A Story About Perspective
I’ve been trying to pinpoint the moment when the conversation went off the rails.
Was it when she said “I spent time preparing for this meeting because I thought you wanted mentoring, and it doesn’t seem like you do.”?
Was it when she finished her answer to a question I’d asked and followed it up with “Does that make sense?” and I said “Nope, it sure doesn’t.”?
Or maybe it was when I responded to one of her statements with “That can’t possibly be true.” Or when she said I wasn’t collaborating, or when I said I didn’t feel like she was listening, or when she told me to “Calm down”.
Or maybe, it was weeks earlier, when a separate miscommunication happened that resulted in my whole body tensing, my brain freezing, and rage and fear and shame flooding every ounce of my being.
But really, the moment doesn’t matter. There I was, in this mentoring call, doing my best to learn - in the ways that I know how to learn and the ways I know how to engage - being told that I wasn’t collaborating, wasn’t listening, didn’t want to be mentored, and that I was the one choosing to be in a fight and choosing disconnection.
It felt unfair. It felt infuriating. It felt unreasonable. And perhaps, most of all, I felt helpless and ashamed and small. Even trying my best, even doing work ahead of time, even directly saying I was having trouble (as had been suggested), somehow it still wasn’t enough. It pulled on the strings attached to my emotions that were installed every time a therapist told me “You have to try something,” or that I was “treatment-resistant.” It echoed in the chasms created every time that I’d been told I wasn’t really trying, every time I’d been told “You know what I mean” when I truly didn’t. It awakened the pain from every time I’ve heard that I’m lazy, or too much, or challenging, or hard to understand, or uncooperative.
And of course I wasn’t learning, then. Of course, in the face of that wave of emotion, I didn’t want to be mentored, by that person, in that moment. Of course I didn’t.
The call ended, rather less gracefully than I might have liked. The day progressed, rather more pleasantly than I had any reason to expect (though, with a fair number of “grrrr” noises directed toward people willing to receive my frustration). The emotion subsided, and I’m left with a choice.
How much do I take time to untangle what happened? What can I learn from this, and what do I need in order to hold on to my own power? How do I want to write this story in my mind, and have it carry forward - and how do I want to rewrite all of the other stories it’s connected to?
How can I hold space for multiple tellings of this story, and what benefits can I gain from each of them?
For me, here, there are two big questions about how to frame the story for myself.
Am I viewing the story from my perspective or hers?
Who’s the protagonist here, and who’s the villain?
As I’ve thought through the situation, I’ve been surprised at how many of the combinations I find valuable, and how differently the telling of those stories lands in my body and serves me in moving forward.
Perspective 1: From my perspective, as the protagonist
This story is a story of resolve, and a story of righteous anger. This is a story, in some ways, about why I became a coach, and about the work it’s important to me to do in the world. This story is a reminder that I’m an autistic person living in a neurotypical world, where the ways I talk aren’t always received in the ways I mean - and where I’m expected to compensate for that. It’s an opportunity to make a decision about how much I change my language - and it’s an opportunity to remind myself how important it is to have neurodivergent coaches and people who actively want to be working with autistic and ADHD clients. It’s a reminder that, while some people delight in having me as a client, not everyone will - and that I deserve to find professionals with whom I can communicate. And it’s a reminder that, for some people, maybe that professional is me - and that probably some of those folks have had similarly challenging experiences with professionals in the past.
This story feels great temporarily, it provides a lot of motivation and it reminds me of (one of the reasons) why I’m on the path that I’m on - and it feels like the fuel is quickly consumed. It feels shallow, a little - and while it’s deeply important for me to hold onto this perspective and really believe that I am perfect just the way I am and did nothing wrong, and that my feelings are real and valid and important, building a life on just this perspective has proven to be challenging and unfulfilling. So - what else can we learn here?
