Quirky Autistic

02/01/2025

The Beautiful Chaos of Family Life

Family life isn’t perfect. It isn’t tidy. It isn’t the kind of thing you see in magazines with pristine rooms and coordinated decor. Family life is messy and chaotic, bursting with noise, memories, and love. And our house is the perfect reflection of that.

The mantelpiece, for instance, is so full of family photos that there’s barely room for anything else. Each picture tells a story: the first school photo with a grinning small boy, the photo of 3 smalls doing headstands on an old sofa and the group shots where at least one person is pulling a face. It’s crowded, yes, but it’s us, frozen in moments we’ll never get back but always remember.

There’s the odd Christmas ornament, the one Hubbie brought back from Dubai. He liked it, so it came home with him. Now it sits there year after year, a little piece of our family’s quirks woven into the festive chaos. Above it hangs the wooden pentagram over the fire—a grounding, comforting symbol that feels right in this ever-moving home.

And that fire? It’s lit with a blow torch—because why not? Ever so slightly dangerous but effective, it’s become part of the ritual, part of the fun. The kids love it, and so do we.

The sofa is draped with the patchwork playmat I made during my fourth pregnancy. I stitched it as I waited for our surprise little girl. Not a surprise pregnancy—she was deeply wanted—but a surprise after three boys. That mat, full of anticipation and joy, now lives on as a part of our everyday life, softening the edges of chaotic days.

Above the sofa, the paper chains hang from the beam. They’ve been there since last Christmas, because when we made them, we decided they looked too good to take down. Over time, they’ve become a little battered—broken, thanks to teenage boys playing rugby in the house for the millionth time—but they still hang there, a reminder of family moments that linger.

On the floor, leaning against the wall, is a picture waiting to be hung. It’s been there for a year and a half, and if I’m honest, it’ll probably stay there forever. Next to it, there’s almost always a single birthday balloon, the last survivor of a celebration, floating lazily around as if it doesn’t want the party to end.

It’s messy, it’s chaotic, and it’s far from “show home ready.” But it’s mine. And it’s theirs. I love it all.

Every last bit of it.

02/01/2025

What do we think of this carpet?

Seen in a hotel.

01/01/2025

How Do You Know If You’ve Done a Good Job as a Parent?

Is it the exam results? The certificates, the prizes, the university degrees? Or is it the quiet moments that catch you off guard—like overhearing them on the phone with a work colleague, sounding so composed and professional that you barely recognise the little boy they once were?

Maybe it’s how they treat their siblings: the way they mobilise a mop and brush to clean the house together while you’re out doing the Christmas food shop, proving they can see what needs doing—and even how to clean a toilet when they set their minds to it.

Or is it the polite way they ask a supermarket worker for help, or the story they bring home about buying a sandwich and drink for a homeless man—after actually stopping to chat to him and ask him what he’d like?

It might be the kindness they show to girlfriends, even when they’ve experienced heartache themselves. Or the confidence to call an ambulance for a friend in trouble, knowing exactly what to do when it matters most.

Maybe it’s seeing them achieve more than you ever could, or the way they still come to you for advice, trusting your wisdom even as they carve their own path.

Who knows if there’s a single correct answer—or if there’s even supposed to be one?

What I do know is this: the same little boys who played sheep in their nativity plays (and nailed it every time—clearly, we make excellent sheep!) now leave me bursting with pride every day. Parenting them has been the hardest, most rewarding journey.

Parenting is tough. Parenting without family backup is even tougher. When it’s just the two of you, with no one else to call, you build your village out of friends, neighbours, and anyone who’ll stand beside you. And when you look back, you realise how wonderful it all was—how those moments, big and small, shaped who they’ve become.

This morning, Number 3 came home from a friend’s house and said, “Mum, I think I was a bit full-on when I was younger.” And he was. They all were, in their own way. Number 2 had his moments, and Number 1 —well, Number 1 is still Captain Sensible.

But in those moments of reflection, I see how far they’ve come. I see who they are. And I know, somehow, we’ve done okay.

31/12/2024

If anyone knows where 4 of these lovelies may be secretly hiding in my house, can you let me know?

