Meltdowns Happen.

Yesterday, I had a meltdown.  As meltdowns go, it wasn't epic. Not even close.

A lot’s been going on around here – which is kind of par for the course, but some days and weeks are just extra, and this was the case. I was feeling dysregulated and exhausted and all the things, but limping along regardless, because life doesn’t stop on account of how we’re feeling.

I was sitting at my desk with the door open, trying to get my brain to focus on doing something productive – because long story short, my pittance of EI (which I’m collecting for the first time in my life) is running out soon and (cue sad clown music) I have to figure out how to bring in some income in a way that doesn’t destroy me. If you think that sounds melodramatic, it’s not. As I wrote about in my diagnosis story, it’s my reality.

In fact, it’s the reality of the majority of Autistics in Canada and elsewhere. It’s estimated that between 70-90 percent of autistic people in Canada are unemployed or underemployed (sourced from Disability Credit Canada). This is not because we lack skills, education, or desire to work. Quite the contrary. In short, the reasons for this abysmal statistic boil down to systems, and a general culture that doesn’t support or accommodate neurodivergent people.

I know this isn’t a post about employment – but one of the characteristics of my AuDHD brain is that it’s highly skilled at connecting dots, at linking and synthesizing information, at seeing how concepts/ideas/issues, etc. are interrelated.

I digress – because in my head – it’s all connected.

Back to meltdowns…

So, I was sitting at my desk trying to focus and the door was open. My bad – I should know better than to leave the door open when I’m really in the zone or trying to concentrate but sometimes I’m down a rabbit hole without intending to be. My husband appeared in the doorway and started talking about something that had transpired earlier in the day. He had misunderstood what I told him and was looking for clarification. My brain did not appreciate being jolted in a different direction, and I kind of barked at him. I was also frustrated because I felt like he hadn’t been listening to me when I filled him in earlier. Or, when I had tried to explain how I’ve been feeling at the end of my rope on every level, recently.

The reality is, it was a simple misunderstanding, and maybe miscommunication, but that’s not how my nervous system took it at the time.

I could feel that a meltdown was imminent. I don’t really remember what happened in the short time between the exchange in my office and me being in bed crying with the covers over my head. I remember him asking me if I wanted to or ‘could’ talk – to which I shook my head no in response.

He left to run an errand, and I texted him from bed to get some stuff off my chest. It’s often much easier to communicate my thoughts and feelings in writing than with spoken words when I’m in that state.

I wasn’t in bed too long before I felt able to come out of my cave and get on with things. But I couldn’t return to what I was focussing on earlier – that ship had sailed. I was able to tackle some low hanging fruit – like folding a bit of laundry and emptying the dishwasher.

Meltdowns feel a bit less intense and/or pass more quickly now that I recognize them for what they are. (Except for that one a few months ago when I literally shut myself in my small closet and was sobbing on the floor for a good long time).

Overall, though, I’m now better able to notice them brewing and to let people around me (namely my spouse and kids) know where I’m at (this is a work in progress on all sides). Since my diagnosis and the learning and self-understanding that’s come with it, I’m more inclined to allow myself to crawl into bed and throw the covers over my head, or to find a place away from the chaos to hide for awhile.

That is, providing I’m able to do any of that in the moment. Sometimes I can’t escape because there’s literally no place to go. Sometimes people follow me and unintentionally escalate the situation.  Sometimes it’s just too far gone, and I lash out or completely shutdown. Shutdowns are like internalized meltdowns. A shutdown may be slightly less inconvenient for the people around you, but no less intense for the person experiencing it.

Before knowing I'm AuDHD, I thought maybe I just lost my temper sometimes (which can happen to the best of us, sure). Maybe I was just an unreasonable, unjustifiably angry bitch. Maybe I was weak, and too sensitive, and couldn’t cope – so I lost it on occasion.

Okay, TBH, although I’ll cop to being feisty and even fierce at times - being an angry, unreasonable bitch who just can’t cope for no good reason - always seemed like a stretch. It didn’t feel true to me. But that's what I sometimes got called and/or what was implied.  So, in the absence of a better, more logical explanation, I had no choice but to internalize the angry, unreasonable bitch label. (Sidenote: there’s a lot to be justifiably angry about these days – and anger is not our enemy – but meltdowns are not just an anger response).

