On Monday this week, my autistic son, now 15, asked me what I was upset about.
I hadn’t said I was upset.
In fact, although I had been frustrated by an incident earlier in the day, I had very deliberately and consciously left my exasperation upstairs before making my way into the kitchen where both my children were sitting around the table doing their homework.
He pointed out I was wearing my bright pink top.
So, I asked?
He said the last three times I had worn it I had been upset: the first time was when someone stole the catalytic converter under our car and we had to walk home; the second and third time it had been after arguments with our builder during our house renovations.
He was right. I was upset. I had been able to hide it by masking my body language and the tone of my voice and choice of words. But it was visible to him because of his ability to process large amounts of historical information and spot a pattern that even I couldn’t see.
This isn’t the first time he has done it either.
For example a few years ago he had observed that I was always very sad on the first day of our family vacations. I realised that was very true (and probably not just for me). The first day of a holiday is when the adrenalin that keeps you going is wearing off and the exhaustion and emotions that you have managed to keep at bay come to take over. He had been able to identify and articulate this. Since that day I have always tried to build in some time for myself, alone to process whatever I need to before stepping into a holiday.
But this blog isn’t about my approach to holidays or choice of clothes. It’s about our approach to therapies for people with autism.
When my son was younger we tried all kinds of therapies to target the social deficits that came with his diagnosis. These included speech and language therapy, personalised social stories, a lot of role modelling through play at home, and social thinking classes. As he grew older, though, I noticed that the therapies available did not grow with him.
For example the speech and language therapy he was receiving at the end of primary school still consisted of showing him pictures of faces (asking him to guess how they were feeling) as it had done at the start of primary school. When they said he had “graduated” from this and didn’t need therapy any more, I agreed not because he had achieved the same sophisticated social instincts as his peers but because I could see that there wasn’t a lot those classes could add to what he already knew. The social thinking classes, he is still receiving in secondary school, have evolved somewhat, and created space for him to think through all the social messiness that comes with adolescence.
But what all the therapies have in common are that they are targeted towards addressing his social and communication deficits using neurotypical approaches.None of them seem to be targeted at showing my son how to use his own autistic strengths to his advantage in social situations. Why not help him use his social memory to identify the common denominator in all his successful social interactions? And then all situations that did not end as he would have liked? And how that answer varies depending on whether he is home or school or in public spaces? Why not help him use his attention to detail to understand behaviour around him? Alongside teaching neurodiverse people that “honesty” may not be the best answer to give in some situations (e.g. response to presents received) why not get them to recognise that the loyalty and honesty that comes naturally to them is a highly desirable (and rare) trait?
This is not to suggest at all that people with autism do not have complex needs or that reliable well-evidenced therapies do not help autistic people navigate a world that isn’t designed for them in a more effective way. But maybe it’s time that we update therapies to reflect age and progression. And one way to do this is that we see autistic strengths as advantages and help individuals use those very skills to help them communicate and socialise better.
This is what my son is already doing. Maybe its time we recognised and supported it.
Zainab Kizilbash is a parent, writer, economist and Our Small Wonders founder
