Quiet day

Saturday, I took my husband to Wilton, which is a little turn just the other side of Salisbury. We had a very expensive quiche for lunch. Sadly, the town was mostly closed, including the large stately home and gardens.

So we went into Salisbury, had coffee and a cake a wandered around the market and the city, then lay down on the lawn by the cathedral.

The weather was changeable, but so were my hot flushes – back to make me uncomfortable.

After a Chinese takeaway, and watched some Olympic events (I watched more TV tonight than I have on the last month).

Then we cuddled up and watched a film, while eating the Eccles cakes we bought in Wilton.

We talked about nothing, and whilst we both had some anxiety, it was a calm and peaceful day.

There’s no reading light in the bedroom in the house, so I strained to read a random book about animals by the little LEDs above the bed. I stopped when I felt that it might give me a headache.

My husband is downstairs watching more telly.

I am bound now for the land of nod.

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Also a quiet day

I didn’t get up until nine o’clock. I snoozed the seven o’clock alarm and slept another hour – then I lay in bed under the covers for another hour trying to convince myself to get up. I suppose the anxiety from yesterday had had time to build.

I sat in the garden with the dog for an hour with a coffee and my porridge. Dad called and we had a bit of a chat. He phoned early because he had things he needed to do.

The husband suggested that we go for KFC for lunch, then go for a walk in the Forest fir the afternoon. The traffic on the way to KFC was horrendous, so I worked out a Plan B while we ate. Plan B involved going to a sports park about fifteen minutes away from where we were.

We parked the car and then walked down the hill towards the sports area. We stopped under a tree and I started to talk – it was clear that he was waiting for me to say something (he said that he was earlier).

I began by summarising some of what he’d talked about when we went to Guildford the other day. He sat in silence the whole time, which I find unnerving. It he listening? Did I get what he was talking about? Is he pissed off?

I left space every now and then for him to comment or start, but after a while, I stopped and left a much bigger space, at which point he started to talk.

He said that he felt that he wasn’t being emotionally fed by me, that he felt emotionally starved. Whilst he feels physically looked after, he doesn’t feel that I have given him emotional support. He’s often commented that I cannot empathise unless I have felt something like it myself.

He is particularly challenging around my self-diagnosed ASD. The question today was why do I want a formal diagnosis. I gave some examples of how I hoped it would change things at work, such as being able to insist on getting a message before somebody phones me (out of the blue phone calls are singularly distressing), or getting the strip lights changed. He said “so you want special treatment then?” I said that it would help me to work and level the playing field. I pointed out that developers almost always message before calling each other. “So are all developers autistic then?” he asked (sarcastic?); “no, but I think that software development is a great place for people with ASD to hide out, and maybe having a larger number of people with ASD in the profession might make people more aware of the need to give warning before interrupting somebody”. I then said that there was a group of people who are particularly bad at giving warning: the project managers. Perhaps I could just speak to them and ask them to message first? Perhaps I could.

What became clear as we were talking was how it is possible to to talk to get past anxiety. We were both a bit more relaxed afterwards.

Something else that is clear is that my husband spoke for much longer than these notes would suggest. I should have make some notes while he was talking – my brain just cannot hold what he says and what he says is important to me. I wish my brain would understand that!

I also realised that I should have asked the husband yesterday whether he would be OK to talk. He could always have said no, if he wasn’t feeling up to it (and usually, no matter how anxious or unwell he’s feeling, is up for a talk).