When I learned about autistic meltdowns (meltdowns can also occur with ADHD – but have been talked about more in relation to autism up until recently) it was a revelation that allowed me to feel seen, validated, and to look at these ‘episodes’ I sometimes had, through a completely different lens – with the proper language and an understanding of what was really going on – the complete overwhelm of my neurobiological system.

In short, meltdowns happen when my (or any Autistic/ADHD/AuDHD person’s) brain and nervous system have exceeded the limit of their capacity. When I can’t process or take in one more scintilla of input, I short circuit.

When I’ve reached the tipping point, the (seemingly) most innocuous thing can push me RIGHT over the edge. It’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. Like pulling the wrong block out in Jenga. Like the flux capacitor has jammed. Or perhaps most accurately, it’s like someone poured a big glass of OJ right over the mother board or electrical panel, and it’s completely fried – sparks flying, wires melting, flames shooting, electricity dangerously snaking all over the place, until someone throws a heavy blanket over the hot, frazzled mess, or it burns out on its own.

During a meltdown, I feel like an internal storm is raging and I can’t find the words to articulate or explain what’s happening – I sometimes talk in short sentences or one-word responses, or even go completely, involuntarily mute – because my brain just can’t form coherent thoughts or spoken language. It’s not that I won’t talk or communicate. It’s that I can’t.

If someone tries to force me to talk or keeps nattering at me, I get more and more agitated, overwhelmed, and less and less able to communicate. I’ll clench my teeth and fists, and sometimes dig my fingernails into my own skin or bite my lip hard (some people self-harm during meltdowns). I’ll put my hands over my ears and shake my head or rock. Very rarely, I will lash out physically (to inanimate objects) – maybe slamming a door or drawer. I once kicked a car, and another time, broke a wooden headboard (both in my youth and decades away from the realization or understanding I am AuDHD).

This is excruciatingly embarrassing and uncomfortable to talk about. But very necessary, too.

There are people who’ll hear this and think I’m making excuses for bad behaviour. People who don’t believe that meltdowns (or even that autism and/or ADHD) are a real thing. Or that someone like me could be those things. There’s not much to say to that, except for that they’re wrong. Dead wrong.

I’ve explained to my husband that in this fragile state – when I feel like I have no out, no capacity to diffuse the situation – I am besieged. I feel like a terrified caged animal that’s trying to escape. And it’s not because I’m in any actual danger. It’s like a trauma response.  I mean it is a trauma response – but it’s also not just that (there’s a lot of overlap between AuDHD and trauma).

To the unknowing/uninformed observer – meltdowns can look like what we call tantrums.

We label kids who have ‘tantrums’ as poorly behaved, spoiled, unruly, bad, in need of tough love or strict discipline, etc.  And we label adults – so much worse.

In reality – meltdowns (like all behaviours) are a signal. A meltdown (or shutdown) signals that a person’s needs (not wants, needs) are going unmet.

When an Autistic/ADHD-er is at the point of meltdown, they’ve reached and exceeded maximum capacity.  “Danger, Will Robinson!”

Whether the outside observer thinks/believes the meltdown is warranted or not, is completely irrelevant. An outside observer can’t see or feel what is happening internally for that person. They only see the externalized behaviour and they make assumptions and judgements based on what they observe.

The person who’s having the meltdown is not doing it intentionally, nor in the moment, do they have any control over their nervous system response. Their external behaviour is the direct result of a nervous system at the breaking point.

A meltdown is the sign of a system completely overwhelmed and overburdened. It’s a clear indication that physical, mental, emotional, sensory, neurological boundaries have been crossed or overridden.

So, what can you do to help someone minimize or maybe even avoid a meltdown?  Glad you asked.

