Please see this post: https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com/2012/05/03/aspergers-letter-be-the-change/ and pass this letter on. Thank you.
females
Aspergers Letter: Be the Change
Dear Sir or Madam,
Thank you for taking the time to read these words. Please know you are making a difference. My penname is Samantha Craft. I am an educator (M.Ed.) and a mother, and I have Asperger’s Syndrome. I live in the state of Washington in the United States. I am forty-three years of age. I was first identified with having Aspergers in December of 2011 by a mental health practitioner.
Before I knew I had Aspergers, I spent decades searching for answers. I searched for logical reasons to explain my extreme sensitivities, empathy, fixations, imaginings and fears. A keen woman, I sought out answers through 12-Step, medical doctors, therapists, psychologist, psychiatrists, priests, ministers, educators, shamans, and counselors. Not one person whom I sought out for assistance mentioned Aspergers, because not one person knew how a female with Aspergers presented herself. Many professionals didn’t even know this word: Aspergers. Person after person assigned me an incorrect or incomplete diagnosis and non-beneficial methods of treatment. For years I suffered, knowing something was “wrong,” but not understanding why.
I am not alone. By no means am I alone. Thousands upon thousands of women have Aspergers and have been misdiagnosed, overlooked, and/or misunderstood. Notably, In these days of advanced technology, this lack of awareness regarding Aspergers is shifting. Today, thousands of people a month are learning how Aspergers in females presents itself. However, a large majority of the people searching for answers are the females with Aspergers themselves and their family members. The word about the female experience still needs to reach the people who are equipped to identify and help this subgroup of women. Particularly professors at universities, teachers in elementary and secondary schools, medical doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, and mental health care practitioners.
In hopes of spreading awareness, in February of 2012, I began a blog called Everyday Aspergers. I have since been writing for 95 days straight, and will continue to do so for the stretch of the year. My hope is to present a cohesive presentation illustrating a female with Aspergers. The pages are not filled with troubles and tears, only some: because I am human and my human experience stretches far beyond the one word Aspergers. The pages depict the inner workings of a female with an Asperger’s mind—her thought processes, her deep philosophical prose, her poetry, her story.
My hope is you will choose to pass this link on to a professional, (e.g., grandson’s teacher, sister’s doctor, colleague, university dean), so the many women still searching for assistance and answers regarding Aspergers will have a tomorrow filled with awareness, understanding, assistance, and acceptance. Assistance cannot exist without knowledge. Acceptance cannot exist without knowledge. In choosing to directly send this link to one professional, you are choosing to spread the knowledge and effectively change the lives of thousands of women.
With the knowledge we will forever change the face of Aspergers, with the knowledge Aspergers will no longer be unknown, misunderstood, and/or perceived as a taboo, and with the knowledge we can begin to provide hope and needed assistance, and begin to celebrate our unique gifts, I sincerely thank you. May your day be filled with peace.
Link to pass on: https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com/2012/05/03/aspergers-letter-be-the-change/
Sincerely,
Samantha Craft
Everyday Aspergers
You may also print Be the Change letter, if all the information remains on the page. Thank you.
Resources on this blog:
10 Traits of Females with Aspergers:
https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com/2012/02/10/aspergers-traits-women-females-girls/
Unofficial Checklist for Females with Aspergers
10 Myths about Females with Aspergers
Discrimination regarding Aspergers
Day 90: To Watch the Buffalo
Everyday Aspergers
The dreams I had last night! Slumbering images that stretched into the night. Dreams in which I floated weightlessly in delight. Dreams in which some entity telepathically painted living pictures containing the secrets of the universe before my mind’s eye.
Before you second-guess my experience, note that I did inhale a half-bar of chocolate with espresso chunks yesterday, and I am on this new pig hormone for my hypothyroid, so I can only conjecture what is occurring at a cellular-level.
Crazed by caffeine or hormone overdose, or not, the dreams were mighty spectacular. Beings of light revealed that the world as we know it is a grand illusion! We are creating our reality. They explained that through my thoughts and where I choose to travel in my thoughts, I create my experience in this world.
In my last dream I was a passenger on a large windowless tour bus at a wildlife park. I was struggling to take photos of the upcoming buffalo and my camera battery was missing. A man sat across the aisle examining my actions. I quickly pulled out a notebook and began sketching the buffalo, until the man across the way said gently, “Just be. Enough. Just be.”
I awoke with a greater understanding that my current sense of reality is based on my perceptions and established names and labels. My mind accepts a proclaimed and/or majority-recognized truth as a fact and a reality, and continually partakes in a constant quest to organize, categorize, and understand. Having a brain with “Asperger’s” traits, I imagine my brain is working double-time to sort out fact from fiction, all the while knowing everything factual is dependent upon the observer and the collective history of the observer.
I am awakened to a new truth, whether a passing, a fleeting, or a permanent truth, I do not attempt to know. My truth lies in freedom, in an understanding that freedom is created when I allow self to be. Or more specifically, not even allow, but just be.
To obtain peace, the baffling-cycle of trying to understand my life and my self must be released. The more I attempt to process and solve, the more confused and agitated I become. For every step forward in thought, I move backwards two steps in agitation.
