Because passing is a myth. So often what we’re doing when we’re passing is simply keeping a lid on our natural tendencies. And sometimes we’re not even doing it very well.
Image: “Tightrope Walk” by Orfearus
What does it mean to pass?
“Passing for normal” if you have a disability, means to mask your disability enough so that so called normal people don’t notice it. For example, if you are deaf but so skilled at lip-reading + hard working at getting by that people forget or don’t realise you are deaf, you’re passing.
They may instead think you are weird though, if they presume that you can hear what they can hear, and think you “ignore” information selectively or even worse, that you are playing social games with them.
Worst of all, if you tried to compete on equal terms in a hearing world as deaf you’d work hundred times harder than everyone else and still not or barely do as well as them on their terms. You’d be in a constant battle to try to piece together information from disorganised bits and hang on to the shared hearing-reality with your fingernails while your errors accumulated. And if you were to work that hard everyday to just try to meet basic expectations, you’d probably soon burn out.
With deafness, the problem is obvious and no one really expects a deaf person to compete with the hearing in a hearing world. No one expects a blind person to pretend to be able to see either.
With Aspergers/high functioning autism which is what Cynthia wrote about, the situation is complex, because many autistic adults are capable of appearing normal and social – to “pass as normal”, at least some of the time and in certain situations.
Jodie has in The Lie of Social Skills Trainin listed some of some key factors that make it difficult for aspies/autistics to socialise on normal terms:
- sensory processing lag meaning you can’t process the conversation fast enough to keep up
- trouble turning visual or abstract thoughts into words
- literal-mindedness leading to misunderstandings
- lack of executive function for keeping track of social engagements and who’s who
- reduced amount of energy available for socialising, because so much is drained processing sensory input
- not necessarily having the same pop-culture grounding as others, thanks to our often eccentric skills and areas of interest
Any one of those things could get in the way of socialising effectively, even for the most socially adept person. Most people on the spectrum have several of those things going on, and some of us have all of them.
I find Jodie’s list very accurate. Personally I struggle with most of these factors in most conversations with people I don’t know well*. This is why I can do a little bit of casual talk just fine (if the surroundings are fairly quiet), but in longer conversations (especially about random, shifting topics) I soon get social burn-out and need a quiet break by myself to recharge my energy and social motivation.
Forcing myself to keep going just lands me in mental zombie mode; neither dead nor alive, unreal; emotionally disconnected – feeling like reality isn’t real and people aren’t coherent entities, “paddling like hell underneath” while my energy and motivation quickly drains off.
“Be like a duck. Calm on the surface, but always paddling like hell underneath.”* -Michael Caine.
Often, I can preserve an appearance of communicating for a while after my mind has become numb – I can stream my responses mechanically. This can make me cling to a discussion track and feel agitated; maybe as a way to be able to keep going. Eventually though, I can’t source anymore words and responsiveness, and that’s the final social shut-down: Game Over.
I can often avoid mental shut-down by taking quiet breaks and economising with my social energy. However, taking breaks by myself may not be seen as normal behaviour in the situation (and they rarely get to be quiet). During a social occasion, it is common that everybody are expected to remain in one location; or if they go somewhere else that they go together in a group; and that everybody remain social all the time until they leave.
Many social situations end as “game over”, like: I want to pass, but none of the available choices work for me. Generally, the social strategy that seems to work best for me is avoidance of social occasions except the ones I can do well. Social situations that tend to work well for me include:
- “Parallel play”. I work on my Thing and you work on yours
- Small team work about Interesting Project
- Socialising with and around animals
- A shared study of an Interesting Subject
- Online communication in writing
- Class discussions or other guided communication where the purpose is clear, and only one person talks at the time
- Listening to an elderly person or a kid, or someone else who is obviously very different from myself. The most difficult conversation partners tend to be women in the same age bracket as me (because they expect similarity), and young women (perhaps because I’ve never had a normal youth, and they presume I would, so they also expect similarity)
Problematic and sometimes impossible situations include:
- Parties and dinners
- Large crowded schools
- Breaks where people mingle and small talk
- Fairs and trades shows
- Business networking events
- The Meet & Greet point on the agenda during the Sunday sermons in Church
- Group outings (I get lost)
- Talk therapy, but the one I’m currently in goes well, especially compared to earlier attempts at different kinds of therapy
- 1:1 meetings that don’t have a specific purpose and agenda but are more like “Hey, let’s catch up and talk about everything since last time!”
The list is not exhaustive.
Normality has blurry boundaries
Normality tends to be presented as if normal and abnormal are the only two options; as if you’re either passing or failing normality. That is a bit naive, because what’s normal and how far from the standard one is allowed to deviate varies and fluctuates wildly between cultures, subcultures, families, situations, individual persons (the same behaviour is perceived differently depending on who does it), and even just different points in time.
