerful influence, a persistent reminder of life’s little joys.
My therapist agreed it’d be helpful, but I didn’t get the official paperwork done as my landlord didn’t mind my pup-having-aspiration — if I wanted to move somewhere that didn’t allow dogs or needed a travel exception I’d need the paperwork to formally make her an Emotional Support Animal, but for now, my needs are met without it. (Therapy and Service Animals additionally require special training but have more accompaniment privileges.)
It wasn’t easy to find my darling doggo: I needed an adult dog under 10 pounds, who’s healthy, fully potty trained, and rarely barks, as well as being cheery and snuggly. It took over a month of autistically hyper-focusing on communicating with 30+ shelters about dogs that might make the cut (and filling out SO MANY mind-draining applications), but, eventually, I found my sweet lil’ pound pup, Foxy Queen. We met on December 12th, 2020, she’d lost a leg while homeless and had also just gotten spayed, so was half-bald with far too many stitches — but she was still a wiggly ball of joy from the moment I saw her. The shelter volunteer passed her into my arms, she immediately stuck her little nose into my elbow, I melted, then the volunteer said, “We seem to have a match.”
There was a physical adjustment period as far as walking her every day (#spoonie), the financial increase hasn’t been a non-issue, and on bad days I do struggle to care for us both — it’s not a decision to make lightly — but, for me, having an emotional support dog is absolutely worth it.
Here are 10 ways my Foxy supports me:
Gets Me Outside Daily: The lights, sounds, and unexpected nature of leaving the house can make it feel like my brain is in a freakin’ trash compactor, but problematic genetic mutations make it so I can’t get vitamin D from supplements, I’ve gotta get it from the actual sun. And, in addition to vit D deficiency causing depression, not leaving a studio apartment for days at a time it’s depressing in and of itself, which is how I was living before my Foxy. Our daily walks have enabled me to appreciate the annual changes in the nature of the neighborhood, establish positive (but comfortably-distant) relations with neighbors, and helped me to feel more connected to my surroundings at large.
Contribution and Meaning: Being able to contribute so little (compared to what I was doing before becoming homebound) is very painful to me, I find meaning in being part of something, in working towards something, in helping and taking care — so it’s depressing to spend the vast majority of my time just trying to take care of me, getting my basic don’t-get-worse exercises and routines done, dealing with social services issues, doctors and prescriptions, etc. It can make me feel like my life is pointless, like I’m pointless. Writing definitely helps, but I can’t do it very often (#autisticburnout), so taking care of my lil’ tripawd angel girl gives me desperately-needed relief in that department.
Less Lonely: In addition to autistic burnout I’m dealing with fibromyalgia, both of which limit my mobility and ability to be outside my home, so I’ve had to be in brain-necessary isolation the vast majority of the time since October of 2015. It’s necessary, but also gets seriously difficult to be so alone, especially while in pain and dealing with insanely frustrating brain functionality issues. It’s still hard, and of course I still get lonely sometimes, but my sweet and hilarious little cuddlebug helps keep me feeling grounded and connected.
More Aware: When you’re just alone with yourself for years on end, it can be easy to lose sight of abrasive behaviors that might’ve accumulated whilst unchecked. My Foxy’s reactions helped me to see that I’d redirected many healthy but “weird” stims (hand-shaking/flapping, rocking, etc.) into unhelpful ones — like yelling in frustration at uncooperative inanimate objects — which actually work up my nervous system instead of calming it, while also causing a needless ruckus for anyone who could hear me. Now I’m no longer in a seeming-vacuum of aloneness and a little “wtf?” head tilt or startled jump reminds me there’s better ways to regulate.
Meltdown Warning: My gal’s not trained to sense upset emotions, but many animals just get this kinda stuff. She often tells me I’m heading towards a meltdown before I even realize I’m getting dysregulated. I’ll be troopin’ along, thinking I’m frustrated butwhateveritsfineicandoit — then I get interrupted with a little paw on my knee and a sweet face looking at me like, “Chill your roll, or it’ll roll you,” and her reminder (usually) sucks me into the moment, causing awareness of my nervous system, so I may do whatever I need to do so my brain doesn’t blow.
