Sunday 25 August 2019

Holidays, autistic-style


Holidays as an autistic person: a thread on why holidays are possibly evil but probably worth it in the end.  Let's start with holidays abroad. Now, I love the idea of travel. Adore it. Read about it, write about it, it's great. In theory.

The realities of travel overseas makes my autistic brain explode in a myriad of lights and misery. Sorry for being dramatic. /2

My mind can fill with Romantic ideas of sitting on quiet station platforms in the shadow of unknown mountains, waiting for a train to who knows where, alive to the possibility of wandering.Reality is I'm terrified and worried my ticket won't work and what if there's no toilet? /3

Anxious all the time, as it's too beyond my comfort zone and I'm being besieged by new data, new sights, new experiences. I enjoy this, but the anxiety makes it tiring and spoils it a bit. There was a toilet. But I didn't know how to flush it so couldn't go.

Me, on holiday, probably not happy. 


Arriving in a new place I'm agog at the excitement of it all and eager to get involved, but end up spending most of the time in my hotel room. I've learned to be OK with this. /5

I've realised if a new routine is established quickly, then a ratio of out and about touristing vs recharging in my hotel room of about 2:5 is achievable. If you have an autistic person that hangs around you, then bear this in mind. /6

In 2013 I spent a few days alone in Paris. I had dreamed of eating in fine restaurants, drinking French beer in busy cafes late at night, reading Les Miserables, maybe even take up smoking briefly to really get in the spirit (joking). But I didn't manage this. /7

Ten minutes in a French cafe near Les Invalides had me almost in tears, as I *couldn't* get the waiter to take me seriously. I knew Parisien waiters were tricky but my #autistic learned understanding of subtext and body language was not up to thd task in this alien place. /8

I survived on coffee from Starbucks and frites from a takeaway near the Gare du Nord. Cheap though! I made up for this by going in basically every museum and art gallery there was, with hours recharging in my room each day. It was awesome /9

But all this was only possible because I was alone. For me, travel alone is the only way to travel as I can adjust my expectations for myself without worrying about others. And I'm aware that I'm lucky to be able to do such things - not all #autistic folks can.
/10

Travel abroad with other people is a whole new world of difficulty.

As a teenager I didn't holiday well. The change of routine, the new, more difficult daily expectations of me, all too much. I enjoyed my holidays with family but I know I was a nightmare to be around. /11

I had none of my safety blankets abroad. No Nintendo 64, no MTV 2, no familiar food, drink or faces. And crucially I didn't know I was #autistic at this point, so I felt tremendous guilt that my favourite holiday was the one I took my Game Boy Color with me (Pokemon Gold!) /12

And I've always operated by keeping what I now know to be my #autistic traits as secret as possible, having meltdowns in isolation, not stimming around people. This worked at home but did not work on holiday, where you're far more pushed together with your family. /13

I used to live from meal to meal, as mealtimes were structured and familiar and safe with few surprises or unexpected occurrences. Also I drank beer. Not a huge amount, but enough to shave the sharpest points of anxiety away. /14

If you have your own #autistic person, then please be mindful that you'd idea of heaven may be their idea of hell. It's quite emotionally fraught as you're meant to enjoy holidays, and failing to enjoy an expensive holiday is a real guilt trip. Know the limitations. /15

But don't get me wrong, for me at least holidays were still great and I love the new experiences once I'm accustomed to them, and after the fact. And what are holidays if they're not good-memory-generators? In this regard they worked. But in the moment, not so much. /16
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1 comment:

  1. This is exactly my feelings about holidays, and staying anywhere else overnight in general.

    My own mother (now living in a care home with severe dementia) has always been a bit of a perfectionist with high expectations whenever it comes to holidays, regardless of location or accommodation type, and she was always finding things wrong with hotel rooms (and other aspects of the premises, and their surroundings), holiday parks, static caravans, you name it, which often resulted in massive rows between her and my dad, which was extremely unpleasant being stuck in the thick of.

    She also used to have hissy fits over my (often ASD-related) behaviours, even things that are relatively trivial in the grand scheme of things, such as me talking too loudly in a gift shop whilst on holiday in Cornwall in the summer of 1991 (when I was 14), in which my mom accused me of spoiling the whole holiday for her, plus another incident on the same holiday where my younger brother (who was 11 at the time) got his shorts wet and dirty whilst paddling in the sea and my mom went berserk at him and also went on to play the 'you've spoilt the whole holiday for me' card once again!

    And all over a poxy pair of shorts soiled by a largeish wave, again inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, especially as my brother had plenty of other (clean) pairs of shorts, etc, to last the entire week away, but yet another subject of 'war and peace', along with the usual rows between my parents, especially over my mom's endless gripes about the weather whenever it rained.

    Pete, as for your trip to Paris on your own, you certainly had the guts to do it, where I couldn't even visit Birmingham (my nearest big city) on my own just for a couple of hours, let alone staying a few days outside of the UK unsupported.

    Sorry for the long essay once again.

    Regards, RC.

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