Tangled Emotions

29/07/20

Yesterday I managed to flush out the stuck feelings. Even if that meant picking a hallow argument about unmet motherly needs with oldest.

I still don’t feel much lighter. Maybe it’s pms, as the sister picked up on. And the snapping doesn’t help. Everything just tangled together. I am back to being unable to communicate with neurotypical adolescent daughter because her snarky voice is painful. The tone, pitch, the backchat. It’s the same theme I complained about to all three. Lack of respect. How are they to find respect when their father done such a good job of portraying me as the weak, mentally incapable and unstable parent, with whom their life will be a failure?

I seen how his ploy was working so well. I am the emotional mess and he is the calm. I just shut myself out from all three and let it out. For the past week those images returned in my head.

Get a knjfe to the arm.

That’s exactly what he wants. But it’s a release. No one sees how even while not living with us, he seeks control. His mind games mess with the kids. Oldest had to have a non-human contact day last Friday because he was so exhausted. He laster told me that he had a cry that made him feel lighter. I told him I was proud that he recognised his emotions and let himself cry it all.

Interestingly, the boys were not in a hurry to go back for another week. It took them a week to recover from the last one.

I have regressed to my poor focus and motivation, becoming addicted to Bubble Shooter, finding it relaxing. Actually playing that helped me listen to business coaching last night. Pen and paper to hand and playing the game then stopping to take notes. It reminded me of narrowing teachers expectations on autistic pupils.

After the blow of emotions, today, both of were trying to make sense of what happened. I managed to explain that I also have needs of wanting to feel respected and valued and my children weren’t showing this at all. This actually enlighten oldest son.

“Oh, I thought needs were one way in parent-child relationship. The parents tends to the child’s needs.”

Then he went to realise, “that what a spouse is for.”

A big shrug from me followed.

“Well I don’t have one. He didn’t exactly fulfil that need either.”

and then I pointed out, which may have been provoked because of a recent (painfully long) phone call with my father, who I would call estranged, and just very strange.

“I don’t fair well on the male relationship front. No father, no brother, no husband. Just two sons. But the difference is that I raised you two, I have some control on your influences, values and behaviour. I want to shape you to be caring, empathic, self reflecting and able to keep good relationships.”

What’s hurt me so much is the thought of going to court to settle child contact. I have had enough waiting. Some may appreciate that autistics hate waiting . It’s torture. I have been good waiting out for negotiation but not that I have move forward, just to hurt me, he wants to argue in court. It’s the waiting to get a settlement done that’s hard to swallow. The stress of not being able to demonstrate that I am their best option, the fear of not being believed. Not many believe me. I refer to those with power to do something. They never believe me. Whereas he can so easily push my buttons, set off the reactions and say “told you so, she is incapable of being a good mother.”

I leave with one fact, as that’s all I use to reassure myself.
The social worker pointed out that in May, during lockdown, the oldest was doing well and we didn’t require their support.

“Oh that’s because he didn’t visit his father and I helped him with understanding the online learning systems (well I was his PA writing out his diary of to do and he calmed down hugely.

…oh, school and his father caused the meltdowns. I am the one constant that doesn’t harm him!”

Holding the Strings

Many people think that once the you have separated, that the abuse is over.

The taste for control is so addictive that the addict will do anything to get a hit. Whether that means hurting their own children, or even blocking their own future progression. In the rage of vengeance, they are blind to the damage caused around them. Just to spite the freed spouse.

Live in peace, or part in peace.

He used to quote this throughout our marriage, every time he wanted to threaten a divorce. Now that it’s finally time, why hold back? Why deny our own beliefs. Doesn’t his faith dictate this? Isn’t he a part of a religion that means peace?

In an abusive marriage, the hurt continues, but in a distant way. This time the children are the means in which to control the spouse. It’s very common, and clever. More so with autistic sons. No boundaries, routines, infiltrating their head space without them even knowing. Drip feeding ‘propaganda’, as oldest described once, so that when they return home, I get the emotional outbursts and meltdowns. All the crap that was being held in is spewed out.

Then, any single minded observer would see how happy and easy the boys are with him (similar to how schools perceive them), leaving the blame of the messy emotions and struggles on me. It must be her. She can’t handle them, she doesn’t look after them. She is the bad mother.

Why don’t you just go away from them?