Cry Comfort: Sometimes what’s needed is a good cry, other times I cry not due to neural dysregulation, but because it’s really fucking hard to support yourself while disabled, and it can all just be too much. And when I cry, my baby lifts her tiny paw to my heart and licks my tears. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve known since being comforted by my mother.
Routine Help: I’m AuDHD, so I very much need routine but also struggle to maintain one due to issues like distraction, time blindness, and need for novelty. But dogs need, need, routine or you’ve got potty problems on your hands, (errr, in your carpet). And she’s so good at keeping track of time. She reminds me when it’s time to go out, time to eat(s), time to turn off TV, move to the bed, etc. — I don’t always listen to her about-me reminders, sometimes I just need that one more show or whatever, but her keeping me aware in the first place is extremely helpful. Bye-bye endless time vacuum!
She’s Stimmy: Sensory stimulation, stimming, is a way for autistic people to regulate our unique nervous systems — and my baby helps me in a few ways there. Firstly, her fur’s bonkers soft, so snuggles are oh-so soothing. Her weight on my body is also stimmily-soothing, helping me to stay calm while I get things done at my computer or cozying up on top of my belly when I lie down. She’s also just so cute! Watching her be her adorable hilarious self is a visual stim all on its own.
Dopamine Booster: ADHD is essentially a dopamine deficiency, so it’s awesome that my pup helps there. In addition to the already-mentioned sunlight and added exercise of her walk, which boost dopamine, it’s also naturally increased via snuggles. Additionally, while novelty can bring challenges to my autistic-self, it also activates the dopamine system, and she’s just the right amount of unpredictable. Plus she’s funny, and laughing is a booster as well.
She just freakin’ makes me smile.
Did I miss anything? If you have an emotional support pet, how does it help you?
I love this quote. After going through a difficult time, any semi-reflective person is likely to do some thinking on their weaknesses and faults; because how else does one avoid making the same mistakes?
But it’s easy to overdo ‘er. It’s common to not only own one’s errs, but to define ourselves by them, if only unconsciously. When you decide that you’ll never be good enough, things improving seems impossible. And the mental place of “why bother?” is no breeding ground for resilience.
Compassion for ourselves helps us get to a place of seeing ourselves as stronger and wiser for our mistakes, which makes trying again seem worth the effort and potential risks.
And compassion for others is how we become able to look at the world, and the people in it, as potentially trustworthy. This enables us to put ourselves “out there” again, one of many daunting-but-essential parts of getting to a place of resilience.
Becoming resilient is generally a prize that must be hard won, but the goods are mighty good indeed.
People who are autistic need to know that they are — we’re wired differently, and there’s power in learning how. Photo by Felicia Buitenwerf on Unsplash
Seven months ago, at 37 years old, I was diagnosed with autism.
What. A. Trip.
One of the many ways it’s so bizarre is discovering the bewildering reactions that some people have to the late-diagnosis community, especially on internet spaces like YouTube and TikTok.
Most of the comments tend to be positive ones from other autistic people, but it’s also common for “normal” neurotypical (NT) people to troll these posts and make disparaging comments.
In these online interactions, the motivations of the often relieved and jubilant newly diagnosed autistic person are questioned by the NT — “You’re not autistic, you’re just weird. If you don’t even seem autistic, why claim it now?”
And it’s not uncommon to see such comments even on videos that talk about dealing with trauma related to being unknowingly autistic, making it seem like they didn’t even bother to watch the video before doing the gaslighting.
These people often accuse the autistic person of just seeking attention, a reason to feel special, or something to use as an excuse.
I don’t know what to make of this behavior. There are so many people engaged in this cruel nonsense, it’s really quite sad. (They seem sad. Why else would you do that? #hurtpeoplehurtpeople.)
But mostly, it’s just mind-bogglingly messed up.
Despite my having had a decisive and thorough professional assessment, and despite it concluding I’m Level freakin’ Two autistic (not that self-diagnosis isn’t valid, it is), just reading these kinds of public exchanges led to my experiencing persistently defensive thought patterns, a kind of imposter syndrome eating away at my new—and desperately-needed—clarity.
