Birthday anxiety

Last Wednesday, I turned 28 with the full lockdown birthday experience. Even amid all the restrictions, I was very blessed. I was showered with presents, cards, and birthday messages, and enjoyed a slap-up meal of curry and cake. Apart from anything, I was glad to have something to look forward to in an otherwise very boring time.

The other week, however, I was thinking about the anxiety I always get right before my birthday. Don’t get me wrong, I always manage to enjoy it. Who doesn’t like getting presents and cake? But upon reflection, I realised that my birthday has, in the past, had quite the knack for either causing me stress, or falling at a stressful time.

The earliest example of this would be my 4th birthday, in Taiwan. My memories of it are hazy, but I know that it was the same day that my mum officially found out about my father’s antics with other women. Not long after that, she took me and moved back to the UK, and life as I had known it changed completely.

As a child, I liked parties in theory, and would always get excited before one. Enduring them was a whole other matter. When the social and sensory overload became too much, I would retreat into my room with a book or my soft toys. I don’t think I realised this, but it was my way of recharging. Luckily, one year Mum came up with a birthday party theme that suited me down to the ground: arts and crafts! It was something I was good at, and in having everyone sitting together doing a structured activity, it reduced the usual party chaos.

Once I reached secondary school, the social scene grew more complicated. I was always on the fringes of any social group at best. Suddenly, birthdays (mine and others’) were an uncomfortable reminder of how unpopular I was. I didn’t get invited to many parties, and always worried about how well attended my own would be. I was gutted one year when all but one of my birthday guests were unable to make it because they’d been invited to another social event. I always ended up doing something fun, but the social pressure and the sense of isolation never fully left me.

Also, being in March, my birthdays often coincided with tests, mock exams, or some other stressful occurrence. This continued during my uni years. In first year, I had a surprise Journalism assessment sprung upon me. In second year, I was dealing with a toxic friendship. In third year, to top things off, my birthday was 48 hours before the deadline of a major group project, in which my group was way behind everyone else and trying not to hate each other.

And finally, there was last year, the start of the pandemic. Having changed my birthday plans at the last minute, I ended up packing a load of my stuff and moving back in with my mum and stepdad three days later. I was really sad to leave my life behind, and even now, it feels like a sobering anniversary to look back on. But on the bright side, I was desperate to fast forward a year, and now I am at that point in time! Things are still far from perfect, but I am cautiously optimistic that this year will be easier. Touch wood.

Social gatherings and my internal monologue

I have a love-hate relationship with social gatherings. I have attended various ones in my life, and how much I enjoy them depends on a few things. Firstly, is there anyone going who I know well? Not someone I’ve been in the same room as before. Nor someone who recognises me who I don’t recognise back. Someone I actually feel comfortable socialising with. Secondly, do I have the mental capacity for being surrounded by people right now?

One of the things I and many autistic people struggle with is sensory overload. How can you focus with so much background noise? And reading other people. At gatherings, people stand around in groups, then shift from one to another, while I’m lingering in the background having no idea what to do. Should I go and talk to that person? How do I join in the conversation? What do I say? Then, for good measure, I might casually wander over to a group of people, wait for a pause in their conversation, only to awkwardly fade into the background again when it never comes.

I’m not much better when people come and talk to me, either. I know how to make small talk, but when I’m tired, stressed, or distracted by my surroundings, I can barely muster it up. Even when people I know talk to me, I sometimes find it hard to filter out everything else I can see and hear. It’s not that I’m not listening – I may well be hearing them loud and clear. It’s just that I can hear too many other things loud and clear as well.

If I had an internal monologue in situations like that, it would go something like this (complete with fictional names):

And it’s time to mingle again…should I talk to someone?…I can hear Emma and Jack talking behind me about work…I’d forgotten about her new job…wait, is that cake over there?…why do children have to scream so much?…definitely cake, yay!…OH MY GOSH someone just tapped me on the shoulder…she’s trying to talk to me…no, no, it’s ok, I’m fine thanks…that was so awkward, why do neurotypicals always have to touch me…kids, please shut up for a moment…was I weird? Annoying? Unfriendly?…should I try and catch Jane before she leaves?…oh wait, Sam is coming to chat to me…must make eye contact, but not too much…hmm, it sounds like he’s had a tough week…again with the yelling, children?…now people behind me are having a loud conversation, I can’t focus…what are they laughing at?…and I’ve lost my train of thought again… 

See what I mean? It’s draining. When you look at it like that, it’s no surprise that social gatherings can get a bit much. I’m autistic, and an introvert, and need my space. And yet I like to be included and to have friends. So how do I compromise? We all have our strategies, but for me, these three points are key:

1. Gather the facts about any social gathering you might be attending, so you know what to expect. How long will it go on for? Who’s likely to be there? What’s going to happen? As obsessive as this might sound, I really need to form a mental picture in my head of what to expect.
2. Don’t be ashamed of being socially awkward. If I have friends or family with me, they’re not going to care. Even if not, these things are draining enough without me beating myself up internally the whole time.
3. Take some time alone afterwards. Whether you’re autistic, or just very introverted, the only way you can present at your best in these situations is by recharging your brain afterwards.