Once upon a time I thought that being Normal was a matter of finding the Great Rules Book, you know the one with all the Criteria for being Normal that everybody had read and then hidden. I’ve slowly realised that normality is not black and white. There is not only one set of rules; most social rules are not fixed, and they don’t apply equally to different people.
Normality is more like an ongoing negotiation, but there is of course something like a loose template that people benchmark others towards, and if they fall short of the marks then they may be deemed “off”; special cases, possibly defect; second class citizens; excluded from the normal “Us” which is obviously not a fun situation to be in. However, the standards are largely negotiable (again, depending who you are), variable, expandable, and evolving over time.
That gives some hope and space to model one’s own version of normality which others may or may not accept.
Recently, my husband video filmed our dogs playing in the yard. Watching the video afterwards, I saw myself throwing a toy for the dogs and it struck me how clumsy and young I looked. I looked like I have always looked, but not how I thought I looked, or how I thought adult me would look. Not how I thought adults automatically get to look in their 40s.
I remember, when I was (briefly) in therapy for social anxiety some years ago, how the psychologist assumed that I assumed that everybody can see my feelings, as if I’m transparent. Well, I didn’t assume that. But maybe I am actually a lot more transparent than I think.
Maybe many of my little habits that I assume are not noticeable, are totally noticeable to other people. Maybe my “invisible ear plugs” are not invisible much. Maybe the normality I’ve tried to cling to in the past without much idea of what it really took to be normal, was like The Emperor’s New Clothes. Maybe many people could totally tell that I was “off” in some way, but nobody said anything (to me) while I battled on to pretend I behaved enough like everybody else to pass.
Reflections like that makes me feel possibly naked.
However, I’m pretty sure that I’m the best I’ve ever been at passing. I’ve now have a vast solid repetoir of proven tips and coping strategies which I have accumulated and refined through many years.
Social development has a cumulatively long term effect so after starting to reach a critical mass of social learning, it becomes increasingly easier to understand social rules and see other peoples’ perspectives; it is like having collected enough of a puzzle to begin to see coherent elements of the bigger picture; then it becomes easier and easier to fit the next piece.
I’m avoiding most of the scenarios on the “problematic” list most of the time. I’m married and live in a quiet house with a yard fully enclosed behind a tall colorbond fence. I spend most of my time alone. I rarely see human friends apart from my husband, and my interactions are usually with my husband and my dogs.
I work independently with my base at home. My work interactions are with respondents I interview and then never see again. My work is flexible enough that I can usually fit in an off day if I can’t bear to see people. I don’t go to dinners or parties if I can help it.
Going to Church on Sundays is the main socially outgoing activity outside work, and I enjoy singing in the worship team. That’s my main social contribution in Church and outside of that role, I feel pretty alien from most of the other Church goers and their Christian rhetoric. I dread Meet & Greet, which is a few minutes of unstructured mingling (like speed-dating, just with greetings: speed-greeting) scheduled into the sermons.
Some people may think that I’m lonely and should socialise more. Nothing could be further from the truth. I crave more solitude than I have to work on my always booming back-log of creative projects. I hate interruptions. My sense of purpose and meaning in life depends on what I make; and I need plenty of quiet solo time to carry out my ideas. I love reading, learning, creating and trying things out, and none of that requires direct people interaction. I never get bored when I have freedom to do what I want.
I guess it is somewhat illustrative that I don’t have time to watch TV (except during disasters) even though I only work part time and rarely go out. I’m not sure precisely what I spend so much time on because I’m not nearly as productive as I would like to be, but my time always flies.
Even though I’m more solitaire, absorbed in my own interests and much less attentive to people than what most people consider normal (especially for women), I’m passing much better than previously. In many ways, I’m passing better because I don’t try so hard to pass so I’m more relaxed and don’t panic; and because I live an everyday life customised to avoid overload.
Thinking of how it is to try too hard to pass reminds me of a story about a monkey trap**, which is often used by motivational speakers. Apparently some native people somewhere trapped monkeys by filling nuts into a hollow tree, where they had made a hole big enough so that a monkey could get a stretched hand through the hole reaching for the nuts, but not a fistful of nuts out. The monkeys would trappe themselves because once a monkey had grabbed a handful of nuts then it wouldn’t let go of the nuts and therefore couldn’t get its hand out.
Trying too hard to pass can be like such a monkey trap when you can’t get it and you can’t let go, and as a result, remain trapped rather than move on to find real available resources vital to your survival and wellbeing.
More related posts
- I am not like you by Andraya
- Hiding Stims by Andraya
- Owning Autism by Ben Forshaw
- Hovering on the Fringe by Cynthia Kim
*The quote is obviously rubbish as far as ducks are concerned, because they don’t paddle like hell, but the metaphor works well to describe the idea of working very hard to convey an image of calm ease.
** No proper references for this one, only rumours. It may be a myth but it is still a good metaphor.