This internalized ableism is common among the newly diagnosed, which is dangerous considering the terrifyingmental healthstats in the autistic community.
Plus, we’re trying to emotionally and mentally process so much already — finding out you’re actually autistic after decades of thinking you just really sucked at being normal is disorienting, to say the least.
To say a little more: discovering that you’re actually autistic after decades of trying to be NT is a complete and total mindf**k.
I had trouble sleeping for months afterward because I was plagued with painful memories from my past, slivers of trauma that finally made sense after diagnosis coming up to be reprocessed under this new lens, over and over and over and over and over and over…
It was a fragile time, to say the least. I clung to autism studies and first-person testimonials to keep some semblance of my sanity; each new piece of information clicking into my psyche, helping me understand that I’m not broken, I’m just different. Knowledge truly is power.
So, it’s really frustrating to finally find a lifeline—a sign of hope after decades of feeling like life is impossible—only to have ignorant people question its validity.
And there are all kinds of people assuming that autistic stereotypes are the full picture, that autism can be spotted with one’s eyes rather than by extensive knowledge of one’s internal processes.
This perspective is normal, which creates an abundance of toxic behavior.
It has to stop.
People need to understand what autism truly means, so that they may stop making things even harder for us—even well-intentioned people know so little about autism in adults that their comments are often persistently painful.
For example, saying “I can’t even tell, you seem normal enough, you’re cool,” isn’t a compliment—it’s an insult to the very autistic parts of me I’m not showing you, as well as my community. (Which is actually cool AF, FYI.)
To that end, here’s a little more about the journey; then I’ll share the benefits of having found my answers, at last.
A year ago, I was wildly disappointed with myself for being so relieved that the pandemic meant I could stop pushing myself to “get out there,” an effort that had led to a renewed eye twitch, aided by several already-established relationships that had me distraught.
Despite years of working to cultivate more authenticity, I was riddled with behaviors that, in hindsight, were clearly unconscious attempts to cover my differences and make myself more palatable; a coping technique called masking that’s common in autistic people (especially those of the so-called “female” phenotype, which can present in any gender)—but the actual effect was to make me feel misunderstood, unseen, and unheard.
And, since I was clueless as to why this was happening, I had no idea how to stop creating the same lonely results.
I was plagued by insecurity, always trying to stop mentally hand-wringing about my differentness, my loneliness; trying to answer endless questions about why I did the things I did and felt the way I felt.
Finally being diagnosed with Level Two autism was like being thrown a life preserver in a sea of soul-sucking confusion.
Why did people continuously misinterpret my words? Why did they assume things about me that are untrue? Why was I persistently underestimated? Why did they say I sit and move my body weirdly? Why was I still so tired, why couldn’t I ever keep up? Why did light and sound overwhelm me? Why did I always feel like I was making up for some unidentified shortcoming, even with strangers? Why did people have such odd reactions to me? (What did I do wrong this time?!)
And why did I always feel like I had to put on a show, a facade of someone less complicated than me? Less emotional, less opinionated, less open, less awkward, less neurotic. Just. Less.
And why was it so hard to stop? Why did it feel like my very safety was tied to this mask?
What the heck was my deal?!
It was literally maddening—after years of struggle and related physical ailments, my mental health finally became truly dangerous to my safety; with my being hospitalized twice because I was afraid of what I might do alone overnight when physical and mental health symptoms peaked.
Finally being diagnosed with Level Two autism was like being thrown a life preserver in a sea of soul-sucking confusion. It’s been really challenging to process, but it absolutely saved me as well.
Goodbye, self-hate. Hello, self-wisdom.
The experience of late autism diagnosis can also be compared to using the instructions and procedures for a PC your whole life, then discovering that you’ve been a Mac all along. You’re not inherently broken, you just need to do things differently for smoother performance.
There’s a learning curve, of course, but after decades of mysterious errors and malfunction; I finally have the manual to my operating system, at last, plus a community full of people navigating the same errors and malfunctions.