I was almost fooled to believe that I was parenting them wrongly. I did walk out for sake of my mental health when he pushed me out before. Not this time. I stood firm this time. I couldn’t let him in my head. I am the dumping ground for them because I am the safe person. I am forgiving. One man telling them and me that I suck at mothering, isn’t going to change our beliefs.

So as much as he tries to hurt me through them, with hidden threats to take them away, even from their sister, he can’t do anything but make horrid offensive noise. It’s hurts as a braying sound would and nothing more.

He doesn’t get the strings anymore.

The Outlaw

“When a [wo]man is denied the right to live the life [s]he believes in, [s]he has no choice but to become an outlaw.” Nelson Mandela

It’s sad that I see the plight of many single mothers in this.

I was called out for being an ‘outlaw’ yesterday.

I woke up this morning, heavy and bruised. Morning after of an emotional beating. I don’t get why I have to be badmouthed when he had an issue with his daughter. What’s this got to do with my sister ‘being a home wrecker’? Like she was involved in our marriage, right? She made you scream at me in front of the kids over the course of 16 years. Was it her who taught you that you own me?

Only in recently is she beginning to learn what happened behind the closed doors all this time. I was denied sharing my feelings and experiences to anyone out with these four walls. I was denied choice of spending my own time and money. Even choice over my body because that was yours too. Her name was dragged in because she became an outlaw two years earlier, after 8 years of tolerating abuse in the name of family honour.

it’s too easy to blame, discredit, and badmouth the ones who take away power from your… when that power wasn’t yours to begin with. Believing that your are the victim.

“Allah loves woman more” that’s why we should be putting up with ill treatment? It’s nonsense like this that make woman believe they have no agency, no voice and are wrong to call out narcissistic behaviour. I did just that yesterday and this is what I got. It’s a shame that such beliefs are still being peddled by some in our next generation. I was accused of being “ill”, that’s why I have/had marital issues. The only illness I suffered was depression resulting from ableism, sexism and narcissism. When it came to seeking the cure, I am the outlaw?

FYI- men and women are equal, all of them, and the only thing that differentiates between them, are their actions. So I will tell every woman here, Muslim or not, autistic or not, Pakistani or not… you have every right to call out narcissistic behaviour. Anyone stopping you is the problem. Move past them to get to your solution. There is no burden of responsibility to tolerate abuse in the name of keeping family together. What people don’t understand is that living together isn’t family, loving is.

A few things I had to teach my daughter the night before she was to face her father-

Don’t wait for your place to be given to you because it never will be; you have to show up and take it.
To be heard you use the magic formula of partial agreement.
You can take down illogical and abusive beliefs respectfully, just don’t accept them and never let those nasty words sink in,
Weak men are afraid of strong woman.

The hardest lesson for her, though, was to learn from her mistakes instead of calling herself an idiot and unlovable.

If outlaw is a label that received for being happy and relieved from abuse, then it’s one I encourage everyone to wear.

Why Am I Not Crying?

My brain has been super distracted this week.

I have this undercurrent storming below with a mellow sunshine glistening on the surface.

I dare say it… do I miss being sad?

Was I supposed to cry on Monday? 13th July marked two sad events. The day I married and the day my aunt suddenly died. I sat at the PC pretending to get on with business but my brain was like a ping pong ball. I kept swinging and swirling on the chair, the usual 12984 browsers and apps open on all possible devices available. My eyes managed to only find relief looking at numbers in the accounts. Something factual, easy to follow and easy to complete. A false sense of productivity that didn’t actually satisfy me. Then I would switch to another spreadsheet and online forms. Two in fact. Let’s do some of the charity admin instead.

I was sad but happy. Happy that I am finally emotionally free (not legally, yet) but sad that I had predicted this outcome literally from day 1, yet I ignored my gut feelings. Did anyone else ever consider divorce as they signed their marriage contract? I know I had to go through with it in the name of family ‘honour’ and it really was my own doing.

My aunt, although not blood related, was the only extended family I experienced on a genuinely caring level. With her death, all the flash backs of each and every crises my family went through flooded back. But not this year.

Then the following day Facebook kindly reminded me of another death anniversary of a cousin. With him, I have childhood memories of my time as a 8 year old in Pakistan. A time when I believed I had an extended family who cared for us. A time of great fun in the sun with my older siblings whose companionship I lost in subsequent years. Yet I couldn’t react.

