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Workings Out

Trying to make sense of some stuff and, also, have been fretting that I haven’t published a post yet this year, so I thought I’d combine the two.

The first page of my notes on reading Tania Marshall’s I Am Aspien Woman.
Screenshot from one of my many notebooks

This Post Has 6 Comments

  1. Scarlet

    Not sure if comments are working?

    1. Eryl

      They seem to be 🌞

  2. Scarlet

    Ah! I was saying: I’m still kinda sad that I didn’t magically grow up and suddenly know the exact right thing to do for any given occasion. I am a scruff and a dreamer and probably always will be.

    1. Eryl

      A dreamer, yes, but not a scruff! X

  3. steph newham

    Rather sad that it took me so long to recognise that along with being dyslexic there are other traits that I now see in younger family members mirroring the difference I always felt. I was in my late forties when I realised that I could recognise a member of ‘my’ tribe at twenty paces or ‘they’ recognised me. Was always a watcher, loner, not always obvious as I learnt to copy social skills..wore/wear my mask well. Safe and happy in my insular cocoon where creativity knows no bounds. sorry for cliche’. xx

    1. Eryl

      Sometimes only cliché will do!

      The person I feel most sad for is my mother. Now I know (much more) about autism I realise she had it and in many ways much worse than me (if, indeed, autism is my problem ). She really didn’t like being touched, for example, unless it was on her own terms. I remember her falling once, and about five of us, including three small kids, jumped to help her up, and she looked terrified.

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