Perspective 2: From her perspective, as the villain
This, for me, is a story about the power of mindset. Because of course, from where I’m standing, I can’t actually fully see it from her perspective - I can see that she clearly had an image of what was happening that differed from mine. This is a story about how hard it can be, once we’ve built a mental picture of what’s going on, to break out of that picture to consider other options. It’s a story about how communication can get muddy and confusing, and it’s a story about how important it is to check what’s going on for me and what I can do to change (my perception of) the situation, when I’m convinced the other person is being utterly unreasonable. It’s a reminder to me that, in both this situation and others, I cannot know what’s happening in anyone else’s mind or in their experience. I can choose to believe whatever interpretation is the most effective in the situation, whether or not it’s true. I can choose to ask them what’s happening, and believe their answer. I can choose to stick with the first and/or easiest interpretation that comes to my mind. And this is a story about how much of a difference my own beliefs can make in the outcome of a situation. How much differently might this conversation have gone, if she’d believed that I really was genuinely showing up wanting to learn and trying my best? How much differently might it have gone, had she shown up believing that I was listening and we just needed to find some common ground? This is a story that inspires my curiosity about how I might recognize it when I’m misinterpreting someone’s intentions, and how I want to handle that situation with care and love and grace when it happens.
This story allows me to access more compassion, and it allows me opportunities to grow and learn in ways that don’t feel directly challenging to me or my behavior. It’s an invitation to learn from others, and for me it runs into less resistance than learning from the next version of the story, which is:
Perspective 3: From my perspective, as the villain
Okay, y’all. So it’s possible that there were better ways to phrase the thing I meant when I said “That can’t possibly be true.” It’s possible that I could have started the conversation by acknowledging that we’d had a previous miscommunication, and working to establish shared understanding of how we wanted to approach the conversation and how we might try to handle miscommunication in this interaction. I could have let her take the lead more, and I could have managed my frustration more effectively and asked questions in ways that came across less judgmentally. This one, for me, is a story of humility and learning. It’s a reminder to take into account the strength of the existing relationship when deciding how to phrase my confusion. This is a story of curiosity and of “what-if.” When I’m able to approach it playfully, it’s a story of possibility and hope - it’s a story of infinitely branching possibilities and exploration of what I could try differently next time. It’s an invitation to experiment, and an invitation toward growth and toward more effective interactions. Perhaps instead of “That can’t possibly be true,” I could have said “I don’t think I’m interpreting that in the way you mean it. This is what I’m hearing - could you help me understand this aspect?” I could have, instead of saying “I don’t feel like you’re listening to me,” said “I feel confused and that answer didn’t address the question I was trying to ask. Let me try to rephrase and see if we can get on the same page.”
This story is challenging for me, especially when I’m feeling sensitive. It asks me to consider where my line is around communicating in ways that I perceive as clear, concise, and direct and communicating in ways that are gentler. It feels like a story that asks me to conform to a neurotypical society - but it’s also a story that offers me options to affect the results I get, and a story that invites me to develop more varied skills that I can use as I encounter different situations. It’s a story that asks me to consider how to be skillful and still honest and authentic, and how to be considerate of others, even when I’m Having Emotions. This lens is useful in a very different way than the others, and I tend to be careful about applying it, because it can be easy to use as a weapon against myself. And, when I’m able to engage with it from a place of curiosity and hope, it can open worlds of possibility that aren’t otherwise available.
Perspective 4: From her perspective, as the protagonist
Sometimes, the thing to be learned is that there’s only so far my perspective can stretch, and there are some lenses to some stories that I’m not going to be able to look through without some help. This is a reminder of the value of getting perspective and input from people who are outside of my brain, and perhaps even outside of my immediate circle. It’s a reminder that sometimes, in some situations, it’s not necessary or worthwhile to explore every possible angle on a story - and it’s an opportunity to remind myself that I get to choose which vantage points I want to explore, and which ones I’m just as happy walking past. I don’t feel a need to deeply explore this lens on this experience. I also do appreciate the reminder that, if I were to want to explore this, I might have to reach out for help - and that it’s okay to seek perspectives outside of my own mind, and to cultivate a circle of people who are willing and able to provide those perspectives when I want them.