In my experience (and from what I’ve read in the research and heard from other neurodivergent folks who experience meltdowns), here’s my best advice:

*Do not. I repeat, do not add to the overwhelm by trying to force/demand communication. Speaking from personal experience, this can greatly exacerbate the situation and may lead to epic (avoidable) blowouts that can do lasting damage to relationships. Back off and know that there will be opportunity for discussion once the person has recovered from the meltdown – Which may be hours or days – depending on the situation, the individual, and intensity of the meltdown.

*Reframe the situation in your own mind. By this, I mean, try to check your own anger, defensiveness, knee-jerk reaction, verbal criticism, etc. and don’t take the meltdown personally. I know this can be way easier said than done but try to trust that the person is in distress and their meltdown is evidence of that.

*Give the person space. Don’t follow them around if they’re trying to leave the room. Do not grab or touch them. Do not get all up in their grill. Do not insist they stay where they are. Of course, if a kid is running into traffic or some such scenario, then safety first. But if they run out of the room to their bedroom, for example, then let them go. Don’t follow them.

*Once you’ve given the person some time to recalibrate – you can gently ask if there’s anything they need right now? Water, a blanket, a hug, etc. If they say no (with words or gestures) – then leave it be. You can approach them again later or you can let them know you’re there if they need anything.

*Don’t expect them to give you a long-detailed explanation of what caused or led to the meltdown. Sometimes, we don’t really know. It’s generally an accumulation of things that lead to the nervous system short circuiting. It’s rarely about whatever happened right before the meltdown – that’s just the ‘last straw’ so to speak. Also, it should go without saying, but pleeeeease don’t punish a kid for having a meltdown.

*It may be helpful to have some conversation (when the time is right and everyone’s feeling regulated) about strategies for dealing with a meltdown when it happens. Sort of like a plan for what to do if a meltdown occurs. That way, you’re not trying to navigate it on the fly. Having said that – what works in one situation, may not work in every situation.

*Try to notice the potential signs that a meltdown may be brewing. This isn’t always obvious – but if the person seems agitated, distant, has communicated they aren’t doing well or that they’re feeling overwhelmed, etc. then be aware that the piling on of added stressors and demands, may not be the way to go just then. That doesn’t mean you need to walk on eggshells. Just be kind, and don’t contribute to the chaos if you can help it.

*Have patience with the person and with yourself. Be willing to listen, believe, learn, and challenge your assumptions and approach. It takes patience, and lots of missed steps to shift our perspective and change old patterns.

Look, total paradigm shifts don’t happen without some turbulence. In a houseful of neurodivergent folks – all of whom experience meltdowns to some degree – trust me when I say the effort and patience required to know better and do better is gargantuan. But the benefits are well worth it.

Lastly, I want to say that if you’re someone who experiences meltdowns, I want you to know there’s absolutely nothing bad or wrong with you. Meltdowns are not your fault. Of course, I don’t mean that as free license to harm others. We must all be accountable for our actions. But cut yourself some slack. The odds are stacked against us in this neuronormative world. It’s ok to admit that, because it’s a fact.

Be gentle with yourself. Give yourself grace. Give the people around you grace, too – as long as they’re willing to learn and make an effort to understand.

As neurodivergent humans, we’re wired differently than the majority, and that’s ok. It’s not something to be ashamed of or to overcome or cure (insert eye roll).

What you can do is learn about how being neurodivergent impacts you and how you can best support yourself. Knowledge is power. Let interested and invested loved ones know how they might be able to better support you (and how you can better support each other).

If you have no supportive family or friends, then seek out Neurokin who get it. There is an ever-growing community of neurodivergent folks online who will make you feel witnessed like you’ve never experienced before. It’s a beautiful thing.

In a perfect world – a world designed to meet the needs of all humans and not just the neuro-majority, meltdowns wouldn’t happen. Or they’d happen far less frequently, I’m certain.

In the meantime, we can tell our stories and release the shame we carry for just being who we were designed to be. And that’s enough, because it has to be.

“I need sleep but my brain won't get tired
I smell like smoke from electrical fires
Don't touch me I've got
Crossed wires
Keep your fingers free from these
Crossed wires
Crossed wires, crossed wires”

~From Crossed Wires by Superchunk~