Number 4 is very cross at not having her ‘Grandma’s’ chocolate reindeer this Christmas(that Grandma used to buy Number 4 and her siblings until she died).

I have carried the tradition on to keep the memory alive but I seem to have put them in a ‘safe place…’

😂

27/12/2024

Why I Love My Dryrobe (Even If It Makes Me Look Like a Rectangle)

Let me start by saying: my Dryrobe isn’t the most glamorous thing I’ve ever worn. In fact, Hubbie affectionately refers to me as “the rectangle” when I wear it. But honestly? I don’t care. This coat has brought me more comfort than any fashionable jacket ever could.

Here’s why:

Layers Upon Layers Without the Bulk

One of the best things about my Dryrobe is the freedom it gives me underneath. I can wear whatever I want—comfy leggings, a hoodie, or three mismatched layers—and it doesn’t matter. The Dryrobe’s design hides it all, and somehow, it never feels too tight or awkward.

Unlike other coats, the Dryrobe doesn’t restrict me, even when I’m bundled up. I can layer as much as I want without feeling like a marshmallow, which is a massive win during cold-weather outings.

The Weight Feels Like a Hug

This might be my favorite part: the Dryrobe is heavy. Not uncomfortably so, but just enough that it feels like a wearable weighted blanket.

For me, the pressure and weight of the Dryrobe are incredibly calming. It regulates my system in the same way a weighted blanket does—it’s grounding, soothing, and somehow makes me feel more “me.” I didn’t expect this when I first put it on, but now I realise it’s one of the reasons I love it so much.

Real Pockets = Real Joy

Let’s talk about the pockets. If you’ve spent years dealing with fake or uselessly tiny pockets, you’ll understand my excitement. The Dryrobe pockets are enormous.

I can carry my phone, glasses, gloves, and car keys—all at once—and I don’t feel any of them weighing me down or sticking out awkwardly. It’s such a small thing, but having big, functional pockets feels like luxury to me. No more juggling items in my hands or cramming essentials into a tiny space.

I won’t win any fashion awards but then I don’t think I’ve ever been the sort of person who ever would. I prefer to be warm and comfortable.

26/12/2024

Say What You Mean, and Mean What You Say: The Importance of Clarity for Autistic People (and Everyone Else)

For autistic people, clear communication isn’t just helpful—it’s essential. Words are taken at face value, and the meaning behind them is often interpreted literally. This isn’t a flaw or a misunderstanding; it’s a natural part of how many autistic people process the world. They trust words to mean exactly what they say.

Let me share an example to illustrate why this matters.

Number 3 went Christmas shopping with his brothers, excited to find gifts for his family. But when it came to shopping for his dad, something unexpected happened. Dad had said, “I don’t want anything for Christmas.” Number 3 took him at his word. He genuinely believed that his dad would prefer no gift at all. So, he didn’t buy him one.

Later, when he realised his dad had been speaking figuratively—perhaps out of politeness, modesty, or to ease the pressure of shopping—Number 3 was devastated. He hadn’t meant to hurt his dad’s feelings, but he did because he acted on the literal meaning of the words.

This moment wasn’t about a “mistake” on Number 3’s part. It was about a mismatch in communication styles. For many neurotypical people, phrases like “I don’t want anything” are often understood as an invitation to dig deeper, to guess what the person might secretly want or appreciate. But for autistic people, these phrases are heard exactly as they are said. No guessing games. No reading between the lines. Just trust in the words.

Why Clarity Matters

This isn’t just about autism—it’s about creating a world where everyone can feel seen and understood. Neurodivergent people, including autistic individuals, often operate in a world built on implied meanings and unspoken expectations. For many, this can lead to unnecessary stress, confusion, or even emotional harm.

When we say what we mean, and mean what we say, we’re building bridges of trust. We’re creating environments where autistic people—and everyone else—don’t have to second-guess intentions or decode hidden meanings.

What Can We Learn from This?

1. Be Precise: If you mean “I don’t want a gift, but I’d love some quality time together,” say exactly that. Precision removes ambiguity and helps avoid misunderstandings.

