I, in fact we, came close to throwing in the towel this
weekend. Let me just say, for the record, it is so hard to be in an
Aspergers/neurotypical partnership – for both of us! We cling on by the skin of
our teeth and crawl forwards with gritty determination. Not because we feel
like it, a lot of the time, but because we’ve committed ourselves to each
other: and because we’ve got three small children who need us to be together.
And because, to be frank, although struggling through together is pretty grim
quite a lot of the time, the alternative would be worse, I think. We’d be poorer,
if not emotionally then definitely financially. In fact, I’m not sure how we’d
do it. And we’d both be miserable and feel we’d failed and, although I push
Ethan to his limits a lot of the time, I think, without me and the kids, he
would let his Aspergers get the better of him and lead a pretty lonely life.
Our major problem I’d say, if I had to pick one issue out,
is communication. How we both do (or don’t) communicate – in our words as well
as in what we don’t say, in our tone and in our expressions.
I spend most of my time feeling that Ethan is disapproving
or grumpy, as I’ve mentioned before. Largely because the natural relaxed state
of his face is a frown. He seems to find it very difficult to smile– even when
he’s happy. I’d settle for neutral but even that evades him. Secondly, he
misses out great chunks of essential information when he communicates a
message. What his head is thinking isn’t what comes out. Take Saturday
morning, and part two of the helium balloon saga (those bloody balloons have caused nothing but trouble!)...
Ethan had got the kids to write messages on a piece of paper
that he’d tied to a helium balloon and was going to set free in the garden. Sam
had been griping about not wanting to let the balloon go, largely ignored by
Ethan, but went along with writing his part of the message anyway. As they
headed outside, Sam piped up again that he really didn’t want to let the
balloon go. So Ethan said, ‘You don’t have to let it go.’ Sam instantly calmed
down. All was peaceful until, ten seconds later Ethan, along with Ava and
Oliver, let the balloon go. Sam started wailing and ran inside – not only upset
that this balloon was gone forever but also that, from his point of view, daddy
had outright lied to him. I, being me, marched out and challenged Ethan in
front of the kids, as he was trying to enjoy a ‘moment’ with Ava and Oliver. From
his point of view, I ruined his moment and he felt unduly criticised and
belittled by me in front of the kids. He couldn’t understand what the issue
was. Sam always acted like that, according to Ethan. And he’d told him, quite
plainly, that he didn’t have to let the balloon go. Ava and Oliver could do it.’
Only the problem was that he hadn’t added on ‘Ava and Oliver can do it.’ He’d
stopped at ‘You don’t have to let the balloon go.’ Which, to Sam’s mind (as
would be the case with most kids – if not adults too) meant that the balloon
was safe. Ethan didn’t get it – AND SMIRKED: which sent my irritation levels
through the roof. I told him to stop smirking. He told me he wasn’t smirking
(he truly didn’t realise that he was. Apparently inappropriate reactions – such
as laughing when someone dies (or loses their balloon!) – are quite common from
people with Aspergers). He followed this by telling me to shut up and stay away
from him and stormed out of the house, slamming the door as he went.
Ava then joined in the wailing and told Oliver and Sam that
mum and dad were going to get a divorce and that they wouldn’t see daddy
anymore. Cue three wailing kids.
Ethan stayed out all day – he only came back at 9pm because I
had to work. During the course of the
day both of us contemplated the possibility of separating. And the kids definitely
contemplated it! But, as always, when tensions and frustrations calmed down, we
managed to talk things through, and we struggle on. Because, despite the
arguments, the kids are better with us together and because in different ways,
and for different reasons, we need each other. I’ve gone back to the Asperger’s
books – I still know so little about the Syndrome. And life goes on.