336: I LOVE this man: Tony Attwood

Okay, this is unbelievable. I have had TWO good hair days in a row. Seriously, something is up with the stars! And just now, after thinking about Tony Attwood, I opened my email to find his message! Good hair and Attwood…. life is so good!

I have attended Mr. Attwood’s conference and met him briefly in person. Also, his books and audios were immensely helpful when my son was first diagnosed. This is his recent response to me. Yay!

Please hold Mr. Tony Attwood in healing light and love.

I thank him for the great works he does to bring a voice to Asperger’s Syndrome.

Part of today’s email:

“Your webpage is absolutely fascinating and I certainly enjoyed reading the information that you sent me. In your email you refer to my thoughts on whether you have indeed the characteristics of Asperger’s syndrome. I would say that, from what I have read, that that seems very likely as you have an insight into Asperger’s syndrome but especially the way that Asperger’s syndrome is expressed in girls. You certainly have an ability to communicate your thoughts in such an effective way…..

…you may be interested in the audio recordings of my radio interviews describing the characteristics of Asperger’s syndrome in girls. My own webpage is currently being updated and the links should be back on my webpage in the next week or so. You may be interested in listening to a radio interview I did for Brisbane 612 ABC Radio with Richard Fidler, http://www.abc.net.au/local/stories/2012/02/02/3421377.htm?site=brisbane.

Please do continue your work helping those with Asperger’s syndrome and those who love and support them and I look forward to reading more about your very important contribution to the understanding of Asperger’s syndrome in girls and women.”

I know, total coolness. :)))

http://www.tonyattwood.com.au
http://www.amazon.com/Tony-Attwood/e/B000APW3XM

Photo on 3-5-13 at 12.22 PM

Post 252: Dear Father

I am processing so much, so fast; it is quite overwhelming. Please understand this post is healing for me. I am not reaching out for support or love. In writing this and sharing this truth, I am healing my own self. Your presence and eyes are enough. I do not need or expect words of comfort. I do not need anyone to tell me that I am enough. Innately, I know I am enough, that I am beauty, that I am good. But this little girl needed to be heard, so I could heal further. I am okay. I am better than okay. I am facing my demons head on and surviving. Not only surviving, but smiling through tears. So please know I am okay. I am okay in me and with me. I like me. I love me enough to be who God intended me to be. And I love you enough to trust in your love. ~ Sam

 

Dear Father,

You don’t love me, and you never have. If you do, it’s limiting and conditional. I am made into a person who is judged and evaluated, or worse not seen or spoken to. You have been my everything since I was born. My superman. My rescuer. My hope. The man created to love and hold me, to cherish and lift. And yet you have done none of this.

I am left hollowed from the inside out, a forgotten child, who has had to find her own way, whilst left alone without you. You came out of obligation, if you ever came at all, out of guilt or need. Never out of connection or thought for my betterment. Life has been about you from the start, and continues to be about you: your hobbies, your interests, your wives.

You have said to me once I am beautiful. Only once. On my wedding day, and I hold on to that word as if it were the last sound of my life. How I have longed to be held and told I am lovely and worthy; how I have missed the embrace of a father, and thusly sought out the embrace wherever I could.

Through torment I wept for you. Through miserable relationships and false dreams. I created fantasies and idols with men, in hopes of finding you again.

Yet, still I weep and walk alone. No one is you. No one is my father. Not even you.

You live but you are dead; in the sense of being and not existing. You choose each day to reject or worse forget. Your silence and aloofness my hellfire.

Some child in me still believes I can find you in someone else, find the love and approval. I imagine them as you. I place your face on them. I replay the words over and over, with your voice and your heart. But, still I know this is not you.

I hunt down people in hopes of them being you. Have from the start—a small child searching for her father in playmates and strangers. I have exposed myself to countless hurts, hoping to appease and please a someone who was not you, but that I believed to be you. Every time I am rejected, again by you.

Why? Why can you not see my beauty and love? Why is your view of me not what the world sees? Why do many love me, when the one I need the most to love me, does not? What have I done wrong? What is innately wrong with me that you would refuse the gift I am? Why am I left unopened, still on this shelf of pain waiting to be taken? To be taken and held. To feel a father’s arms around me. A hug. An embrace. To see your eyes. To look in your eyes and see adoration. What is that like? What does it feel like to be held by a father? To be loved by a father? What does it feel like! I need to know. I need to know. Just once, before I die, I need you to hold me.

I have wept for you since my hands were tiny and fragile. I have wept for you endlessly. I walk in silence but the tears cut through my soul. They eat at me and destroy my truth. They huddle me into a corner and persecute me. I cannot be in this world when I know my own creator detests his creation. My own God I set into your mold. And I am left shattered, broken, while still untouched and waiting.

Please love me, so I can stop my search. I am so tired. So weary. So alone without you.

Please see me. Please see my beauty. Please release me from my torment.

I beg for your love. I cry out for your love. Across the universe I reach for you. This child I am.

