not talking

Hello, reader.  How are you doing?  You know I’m able to be around people these days in a conventional manner.  Well, I stim a lot and cry extra, and I laugh at the wrong times.  I might say something inappropriate.  But I’m disabled and have the autism.  When I was young, there were years I didn’t really talk.  I’ve been thinking a lot about not talking.

I met a new friend who mostly doesn’t talk with his mouth.  He talks by typing on his phone and showing the other person the screen.  At first I thought he was Deaf.

This is my first friend who’s not talking with his mouth.  Previously I was the only person I knew like that.  So it’s bringing a lot of questions to mind.

Well, I said that my new friend talks by typing on his phone.  But let me tell you another idea.  I would hazard to say– he talks by being actually present with another person.  The intimacy of not talking with our mouths is an exquisite pleasure.  I think we are talking way better, by not talking.  You could call it telepathic, but I experience it just as being real.

monster

Long ago when I was in grad school, I almost never talked in class.  It got to the point that people thought I didn’t speak at all.  The rare few times I actually did say something, I spoke because my reaction to what was going on around me was so strong, I felt like I had to.  My classmates would freak out.  It was too big a deal.

My classmates had turned me into something I was not, in their minds.  They turned me into a monster.

Not that I was hated, but I was feared.  Some people liked me and tried reaching out.  But I was so traumatized at that point, I trusted no one, and talking seemed completely pointless.  I’d just endured a childhood, teenhood, and early young adulthood of hardcore abuse and needed a decade off.  Ok– honestly, I needed almost two decades off.

The way I was treated for not talking was confusing because I was just doing what I needed to do.  It wasn’t about them.  But my silence was more than my wordy classmates could handle.  They took it personally.  There wasn’t a respectful space, or understanding patience.  My way of being wasn’t seen as a valid difference.  They projected on me incredibly.

Projected means they made shit up and attached it to me, and that didn’t go well for anyone.  What they made up was inaccurate.

power in groups

Later when I was in my late 30s and had rested from the early abuse, I felt more strong in myself and wasn’t terrified of people.  But it was still really hard for me to talk in groups.  I didn’t like talking in groups because there was no space for me.  The things I had to say didn’t go along with what the other people were saying.

Now I see it as mostly autism, which I didn’t know about at the time.  But obviously I had social differences, like I didn’t understand when it was ok for me to talk.  I didn’t want to interrupt people, and I felt very different in how I see the world and what matters to me.

My words didn’t fit with the other words.  And I wasn’t motivated to say unfitting things and risk deeper discomfort, being ostracized in a group.

But again, much like grad school, my silence meant people projected on me.  There was no respect for the Mystery or cautious acceptance like I would have preferred.  In fact, I got into trouble when someone at a recurring social event accused me of harshly judging her.  Wow!  Because I didn’t talk, this person made up that I was judging her and complained to the host, who brought it up with me privately.

That put me in a difficult position.  Should I force myself to talk in the group in order to stop incorrect assumptions?  I was angry that a stranger’s insecurity was being made my responsibility.  When someone makes stuff up about me, it’s not my job to correct them.

Something was going on with power.  As a fat, crazy, queer, quiet person, I had lower rank in the group.  This ostensibly able, straight white person objected to me and asked the host to confront me because she could.  At the time, I didn’t have analysis of fucked power dynamics.  I just cried and didn’t go back.

needs

I developed a strong belief-value that not talking is valid.  From that point on, I wanted to help create a world where it’s neutral and completely acceptable, if people talk or don’t talk.

Even if other people didn’t realize it, I was contributing to a group even when I said zero words.  My attentiveness, care, and spirit are part of the group, even if I say nothing.  My soul is there, shining its light, moving in concert with the souls of everyone else there.

Words are not the important thing.  I was showing up for

• facial expressions
• body language
• touch
• sharing food
• a smile
• a sigh
• laughter
• a second of eye contact
• emotional warmth
• being welcome at the table

Others’ obsession with chatter is ok, but not for me.

True I like words–I was always a writer.  Writing makes more sense to me than speaking with my mouth.

I wanted not talking to be no big deal, but I couldn’t find a place where it was no big deal.

change

Then I started talking more.  I started the Las Vegas Radical Mental Health Collective eight years ago, and I facilitated most meetings.  Facilitating is different from regular talking in a group because I have a role.

It was uncomfortable at first, but I think I got good at it in my own way.  “In my own way” is how I need to do almost everything.  That’s my disabilities.

But I never forgot that dream of making a world where not talking is ok.  There are so many ways of being.  We need to widen the narrow range.  Normal is so confining!  With gender, class, race, disability, sexuality, spirituality…  all different ways of being matter.  Let’s tear down hierarchy and be who we are.

Respect means I might not understand what you’re up to, but I will err on the side of believing that you are a miraculous child of the Divine.  As long as you’re not hurting anyone, I’m here to learn.  If I don’t understand what you’re up to, all the better, because that means I might learn something valuable.

I’m happy to spend time with all kinds of people, but especially disabled people.  I love disabled people the most.

• in movement
• in silence
• water
• nature
• with pleasure
• holding difficult feelings
• in complex situations
• in tears
• pain
• joy

I’m committed to you, disabled people.  Talking with our mouths, or not talking.