To quote the autistic autism researcher Jac den Houting, “I wasn’t a failed neurotypical person, I was a perfectly good autistic person.”
In an effort to help fight against the scourge of folks messing with the already stressed minds of the newly diagnosed, I’ve prepared a list of seven actual benefits of discovering your neurotype isn’t typical, but autistic.
I hope that it will help arm potential allies by describing some of the internal experiences as well as the benefits; and I also hope that it will help my fellow auties feel more secure in their autistic selves, as well as encouraging those who wonder if they might be autistic to start seriously learning about it—maybe you is and maybe you ain’t, but either way, knowing is a good thing.
A community of (quite literally) like-minded people. It’s amazing to be able to log into an online autism support group after a horrid day and be like, “Had a mega bad public meltdown due to a ridiculously loud noise and bright lights, then had to sit in a dark room and stim out with goo for hours, anyone relate?”—and not only will they relate, but they’ll probably reply with empathetic stories and memes to help cheer you up.
Tools to identify and manage adverse autism traits. Executive functioning issues used to result in my internally mean-girling myself for being “such a ditz,” but now I know that it simply means my autistic brain is getting tired (because it lives in a neurotypical world, which is tiring), and I just need to take a break, maybe go stare at something sparkly for a while (which, like the aforementioned goo, is a helpful tool called ‘stimming’). Goodbye self-hate. Hello self-wisdom.
Tools to identify and maximize positive autism traits. For example, like many auties, when my brain’s happy I can hyper-focus on a chosen task and work very quickly, for a very long time. This is especially common with special interests (SI), so finding a way to make your SI your job is maybe the ultimate maximization of positive autism traits. Other potential areas of strength to maximize: naturally thinking “outside the box,” honesty, passion, visual thinking, and unique (+ uniquely delightful) sense of humor, for starters.
Better ability to advocate for oneself. Now that I have an accurate way to describe my challenges, it’s a hell of a lot easier to explain why my needs are different and what, precisely, they are. For example, now I know that loud and/or bright things really agitate me due to my high sensory sensitivity, their ability to induce a public meltdown is because my brain’s not doing so well in recent years—and autistic meltdowns due to sensory overwhelm are very common, especially when already struggling.
Meltdowns also contribute to the incapacitating state of autistic burnout, which means not being able to depend on one’s brain. So actions taken to limit the overwhelm aren’t me being too particular, it’s protecting my neurological and mental health—so, my life—it’s not only okay to ask for what I need, it’s crucial.
Less confusion. As you may have caught on with all those questions before, I was riddled with confusion before my autism diagnosis. Autism is a neurotype, basically a type of brain; so interacting with the world was very disorienting due to my thinking differently, and further so because I didn’t know that.
I had no idea why technology is the opposite of intuitive, why forms that take others a few seconds make me want to poke my eye out with the pen, why so few people seemed to “speak my language,” etc., and it all added up to me feeling like an alien, like maybe this world just wasn’t built for me. (This is a common viewpoint among autistic people.)
But now I know the latter part is actually true—that the world was indeed built for a different neurotype—those things aren’t further triggered with a lifetime of confusion, anger, and shame. It still frustrates me that we aren’t societally considered, of course; but now that I at least know what I’m frustrated about, those moments feel less…explosive, even despite my currently not being in a great neurological state.
Improved confidence via self-understanding. Knowing why I am the way I am also helps worlds in the self-acceptance department. I’ve been through a lot and still have work to do, both internally and externally, but, day by day, it gets better. I find myself in fewer negative thought patterns around past failures and rejections, and more hopeful about connecting with people, with life, due to this expanded perspective of who I am and what I need.
Paradoxically, feeling more “normal.” It’s so strange that internet bullies so often bring up “you want to feel special” allegations because I actually feel way less original after spending time in the autistic community. Many of my “quirks” are actually just autism traits, and many others are expressions of such, seen displayed by other auties all the time — like doing thissssssssss, for a random example. And it’s awesome. I freakin’ love being able to log on and find thousands of people who actually speak my language, face similar challenges, and just generally get it.
Meg Hartley 