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

https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com/2012/03/31/day-62-females-with-aspergers-syndrome-nonofficial-checklist/

10 Myths about Females with Aspergers

https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com/2012/03/06/thirty-seven-10-myths-about-females-with-aspergers-syndrome/

Discrimination regarding Aspergers

https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com/2012/03/13/day-44-the-abcs-of-discrimination-i-will-not-be-made-to-feel-ashamed-of-aspergers/

Day Twenty-Four: Life is Like a Roller Rink (and a letter from LV)

 

February 22, 2012

My Dearest Samantha,

Here are a few things you need to get straight. You are a loving being, and humble enough. Don’t pray for any more humility, please, because you already know where that gets you. Take your husband’s advice, and ask for more pride, for goodness sake!

And don’t eat frozen carrot cake by the fork-full when you’re stressed out; it’s not good for the system, or that spare tire you’ve got going around your waist. Thanks to you, we’ve got this non-stop, hacking cough, because YOU shoveled the cake so fast a nut scratched your throat. Thirty minutes later, after a cough suppressant, Benadryl, and cough drop, you’re still coughing. And so loudly, you’ve concerned the youngest lad. And you don’t even like carrot cake. You only like the frosting. What’s up with that?

What’s going on, anyhow? You know what I’m talking about. Where’s that go-getter who wouldn’t let the world stop her? The lady, who taught, counseled, advocated, and even woke up early to meditate? Where is she?

Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, you’ve latched on to this Aspergers gig like there’s no tomorrow.  By the way, I read your post from a few days ago, and I don’t talk that much during most movies, just the boring romantic comedies with no plot worth following.

Come on Girl, I’m dying in here watching you beat yourself all up. And who cares about the professor not recognizing your writing ability and knocking you down points, because you didn’t follow her rules to the exact. That’s life.

You can’t always earn full points in life. Isn’t that what you always tell Joe—to not let what others’ think bother him. But here you are worrying all the time that you’re not enough. Get with it, already. You are already enough, and so much more.

Pull out the prayers and poetry you use for inspiration. Reread some of the plethora of spiritual and religious books you’ve collected. Stop focusing on only one genre: That of poor little old Sam and Aspergers. You’re creating more clutter in that brain of yours than you need.

Yes, you can write a post like this. Who fricken cares? If this is the only post they read, and they think your nuts, so be it. I might wear those tight sweaters with the LV monogram, but I’ve got enough of Brain for the both of us. So let me take the lead awhile, would you?

Stop trying to control life and just ease up and relax. Just because you don’t think you can, doesn’t mean you can’t. You aren’t even trying. You’ve got all you need around you, and more, but still you wallow in self-pity. This isn’t thirty years ago. You don’t need to be sad anymore. This is life—right now, this day, this moment, seize it.

Get that pedicure! See that movie. Have that tea with a friend. Stop hiding in your house. Blast the music. Open the windows. Let the fresh air in. Bang pots and pans. Light incense. Scream. Shout. Cheer. Do whatever it takes to break out of this funk.

Yes, Scooby’s dead. Yes, you have to retrieve his ashes. Yes, sometimes college totally sucks, and your fixations seemingly suck you dry. But you know what, you are the one who has a choice. You always have the glorious choice. Continue to sit on your rump and feel sorry for yourself, or get up and get moving. I don’t care how far or where. Just take a step in any direction.

I know this is harsh, but harsh is what you need right now. I know what’s best, and I see what you’ve been doing. Enough already. Get back to where you were. Nothing has changed that drastically. If you must, keep mourning the loss of Scoob. But please stop mourning the loss of you! You’re still here. You’re still you. Even when others don’t see, you’ll always be you.

Here’s a poem to keep handy. Now get of your butt and start skating! The world’s waiting.

Your Friend for Life,

LV (the Little Voice inside my head)

Life is Like a Roller Rink      (February 2012)

Life is like a roller rink.

We each groove and glide to our own beat.

We slow down, speed up, and then slow down again, taking the turns as they come.

Though others may knock us down, run us over, or push us out-of-the-way, we get back up eventually, and keep moving.

We glide forward and sideways, and every once in a while find ourselves going backwards.

After twirling too fast for too long, we laugh; we cry.

We hold hands to keep our balance.

In moments of bravery, we speed out to the inner circle, keeping our pace in the fast lane.

In moments of caution, we remain on the outer circle, gripping the wall for dear life.

Sometimes another gently pulls us off the wall.

We get blisters and bruises.

We ram into others, stop and apologize, and then lend a hand.

We tangle up our feet and fall on our butts.  Some of us have more grace, some of us more padding.

If we aren’t careful, when we try to pull others up, we fall down right with them.

From the sideline, we observe those gliding by, wondering how they do the things they do, or questioning if we might, someday, do the same thing.

We sweat.  We stink.

Sometimes we trade in the skates that served us well, in hopes of discovering a better fit or style.

There are speeders who don’t pay attention to anyone else, until they collide into someone, or collapse from exhaustion.

Racing ahead, we partake in games, in hopes of a prize.

Some are left behind.

While many never seem to catch up.

We feel the wind in our faces and the rush of adrenaline.

We are surrounded by lights that illuminate our way.

Some spin and do tricks, in hopes of gaining attention.

Somewhere, up high in a box is a person in charge.  We may make a request or keep moving without second thought.

We don’t take much notice that we are going round and round, only to end up right back where we started.

When we rest, regroup, and nurse our injuries, there is nothing that can stop us from getting back on our feet, and starting the circular journey, all over again.

And in the end, when the music inevitably stops, we all must leave.

By Everyday Asperger’s Blog author, Samantha Craft