2. Check In: If you notice someone taking your words literally, don’t rush to correct them. Instead, reflect on whether your words were clear in the first place.

3. Appreciate Literal Thinking: Literal thinking is not a “deficiency” but a form of honesty and trust in communication. Learn to embrace and respect it.

4. Model Clear Language for Everyone: Neurodivergent or not, we all benefit from clarity. Clear communication fosters deeper connections and reduces misunderstandings.

Language matters. It shapes our relationships and our world. For Number 3, this was a heartbreaking moment, but it’s also a powerful reminder of how much words mean.

We need to be mindful. Let’s say what we mean and mean what we say. Not just for autistic people, but for everyone. Because clarity isn’t just kind—it’s revolutionary.

25/12/2024

Somethings I wrote for my sister page The Autistic SENCO.

Have you noticed how inclusive Gavin and Stacey is?

Why Gavin & Stacey Is the Ultimate Example of Inclusion and Acceptance

The popular sitcom Gavin & Stacey has captivated audiences for years, not just for its humour but for its heartwarming portrayal of acceptance and inclusion. At its core, the show brings together people from vastly different worlds, blending cultural and social divides into a celebration of connection. The characters’ unwavering support for each other, their ability to embrace quirks, and the kindness they show make Gavin & Stacey a masterclass in how relationships thrive on inclusion and unconditional love.

Celebration of Differences

The show revolves around two families—the Shipmans from Essex and the Wests from Wales—who couldn’t be more different. Yet, instead of clashing, their differences become a source of humor and joy. The Shipmans’ English reserve meets the Wests’ Welsh warmth, but instead of creating division, it fosters understanding and affection.

•Pam’s dramatics and over-the-top declarations are never mocked but lovingly accepted as part of her charm.

• Uncle Bryn’s eccentricities, including his possible q***r coding, are treated with humor but never cruelty. His quirks are part of what makes him beloved.

• Nessa’s bold, no-nonsense personality is embraced by everyone, even as she confidently defies societal expectations of femininity.

Each character is celebrated for who they are, and their individuality strengthens their relationships rather than detracts from them.

Kindness Above All

What sets Gavin & Stacey apart is the sheer kindness of its characters. Even when there are conflicts or misunderstandings, no one is cruel or hurtful. The characters approach challenges with warmth and humor, never descending into unnecessary drama or pettiness.

• Gavin and Stacey’s love story is supported by both families, who work to understand and embrace each other. Their marriage becomes a union of not just two people but two very different families learning to coexist.

• Smithy and Gavin’s friendship is a beautiful portrayal of emotional openness between men. They support and care for each other in ways that break stereotypes about male relationships.

• Stacey’s independence and choices are respected, even when others don’t fully understand them.

This kindness extends to every interaction, creating a community of characters who genuinely care for one another. It’s a reminder that inclusion starts with treating people with compassion.

Unapologetically Themselves

Perhaps the most inspiring element of Gavin & Stacey is how comfortable the characters are in their own skin. Whether it’s Pam’s secret meat-eating despite claiming to be vegetarian, Bryn’s obsessive love of gadgets, or Nessa’s unapologetic confidence, everyone is free to be themselves.

This authenticity fosters acceptance, showing that when people are secure in themselves, they are more open to others. It’s a powerful message about the importance of self-love as a foundation for healthy relationships.

A Blueprint for Inclusion

In a divided world, Gavin & Stacey reminds us of the beauty in coming together. Inclusion doesn’t require erasing differences—it’s about celebrating them. The show teaches us that love, humour, and kindness create strong connections, no matter how different we may seem.

With every “Oh, what’s occurin’?”, Gavin & Stacey offers a gentle reminder that what’s really occurin’ is unconditional love, acceptance, and joy.

24/12/2024

How’s it going for you?

We’ve just cleaned the kitchen (again, people just don’t seem to stop eating at the moment), had our hot chocolate dipping things and taken silly photos of Ni**od (our small brown dog) with antlers on.