I feel like the storm needs to surface, but I would rather it didn’t. Bit of an inconvenience really. I am in my new life now, where strangely enough, I don’t feel stuck anymore. What will help process this so that I can focus? Am I insensitive?

I prayed for the departed souls and for my legal freedom. I took stock of my course in life as a result of ignoring my gut. I have to be grateful and at each point say, alhumdulilla, all praises are due to Allah, the Exalted.

Another Perspective

This one isn’t about me.

Today I listened to my dear friend cry, but I was smiling.

I couldn’t express the full extent of my understanding of her experiences she retold over the phone: I could predict them. I was chuffed I had analysed the problem correctly and now my brain was on the search for a solution in the background as she spoke.

The problem is exactly the reason why I write- to raise awareness of the existence of brown autistics. Yes we exist under a blanket of ‘genius’ or ‘gamer’, ‘just unsociable’. For females, it’s a life of being forced to conform, to be ‘proper’, stop asking questions, stop being awkward, abrupt, rude, moody, difficult, bossy.

For the males, the brown parents bow down and accept the autistic tendencies and therefore they don’t see any other way of being. The are just fed their interests and closed them off as just being boys. The need for emotion intelligence is alien. As long as they are good spirited, there really is no need to accept or teach the diversity.

And this was the issue. In the 10 years I knew my friend I seen her husband as being extremely technical, a geek in his own gaming world and no more. I didn’t see much more because his wife was so giving and accommodating. She was blind in her love and hope. Hope for companionship and emotional and social interaction. I was nowhere near beginning my own journey of discovery either. But now that I undeniably accept my own and my sons’ autism, with the curses and blessings, I totally see exactly what she experiences! She experiences an adult version of my teen, who would have grown with no accountability or self awareness. Thankfully I highlight my son’s differences, teach him to love himself with his limitations and enable him to own his autism. What I also do is actively teach him his sister’s point of view or spell out her feelings, and help translate the world around him.

I genuinely didn’t know what to do to make her feel better other than listen, acknowledge her experiences, tell her she is trying her best and it’s not her fault. This didn’t come out years ago because she had the energy and hope but now her mask was falling off.

Normally, it’s us neurodiverse ones who suffer the neurotypical world, but today I seen the other perspective. The only way I can help is by helping her understand the autistic brain, which is unique person to person, so even that is limited.

The biggest issue is his denial of neurodiversity. How do you get a person who doesn’t even acknowledge mental health or states because of his deep rooted misbeliefs stemming from subcontinental culture, to even discuss autism?

We are failing as a community so seriously and dangerously to acknowledge how diverse the spectrum is. For Asians an autistic is only the one who cannot speak and has learning difficulties with obvious behaviour problems. What about the other end of the spectrum? How can I complain about Asians who shun depression when I still struggle educators to shift their mindset about my own offspring.

I don’t want my future daughter in law to cry in despair like my friend did today. All she asked for is empathy, human touch, emotional connection. Unfortunately for her, her spouse isn’t wired like that. Being an Asian wife, she feels she can’t even take a break (yes in 2020) for fear of being blamed because he doesn’t do anything wrong. It would be understood that she is out to ruin her marriage because she takes a stand (oh do I know that feeling).

This experience she gave me highlighted how the world is so different for high end spectrum Asian men than women. (I know this is true for all cultures but more so for Eastern.) I bet if was born a boy, my mother wouldn’t have blamed me so much for my strangeness, apparent rudeness or angry outbursts and meltdowns. My gaming and screen addictions would be normal, my inability to be flexible would be accommodated. Imagine if I stayed in that state all my married life (and I obviously did have my difficulties and meltdowns, but they weren’t tolerated), I wonder if it would have lasted as long as it did.

Self Worth

It’s weird how throughout our life we pass many people. It’s like a bus where passengers hop on and off but some stay longer and others don’t leave.

It also depends where the bus is going which determines which kind of passengers get on board. We are the driver but not always in control of who we attract.

This week I faced the question of how do I present myself as to not attract the wrong people. Why are my loved ones so cautious of who I gravitate to, or vice verse. What vibes am I sending out?

“Available to take advantage of”

“Keen to please”

“Seeking self worth”

Imagining my marketing boards right now!