At the moment, I am pondering this notion of nonexistence, the nonexistence of time and the nonexistence of months, and the nonexistence of anything and everything. I am examining the manifestation of reality: how words and symbols, and sounds, create. I’m thinking on my middle son’s recent inquiry: What if an animal exists that is a different color or form than we know, and we don’t yet have the capacity to see those specific colors or forms? Is the animal then invisible to us because we don’t recognize those aspects? And in truth, does the animal even truly exist, if we cannot conceptualize it?
I’m wondering about society. Wondering if the act of plastering more and more warnings about illness, war, and fear in our mailings, in our media, on our shirts, on our billboards, in our books and documentaries—is by default creating a reality filled with more suffering. If words, symbols, and sounds create, then what is our society creating? Perpetuating? Bringing to life?
I’m wondering if we were saturated with positive messages, symbols of love, uplifting affirmations, and confirmation of our safety everyday of our lives, if we could create a world blossoming in calmness and peace.
I’m thinking society has had some things backwards for a very long time, now.
A corner of Buddhist philosophy explains how we can never quite see the whole of ourselves, and postulates, if we cannot see the whole of our being, then we cannot with validity claim we (as a singular being) actually exist in whole. The whole of me is impossible to capture on camera, in the mirror, or even from the viewpoint of an observer. There is always an aspect of me missing, perhaps the sole of my feet or my backside. I am never in completion. And nothing I set eyes upon is in its entirety either. As hard as I try, I cannot see the whole of you. I cannot see the whole of nature—the whole of a tree or a flower. However I search, there is always an element of the wholeness missing.
My mind, too, will always find the element of the wholeness of reality missing. Because the wholeness is not there to find. My mind attempts to construct and complete the picture of wholeness. My reality is constructed to completion only inside my mind, not outside my mind.
In reflection:
(1) I have been trying to figure me and life out like some gigantic puzzle. Only all the puzzle pieces aren’t available.
(2) I have been so seriously attached to finding solutions to life and following manmade rules that I have built a lifetime of memories of no fun.
(3) Since I have collected hardly any happy-go-lucky memories, my mind has no place to retreat to except to the wicked, sad, dismal past or the fears of the wicked, sad, dismal future.
(4) In order to find retreat in the present moment, I would benefit by establishing happy moments and releasing the analytical, fight-or-flight based existence.
(5) I honor my journey, where I have been, where I am going, and where I now stand.
(6) Everything is unfolding at the absolute beneficial time.
(7) I set myself free to be a passenger of life and not a solver of life.
(8) I don’t have old baggage; I have an overstuffed, overused backpack of notes and observations.
(9) I give myself permission to leave the backpack behind.
(10) I give myself permission to do nothing more than to watch the buffalo.
I love how the universe works. I found this quote while reading a blog I follow (Life Just Is).
“A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”
–Albert Einstein
One of the best movies of the 1970’s. Bless the Beasts and the Children
Day 89: Things I Sometimes Love
Things I Sometimes Love
Earplugs
If I stuff earplugs too far in they hurt and at night they squish and press against my ear and the pillow but they allow me to stay in the same bed with my husband.
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Supplements
I could have gone on several cruise ship vacations for the same price I paid for my supplements but they keep me moving.
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Clean Clothes
There is always a pile of laundry staring at me from the corner of the living room but usually no one in my family stinks.
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Waking up my Youngest
He is sleeping so soundly, so soft and warm and cuddly, but after he wakes up he says cool stuff like: “Mom, guess what? I just peed, burped, and sneezed all at the same time!”
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Lab Tests
They induce panic attacks and sleepless nights, and often lead to more supplements, but they provide vital information.
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My Dog (Spastic Colon)
I often wake up to surprises she has left me in all forms but I laugh when she eats my underwear and wags her tail so super fast her little butt shakes.
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Documentaries
They make me over think and conjure up dread but knowledge is power.
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Washington State
Yes, it rains and rains, and there are tons of spiders, but the greenery and scenery are pure heaven.
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My China Doll
I have had her since I was twelve and I think she is haunted with my spirit, so I am afraid to move her, get rid of her, or hide her in a dark closet, but she makes for interesting conversation.
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Dark Organic Chocolate with Espresso Coffee Chips
Need I say more?
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Tiny Black Ants
They are overtaking my kitchen but they also carry away crumbs.
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My Little Brain
My brain barks, begs, and beckons to be heard but I live in a state of constant entertainment and fascination.
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What are some things you sometimes love?
Day 87: Season of the Butterfly
I have a gentle peace inside and am radiating with hope. In looking back over the last year, there have been multiple challenges that opened the door to deep inner reflection and growth. I am thankful for the season of transformation. At this moment, I am awakening again to myself.
In reflection, I realize that I allowed a part of myself to die last summer, an important aspect of me. I suppressed an emerging connection to the spirit (my higher power) out of fear of people’s rejection and judgment. In denying an essential part of myself, I became suffocated in fear and worry. My body ultimately shut down in response to me repressing my inner voice and true essence. Today I emerge a butterfly, having been wrapped in a cocoon of darkness. Though I was nourished, safe, and undergoing a state of transformation, I rejoice in the light of day. I celebrate the season of the caterpillar while I spread my wings and fly.