1/4 of the lovelies can find their stocking and I have said that it’s too late for me to start to sew another let alone 3. I’m looking forward to the random rugby socks that Hubbie and I will walk across the death floors that are our lovelies ‘tidy’ rooms to get to the stocking-type-thing. We can hope they are at least clean.

I have my port and Number 1 is joining me and all I can hear is giggling as my gorgeous boys wrap their thoughtful presents in their rooms.

Happy Christmas to you all from us.

Emma xx

23/12/2024

What do we think to this?

As seen on: Lavar Davies

23/12/2024

Breaking Down While Neurodivergent: A Real-Life Challenge

Yesterday, we experienced something many of us dread—a car breakdown. For most people, it’s inconvenient and frustrating. But for a neurodivergent family, it can quickly become a sensory and emotional minefield. This is a snapshot of how we navigated it together and the strategies we used to get through.

As soon as the car broke down, I knew we needed to get over the roadside barrier for safety. However, Number 3 couldn’t understand why this was necessary. To him, it wasn’t logical: We can see the car, so why can’t everyone else? No amount of explanation in the moment made sense to him, and that’s okay—his brain processes logic differently.

This is one of those rare moments where I had to calmly but firmly “pull rank” and ask him to trust me and I wanted him to move behind the barrier -now. I reassured him that I would explain everything in detail later, but for now, his safety had to come first. I rarely use this approach, and thankfully, because of that, he listened and followed my instructions.

For my daughter, the breakdown triggered a completely different response. She was scared—not just because it was an unfamiliar situation, but because the predictability she thrives on had been disrupted. She had never experienced a breakdown before, and suddenly, the carefully planned day, including a long-awaited trip to a London theatre, was thrown into uncertainty. Her brain was processing multiple layers of disappointment, confusion, and anxiety all at once.

While Number 4 was managing her emotions, Number 3 was still questioning why other drivers might not see our car. His need for logic and understanding is deeply rooted in how his mind works. If I can see it, why can’t they? is a valid question from his perspective, even if it felt frustrating to explain repeatedly in the moment. I reminded myself that his persistence wasn’t defiance—it was his way of processing an illogical situation. When we get home, I plan to find videos or articles to help him understand road safety in a way that makes sense to him.

As the breakdown saga continued, a tow truck arrived. This presented a new challenge for my daughter—getting inside the pick-up truck was another unfamiliar and overwhelming experience. Sensing her distress, Number 1 stepped in, giving her a cuddle and handing her his phone to distract herself. This small act of kindness reminded me how important it is to lean on each other in these moments. Sometimes, distraction isn’t avoidance—it’s a tool to help regulate emotions so we can get through a situation safely.

When the chaos settled, I reflected on how proud I was of everyone. These moments aren’t easy for any family, let alone one navigating neurodivergent challenges. But we made it through by leaning on each other and prioritising safety and emotional regulation over perfection.

If you’ve ever been in a situation like this, I see you. It’s hard. It’s overwhelming. And it’s okay to take one step at a time. The feelings and questions can always be unpacked later—what matters most is getting through the moment, together.

22/12/2024

The Pressure of Being “Merry and Bright” at Christmas

There’s a unique kind of pressure that rolls in with the holiday season. It’s not just about decorating the house, buying gifts, or cooking the perfect meal—it’s the pressure to feel a certain way. To be merry. To be glowing with excitement. To embrace the magic of the season with twinkling lights in your eyes and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your heart.

But what if you don’t?

I said to Hubbie earlier that I wasn’t really looking forward to Christmas this year. Not in a dramatic, “Bah humbug” way, and I’m not sabotaging it. I just… feel indifferent. It feels like there’s a gap between what the season expects of me and what I can realistically offer. It’s not sadness, exactly—it’s more like exhaustion, or maybe a loss of connection to the joy I’m supposed to feel.

We’re surrounded by images of the “perfect” family Christmas: matching pajamas, happy children, tables overflowing with food, laughter around the fireplace. And let’s not forget the social media posts filled with smiling faces, expertly wrapped gifts, and captions like “So grateful for the magic of the season.” It’s lovely to see, but it can also be crushing. It makes you wonder: What’s wrong with me if I don’t feel this way?