I need to become more aware of how I bring people to me by looking at what I do in my initial reactions. When I give myself value, then, and only then will others attach value and respect to me. Easy, right?

I wish! It’s about stepping back and reframing my mind. Stop seeking validation in end results but being happy with myself. I suppose I have always chased results as a way to prove myself to myself and my two closest relationships. It just didn’t happen so I went on doing more and more until burnout. I don’t know any other way of being other than being busy and achieving.

What if I allowed myself just to be content with me? Independant of benchmarks and standards, forgetting a lifetime of comparisons which I fell short of?

I have low self worth because I failed in other people’s standards, namely, my mother, husband, and recruiters. When it came to academics, each lecturer in four universities were amazed by my work, which I dismissed!

Time to take control of the bus, get the route map out for an adventure and only allow passengers on who want to guide, sing along, or learn with me.

Our Core Beliefs

Despite being in and out of counselling over the past 20 years, I don’t ever remember being asked what my core beliefs were. I find it difficult to look inward and pinpoint my feelings and causes of my thoughts and actions.

Everyone bangs on about self-care, which is a foreign concept to me. At least I thought it was. It turned out that going to CBT last year was the best self-care I could ever do.

Together, with the therapist, I managed to articulate three core beliefs that my world revolved around. They were:

I am not good enough
I don’t fit in
That’s unfair

Throughout that year, with the help of identifying these core beliefs, I worked on dismantling my negative self-perception and how to change these.

My Aha! moment was when I stumbled across a lady with Asperger’s, I couldn’t believe the connection I felt with someone I barely knew. Her experiences were mine! I made my way to stalk autistic Facebook pages more and more and suddenly I felt myself gravitating toward a community that wrote, thought, and experienced the world like me.

Suddenly one of my core beliefs disappeared. I belonged! I fit in! I joined the Scottish Women’s Autism Network, where for the first time when I read, I read things I could have written. Where being coloured or Muslim made zero difference and being a woman celebrated.

What I realised was that all my life when I felt or believed that I didn’t fit in, it was because I was looking in the wrong places. I was desperate for approval from people who couldn’t imagine what my world was like. Even the one who birthed me.

Beginning of My Blog

I’m not good enough.

01\07\20

I have put this off long enough.

I wanted to make videos but I can’t stand looking at my face.

But I want a voice. I want to be heard… Not for sympathy. But to let that girl know she is not alone.

You are out there. Feeling like you don’t fit in anywhere. Not good enough for anyone or any group.

A girl, but not feminine, Scottish but not White. Coloured, but not Pakistani. Autistic, but not conforming.

That’s me. All 35 years.

Today I start writing. This is for me as much as it is for you.

This is about sharing my life because sadly it’s not unique. I would have taken consolation in the fact that my experiences are unique had they been. I don’t wish this struggle on my enemies.

This week I stepped up to help a sister who had suffered long enough at the hands of yet another narcissist. I listened and related to her, told her what to expect, the procedure, what happens now. When the chain comes off, the slave takes times to adjust to the newly gained freedom. Freedom to speak, move and think.

Not a unique experience, unfortunately.

“I did you a favour by marrying you…”

“I wouldn’t advice anymore to marry someone from a broken home/ with a child/ familial mental health issues / <insert degrading comment here>”

“If only you hadn’t <insert characteristic of individuality>”

“If only you listened to me”

“I suffered in this marriage. I have been kept back”

Familiar?

Wait, there’s more …

“Coconut”

“I am your master as stated in the Quran”

“You’re purpose is to serve me first and foremost”

“What’s the point of a wife if I can’t have sex when I want?”

I began to view marriage as halal prostitution. Only called upon when my services were required.

I felt ashamed, but I still thought it several times this week.

She is lucky. I wish I got that swollen eye and bruised arm.

Maybe the police and domestic abuse support charity would then have accepted me as a victim.

You see, I am a master of masking and understatements. On the surface, I seem to be articulate, confident, and able. Nobody cares to scratch the surface no matter what is underneath. Kind of like looking into a glass window only seeing your reflection and not what’s behind it.

This is going to be a hard read but before I want to leave this world I want to share my story.

Why? Because if we can entertain ourselves with stories of all sorts, then why not mine?

The Female Autistic Scottish Pakistani Muslim who didn’t belong.