Part 6: The Myth of the Emotionless Autistic

Let me tell you a story. A story about perceptions and misconceptions.

One day,  we had guests visiting. It’s a rare occurrence because our son,  Krishna, has stranger anxiety. The visitors were a couple my mother’s generation,  and their son and daughter-in-law.

I thought that the older couple may have comments and statements to make about Krishna.

My misconception.

They picked him up and cuddled him witless, till he was hyper-excited with joy. He jumped out of their arms and continued jumping and wildly clapping his hands. Happy shrieks and giggles punctuated this.

The older couple smiled indulgently and patted him. The younger couple stood woodenly, and shied away when Krishna dashed up to them,  expecting the same treatment.

I snatched him up at once, babbling nonsense. I’m super-sensitive about any perceived or foreseen hurt to his feelings, but I do get that to others his behavior is “odd.” “Wierd.”

“How do you take him out?” the girl asked me.  “What will people say when they see him?”

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn about others when his behavior is harmless,” I smiled.

(Rather, grinned manically, gnashing my teeth. ) “I’m worried about how Krishna feels.”

“But he’s in his own world,  right. He doesn’t have feelings like us.”

Whoops.

My husband hurried me away before I exploded at guests.

This is a popular perception, apparently:

Children and adults on the autistic spectrum don’t feel emotions. They don’t love or feel hurt.

This is pure myth, according to me.

Children and adults on the spectrum EXPRESS differently.

When Krishna wants to be cuddled, he climbs on me. When he wants to show he loves me, he presents his arm to be kissed! When he’s annoyed, he curls into a ball and withdraws.

There’s another child who attends therapy with Krishna. This little boy has his beautiful features calm and composed all the time. Wooden, others may say.

When this little boy steps out after his session and doesn’t see his mother  waiting for him, his face doesn’t change. He doesn’t cry, call, or look about.

No reaction?

Wrong.

His eyes freeze. His entire body tenses. His step hitches. But he continues to walk with the therapist,  seemingly “wooden”. When he sees his mother,  he doesn’t reach out; she does and holds his hand.

And then, he relaxes. You can see it in the fluid way he now moves. His eyes scan his surroundings. Just a little,  without moving his head. He’s back to normal.

Just because he didn’t cry for his mother when he didn’t see her or hug her when she showed up doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her.

Just because Krishna didn’t tense up but just stared at the young couple doesn’t mean he didn’t feel their rejection.

Dear reader,  don’t many neurotypicals find it hard to express emotions? Then why demand that the neurodiverse express emotions like the majority? And when they don’t, label them as emotionless?

Neurodiverse children and adults feel love and grief, boredom and rage, and all the shades of emotion in-between.

Don’t measure the expression with the neurotypical yardstick.