It’s not just about appearances—it’s the belief that if your Christmas isn’t picture-perfect, you’ve somehow failed. Like happiness is another item on the to-do list: bake cookies, hang wreaths, and be joyful. And if you’re not ticking that last box, it’s hard not to feel like you’re falling short.

But here’s the thing: joy isn’t a switch you can flip on demand. Life doesn’t pause for Christmas. Maybe you’ve lost something this year—someone you loved, a dream, or just a piece of yourself—and you’re still processing. Maybe you’re overwhelmed by the demands of daily life and don’t have the energy to dive headfirst into the festivities. Or maybe, like me, you can’t quite pinpoint what’s missing, but you know it’s something.

And that’s okay.

Christmas isn’t an exam you have to pass. There’s no right or wrong way to feel. The pressure to be “Christmassy” can rob us of the freedom to simply be. You’re allowed to feel indifferent. You’re allowed to feel sad. You’re allowed to step back from the hustle and bustle and do the season your own way—or not at all.

Sometimes, the best thing we can give ourselves is grace. Grace to say, “This year, I’m not doing everything. I’m just going to let it be.” Grace to skip the big meal or the endless shopping if it feels like too much. Grace to create new traditions or let go of old ones that no longer serve you.

So, if you’re not feeling particularly merry and bright this year, you’re not alone. Don’t force it. Don’t let anyone—or any ideal—tell you how you should feel. You’re enough, just as you are, whether you’re covered in glitter and wrapping paper or curled up on the couch with a mug of tea, quietly watching the world go by.

Picture is of the tree that we’ve just decorated this evening.

22/12/2024

What Autism Means to Me

Autism isn’t just a diagnosis—it’s a way of being, a different way of experiencing and interacting with the world. It’s not something that can be separated from who I am. Autism shapes how I think, feel, communicate, and process the world around me. For me, being autistic isn’t a flaw or something to fix; it’s a fundamental part of who I am, and I want to share what that means from my perspective.

Autism Is a Spectrum

You’ve probably heard that autism is a spectrum, but this doesn’t mean there’s a scale from “less autistic” to “more autistic.” Instead, it means that every autistic person experiences autism differently. Some of us are non-speaking, some speak fluently, some need more support in daily life, and others need less—but all of us have unique strengths and challenges. My experience of autism is just one piece of this rich and diverse spectrum.

How I Experience the World

Autism influences how I process sensory input, emotions, and social interactions. For me, clarity and routine are essential. I like knowing where I stand with things, what’s happening next, and what’s expected of me. Surprises or too much uncertainty can feel overwhelming, which is why I value environments and interactions that are predictable and straightforward.

I feel most at peace in simple, calm environments. Too much noise, clutter, or chaos can drain my energy, but a quiet space helps me recharge and focus. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy being around people—I absolutely do. I love meaningful social connections, but I also need plenty of alone time to process my thoughts and recharge. For me, a balance of solitude and social time is ideal.

Sensory experiences can be intense—sounds, lights, or textures that others might not notice can feel overwhelming. But I also find immense joy in sensory experiences that feel good, like the rhythm of rain, soft textures, or my favorite music. These moments of sensory delight are something I deeply treasure.

The Myths About Autism

A lot of what people think about autism comes from stereotypes, and many of those stereotypes don’t reflect reality. For example, some people assume autistic individuals lack empathy or don’t care about others. That’s simply not true—many of us feel deeply, sometimes to the point of being overwhelmed by emotions.

Another myth is that autism is only about challenges. Yes, we face challenges, but we also have strengths, like creativity, problem-solving, and seeing the world in ways others might not.

Neuroaffirming Acceptance

Being autistic isn’t about “deficits” or “disorders.” It’s about neurodiversity—a natural variation in how human brains work. I don’t want to be “cured” or “fixed.” What I want is acceptance, understanding, and accommodations that help me thrive. I want a world that values autistic people for who we are, not one that forces us to conform to neurotypical expectations.

If you want to support autistic people, start by listening to us. Celebrate our strengths, respect our needs, and embrace the fact that we think and experience life differently.

Autism is not a tragedy; it’s a unique and valuable way of being human.