Tsara Shelton's Blog, page 29
December 15, 2015
Autism Answer: The Man on The Wall
I was left nearly speechless last night, friends! Shay, my seventeen year old son, shared with me in detail a dream he had, the story he wants to write, and the meaning he believed it had.
Now, I know Shay is brilliant and insightful in strange and sometimes scary ways. His confidence when connecting the problems inherent in the school system, for example, when coupled with his confidence in telling school officials all about it, has put us in challenging positions. His willingness to bravely walk into a room filled with bigoted and racist people specifically so he can tell them why they're dangerous, wrong, and cruel, knowing even the attitude that his opinions and ideas are equal to those of any adult in the room will anger and inflame them, has frightened me on more than one occasion.
I taught my sons this, that they are equal and brilliant and free to think for themselves, but I didn't always know the dangers. I'm glad I didn't because, had I known, I don't think I would have been brave enough to teach what's right. My son, though, is brave.
But he's also seventeen. He's brilliant and brave, with seventeen years of experience and seventeen year old angst. So his brilliant and brave connections are still less deep and more angry than I imagine they one day will be.
Last night, friends, they were deep and the anger was absorbed into the narrative brilliantly.
The dream, connections, and insights are his to tell, and he is planning on telling them. He spent the night writing it down and will probably turn it into a short film. But for now, he's given me permission to share some points.
The Dream/ The Story
*A school exists where the students are surrounded by a wall, a wall that they're told is to keep them safe from the outside world.
*A drug exists that makes people hallucinate and see their surroundings as ugly and dead. They're told never to take this dangerous drug.
*A group of students take the drug and adventure to the wall, which they feel curious and compelled to climb over. A man who lives on the wall greets them and invites them to come in.
*Once on the other side they see diversity, nature, and beauty. "It looks like a forest in British Columbia." my son describes. They have been told that it's dangerous and cruel here, so they are sure that what they see now isn't true.
*The students expect the drug to wear off and know that then they'll see the true ugliness on the other side of the wall. But when it wears off there's still only beauty. Until they look back. From this side there is no wall, and they see their school is decrepit and dead. They disappear into the beauty.
*Two teachers (they are male, all the teachers are male) from the school go looking for the students and decide, also, to take the drug. Assuming it will give them insight into where the students would have gone. The hallucinations are intense and everyone looks dead.
*At the wall they meet the man who greets them kindly. In return they are cruel, knowing what they've always been told: That things from the other side of the wall are dangerous and cruel.
*The man then gives them what they expect, sending them cruelly away (with an imaginative and symbolic action sequence).
*The teachers head back to their school, which looks decrepit and dead because of the drug, to warn others about the man from the wall. But their own fear and rush to conclusions sends them to their own demise.
*I don't want to give away the ending. But it's insightful, and lovely, and intelligent. And kind of creepy.
His Interpretation: My son then tells me that the dream is probably a direct result of Donald Trump talking about keeping others away, the drug represents truth, seeing everything within the wall as "dead" is symbolic of how we might as well be dead when we don't think for ourselves and welcome diversity, and my son says that in the dream HE was the man on the wall. He was the man who could see it all at once.
The story, the dream, the connections are not unique to my son. We've all seen movies and read books and had dreams that tell this story. But it's always impressive and far more deeply known and understood when we create and share the story ourselves. For my seventeen year old son to have this dream and understand it, and then to feel obligated and excited to share it, that is somewhat unique.
And very much him. Very much "a Shay thing" as we say around here.
I get afraid sometimes of what can happen when my sons speak out and tell truths that threaten people with power. But because my son is only happy when following his true thought train, I'm more afraid of what can happen, what does happen, when we don't speak our truth.
When we accept the wall and the stories we're told. When we don't experiment and see for ourselves.
When we choose to be anybody but the man on the wall.
For me, that means allowing my sons, and myself, to tell our truths and live with the consequences.
Until our truths change the consequences.
I hope you'll join us on the wall.
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
He was up all night writing, and snacking on cereal.
Now, I know Shay is brilliant and insightful in strange and sometimes scary ways. His confidence when connecting the problems inherent in the school system, for example, when coupled with his confidence in telling school officials all about it, has put us in challenging positions. His willingness to bravely walk into a room filled with bigoted and racist people specifically so he can tell them why they're dangerous, wrong, and cruel, knowing even the attitude that his opinions and ideas are equal to those of any adult in the room will anger and inflame them, has frightened me on more than one occasion.
I taught my sons this, that they are equal and brilliant and free to think for themselves, but I didn't always know the dangers. I'm glad I didn't because, had I known, I don't think I would have been brave enough to teach what's right. My son, though, is brave.
But he's also seventeen. He's brilliant and brave, with seventeen years of experience and seventeen year old angst. So his brilliant and brave connections are still less deep and more angry than I imagine they one day will be.
Last night, friends, they were deep and the anger was absorbed into the narrative brilliantly.
The dream, connections, and insights are his to tell, and he is planning on telling them. He spent the night writing it down and will probably turn it into a short film. But for now, he's given me permission to share some points.
The Dream/ The Story
*A school exists where the students are surrounded by a wall, a wall that they're told is to keep them safe from the outside world.
*A drug exists that makes people hallucinate and see their surroundings as ugly and dead. They're told never to take this dangerous drug.
*A group of students take the drug and adventure to the wall, which they feel curious and compelled to climb over. A man who lives on the wall greets them and invites them to come in.
*Once on the other side they see diversity, nature, and beauty. "It looks like a forest in British Columbia." my son describes. They have been told that it's dangerous and cruel here, so they are sure that what they see now isn't true.
*The students expect the drug to wear off and know that then they'll see the true ugliness on the other side of the wall. But when it wears off there's still only beauty. