Flashbacks can happen anywhere, anytime, but when they ignite while a person is interfacing with a loved one, what
does that other person experience?
One occasion of emotional flashback, confounded by ASD, follows.
Friday night, my husband and I devoted our "date night"
to looking at some items in preparation for a DIY bathroom remodel. Tile, tub, mirror, toilet --nearly everything
was in need of replacing. While the work will be done by my husband and
son, I have pretty much assumed the role, after some discussion, of the designer. I had done some research . I had a list in hand: what we needed to buy today;
what could wait. Keenly aware of the holiday weekend sales, I
wanted to pick up anything we were pretty sure about before the sales prices
lapsed.
Notably, the toilet model we had already chosen, based on one we used
in a previous remodel. It happens to be an unusually heavy piece. For reasons of limited garage space, I had
decided that it would be best left at the store until we actually needed
it. [That sale was ongoing
for the next few months. No rush.]
----
Note: For purposes of this discussion, I will
use the term flashback to refer to emotional
flashbacks, such as occur in complex PTSD. For more information about emotional
flashbacks or CPTSD, please see Pete Walker's
very helpful website. http://pete-walker.com/flashbackManagement.htm
ASD-
abbreviation for Autism Spectrum Disorder, for which I have a
diagnosis. For those unfamiliar with the impact of ASD on an otherwise
functional adult, I have emboldened in purple aspects of this story
which I believe are particularly confounded by ASD in me.
-----STORYTIME, continued------
Walking through the store, we were working pretty well
together. We looked at a washing machine
(it was on the list); medicine cabinets; tubs of various sizes. Pat wanted to
look at the toilet again. "Fine, I'll see you in the tile
section." Eventually, we'd
exhausted the choices to consider in this store. I left Patrick in conversation
with one of the retired contractor/sales people, telling him I was going to the
paint counter.
My paint chip in hand, I waited. Standing around waiting is hard for me. But, I kept reminding myself that I was an
adult: I could do this. There was nobody else in line except the guy who was
being helped already and apparently somebody in absentia, whose large order was
in process. Yet, I strained to
determine if the two sales people had even noticed me standing there. Likely they had, but no eye contact had
transpired. I felt nervous. Impatient.
Fidgety. Unsure how to be sure that they were aware of me, lest somebody else
pull up and get their attention before me. 
In
this harried state of mind, I perceived Patrick out of the corner of my eye, rolling
his cart in my direction. All-efficiency,
he started to say something about, "just buying that toilet now."
Stunned,
deafened, blinded by an unidentified-by-me flashback state, I tried to talk him
out of it, while continuing to focus my attention on the main thing: keeping my
place in line. My befuddled words probably sounded something like,
"No!"
For
his part, he couldn't see what the big deal was. "After all, we're here
now: why not buy the toilet and take it home with us?" he thought.
My
thoughts, unspoken:
Well, first it wasn't on the list. [The paint, on the other hand, and
even the washer, were on the list.]
Second,
it's too heavy to have kicking around in the garage.
Importantly,
I'd already decided that we would not buy that toilet until later, when we
needed it.
I got my paint sample.
Patrick finally gave up his quest, but not before trying a number of alternate ways to press home his point. By now, I was really upset. Stunned.
I was seething mad. The trouble seemed to be with him, although I
was pretty sure he hadn't done anything particularly wrong.
After checking out, the
next item of business was to be dinner.
Oh,
grand. Go out to dinner now?
Pat suggested a place to
go. He doesn't usually suggest a place, so to reinforce that behavior, I said,
"Fine," although I truly
didn't want to go to that restaurant. I
was mad; shutting down.
Seated in the restaurant,
Patrick offered an observation: he thought I might be in a flashback.
Oh, good
grief. Now he's calling it? [He has been
reading Pete Walker's book*, to his credit].
But, flashback work isn't
a discussion with one's spouse. I needed
to get myself grounded and do some breathing: work the 13 steps to flashback management. [See www.pete-walker.com*]
We ate our dinner. My
eating disorder scrambled by the flashback, I ate very mindlessly, consuming much of
Patrick's dinner, reaching across the table and dipping into his mousaka with
my fork. At this point, boundary-wise, I
was beyond caring what I was doing.
Once we'd eaten, I asked
if we could go straight home, so I could process the flashback. Pat was fine with that. As we circumnavigated the
city on the interstate, I was quiet,
feeling depleted, exhausted, spent, powerless, unmoored. What was there to say?
Once home, to his credit, Patrick decided to take a walk
while I tried to settle myself. No more
had I gotten semi-grounded than I became aware of utter exhaustion and headed
upstairs to ready myself for sleep.
.
By the next morning, I
had realized a few things. Yes, this was certainly a flashback. I haven't had a flashback this strong for quite awhile. But as my little summary of healthy living is,
"No rush; no crisis; you are safe,"
this scene hit my big five: time (we have to hurry and get this
toilet!); crisis (the sale is going to pass us by!);
safety (Defined in ASD as
predictability quotient: in this case it reads, "You might have thought
you had a good idea of the evening's agenda but, ha! Here's an item you didn't anticipate;"
and space (the garage/where you keep
your car will be filled to the brim with remodel items, including this very
heavy toilet, even though the fellows haven't "broken ground" yet.) If
that weren't enough, money is
clearly involved here (gotta get that sale!)
No wonder I was quite undone. Not
even to mention that this "bomb" was dropped while I was studiously attending to the all-consuming
task of waiting at the counter.
Part II: So, what about Patrick?
It seems to me a sign of recovery that I even raise the question. It's very not-ASD of me to think about his position. But I was curious, once I leveled off into adulthood. What goes through his mind when I disappear into a flashed back state? Especially if his behavior is what triggered it, as was the case here. He agreed to an interview so I could write this piece.
JO: Pat, what was your experience when I reacted
so strongly to your idea about buying the toilet the other night? Where did you feel it? What did it feel like? Did you experience any
emotions? thoughts? What did you anticipate would happen next? When and how did you figure out I was in a
flashback state?
Pat's response:
"The first thing I
noticed was that you were not in your adult state. Typically, when I make a suggestion, you
counter the idea, and so on. Back and forth. This is normal. In this instance, there was no dialogue at
all. You had a frightened, confused look
on your face and you made very direct eye contact: your "I am really
serious here," face. When you go
head to head on something, you usually make eye contact."
He
continued, drawing on the vast knowledge he has of ASD from 30+ years working
in the field of special education, including time as a Teacher Consultant on
behalf of students on the Autism Spectrum.
"It's normal with
ASD that one gets defensive when things are "wrong" or "not
planned." The person with ASD
usually reacts very strongly, "This cannot happen! This is not
right!" For you, it seems that when
something is not in the program (of expectations), you revert into your child
state."
Switching to past tense and
third person, he continued.
"The
scene was so simple. I thought, 'Joan's waiting in the paint line. While she's waiting, I can buy the toilet,
get it into my car and then meet her at the check-out. We can leave together.'"
I expected her to say, "OK, Dear."
But, instead, I was met
with this wall of resistance. I tried the" ask; rephrase, ask again"
technique that sometimes helps me figure out what the push-back is about.
"I felt impatient. In my stomach, I felt fear and anxiety."
"I struggled with
pride. I perceived
judgmentalism, criticism, condemnation;
I was tempted to believe that I was a bad person for upsetting Joan."
"I asked myself, do
I keep pushing here, or do I back off? I did not back off immediately. I
noticed that didn't seem to help my cause. Finally, I reasoned, "If this
is a flashback, it won't budge because of a rational argument. "
"Eventually, I
realized that it was unnecessary and unfruitful to keep pushing. But, I
couldn't discern what the big deal was.
Finally, I decided it was not the time or place to try to figure that
out. I perceived that Joan was no longer interfacing with me as an adult. As I tried to attune to what was going on
with her, I felt flashback-ish. There
would be no reasoning together for awhile. So I dropped it."
The interview process, all very rational, helped
us toward resolution of the interpersonal conflict that arose in the midst of
the flashback.
My personal work with the
flashback steps helped me calm down and recollect myself into my adult state.
[Just in time to process
another completely different flashback a few days later.]
--This post is copyright 2017 by the author, Joan K. O'Connell, all rights reserved---