Last year I wrote approximately 70 pages of spiritual writing over a course of a few months. I established a successful and beneficial spiritual practice, and surrounded myself with healthy relationships and environments. I lost track of this path, took a turn down another avenue, when I analyzed the significance and purpose of my personhood through the assumed perception of others. In response to my fear-based thoughts, I applied self-created expectations, goals, and needs to my journey. Through this process of analysis and fear response, I forgot the road I was traveling on. Actually, I think I forgot I was traveling. I stopped in my tracks, pitched up tent somewhere, and camped out in hopes of gaining love and acceptance, all the while forgetting my own authenticity and life’s calling.
Today, I have packed up camp and am returning to the path. As I walk onward, I am strengthened in spirit and hope and thankful for how spirit has worked through me. I continue onward, knowing I was exactly where I needed to be on my life’s journey, and am always exactly where I need to be.
Below I have shared a spiritual piece I wrote in response to a question in prayer. The words are what I received in response. I’ve also posted one of my favorite poems and am reflecting on the powerful creative fortress within each of us. Thank you for being part of this journey.
What of Illness?
By Samantha Craft Spring 2011
It is rather simple. Let us find an example. Take a boxer in the ring with two gloves, one red glove and one white glove in color; he hasn’t a reason for having one red and one white glove, and isn’t confused or interested; he just sees he has one of each. His focus is on the man in front of him about to punch him in the face. If he took time to think about his gloves in that instant he would be knocked out. So he doesn’t.
This is the physical body: the boxer.
The physical body (mind) can sense and see things are not exactly as the world would make the body believe. The body can sense one glove is red and one white, that something is off, but it doesn’t have the time to process this or it will be knocked out. The body is too busy rebuilding cells, carrying oxygen and communicating to vital working systems. The gloves are secondary. Perhaps after the fight—after life—the body will sit down long enough in stillness and wonder about the gloves—but until then, as long as life continues, wondering isn’t a choice.
Continuing with the boxer. He is standing in the ring and sweating, circling, and guessing his opponents next move. He punches out, swings forward and the glove falls off, red or white no matter. What matters is the glove is gone, and the hand is exposed. Now, and only now does the boxer take time to notice the glove, because here he has lost the fight, and the initial challenge is over.
Now sitting in the corner, still breathing, and very much alive, the fighter will have a chance to examine the gloves and wonder why they are different colors. Who did this? Why did they do this? Who can I blame? What happened? Why me?
If you haven’t guessed by now, this is a parable for how sickness affects the physical body.
So let us explain: It is only when you lose what you once considered your primary importance to living that you stop long enough to analyze where the gloves came from in the first place.
In other words, you stop fighting long enough to sit still and question how you got the gloves in the first place, and how in the world they are mismatched. This is the sickly person, the ill taken, the previously formidable turned apparently weak. But in actuality they are no less weak than when they had two gloves, they only think they are because they have become so dependent on the gloves—so dependent on ignoring what is right in front of them in order to win.
So as you appear sick at the moment, remember this is only you stopping long enough to examine your missing glove, and to recognize they were mismatched. You knew before, you surely knew one was red and one was white, but you kept fighting, because that is all you thought you could do. Now surely when your timeout is over, and you return to the ring with two matching gloves, having have solved any mystery you attempted to solve, you will notice your gloves with a higher degree. You might even treat them a bit differently—treat them with respect. This is the best we can explain it.
When you are sick, it is your spirits way of saying we need to stop fighting for a while and notice what is directly in front of us before we get back in the ring. It is our spirit saying we are tired of fighting. It is our body’s way of saying there is something amiss that requires attention—what ever level you are comfortable giving me that attention is completely fine, but please take care of the issue at hand.
Grumpiness over illness is what you call normal—grumpiness about being out of the game for a bit. But gratitude is more appropriate, because all around you people are swinging punches with two mismatched gloves and not even noticing.
Take this time to figure out how your gloves became mismatched. Figure out how to match them again. Figure out if you want to keep fighting, or perhaps leave the ring for a bit, even forever. This is your ultimate choice. We keep mismatching your gloves, you keep ignoring, until one falls off, and then, my precious child, it’s time to sit out some.
The Voice in Love’s Garden
by Samantha Craft 2011
The voice in love’s garden
Though withered, though frail
Triumphant in calling
Flows forth, bold the sail
Ship sprung from deep valley
Of bitter, of cold
Seeks ease from wind’s blowing
Through rivers that hold
To canker not sorely
To parch not again
To rise not the urchin
Less thee drown in thy sin
Come; march in like troopers
Whence faith seeds from bone
Light ever the forest
Where tramp shadowed alone
For nil eyes to fathom
The coursing of chance
The grace twice endowed
With life’s circumstance
Call forth idle trumpets
Thyself and thy truth
Bestowed as blind starships
Sweet daughters of Ruth
Tiptoe, touch the clovers
Tender green of begin
Retreat in placid pastures
The solid fortress within
More of my spiritual writings:
Everyday Asperger's 