How where you live impacts your autism
Country mouse vs. city mouse
Where do you live? I’m kidding. Don’t answer that. Lately I have been thinking about how particular spaces determine autistic functioning.
You know those songs you feel were written for you and about you? I feel that with John Mellencamp’s “Small Town.” From the moment I could, I got out of mine and headed for bigger pastures. Trouble is, although those bigger pastures were exciting and stimulating, they were too stimulating. Montreal felt just right in my student days, with its familiar downtown core, yet still I returned, tail duly between legs, most weekends to do my laundry and decompress in my hometown.
Later, I headed for the much bigger pastures of Europe. In London I felt ambushed. There were all too many sights and sounds striking from every angle. All too many people and cars and red double-decker buses squashed into one small corner of one small island.
I got sick, Reader. All the time. Nearly every week I was struck down with the most intense migraine attacks during which I spent 12-24 hours in bed, throwing up several times. I got so desperate, I tried every remedy from hypnotherapy to homeopathy and every drug my GP could prescribe. But nothing I threw at it made me well. This went on for three years. It was only once we moved out of the city and settled in a village an hour outside of London that I finally caught my breath and started to heal.
London was making me sick. Was that even possible? Of course I didn’t know I was autistic then, only that instead of energizing me the way it did my partner, the vibrancy of the city drained my lifeblood.
I was crestfallen. Still am. On one hand, I am a culture vulture; I love everything cities have to offer: galleries, restaurants, concerts, readings, performances… I love the anonymity of being a sheep among sheeple. No funny looks. No judgmental stares. There is something liberating about being able to let your freak fly in the city. Not least of which because there’s more potential for community and welcoming autistic spaces than in Nowheresville.
On the other, I now understand what I did not then: I need the restorative properties of a rural setting to feel whole and healthy.
These realizations were slow to land. It’s only been in the past 5 or so years that I’ve been able to see a clear pattern emerge. Within a few hours of returning to Toronto, I feel the effects in my body all over again.
Small town living often fills me with ennui and boredom, yet what’s the alternative?The older I get, the more intensely I feel the sensory blight of the city. In midlife, I am no better equipped to cope than when I landed in London at the ripe age of 22.
These days when I visit the Big Smoke, I wonder how I managed to live there for over a decade. I’ve heard the same said about autistic folks living in NYC. One afternoon spent in the thrum, and I am prostrate in a darkened room for hours…
Like Mr. Mellencamp (or Cougar or whatever he goes by) sings, “I can breathe in a small town.” I can definitely breathe easier in a small town, surrounded by nature, but can I ever be truly happy there? If I had to move back to the city again, could I do it? Could I survive it? Or would I constantly be hiding away, imprisoned by this cyclical pattern of sensory assault and recovery?
Are you team country mouse or team city mouse? What steps do you take to make your environment more autism friendly for yourself or your children?
I feel this - and thankfully, there are places that aren't rural *or* big city! I live in a medium-sized city with lots of green space (and a quiet, fenced in backyard) and get the best of both worlds. The pace of life is American Midwest-slow. There are lots of other autistic folks and we can easily get together. We're a couple of hours from big-city culture and less than 30 minutes from giant empty stretches of farmland.
My biggest issue with rural areas (and the reason I can't happily live in one) is that I thrive when I'm biking- or walking-distance to cafes and other gathering places where I can at least see other humans. I get so deeply lonely in rural areas or small towns, especially as a visibly queer person. Small towns like the one I grew up in can be really unwelcoming to anyone who's different.
I love seeing your perspective as an autistic adult. My son is 3 yo and we're team country mice. Even before we knew his diagnosis, there were days were he would be screaming for hours until we took him outside. We had to stay absolutely quiet and just let him watch the trees move and hear the nature around our home. When we do go into town or anywhere overstimulating we have to make sure we have his weighted vest on, or he'll easily go into a meltdown.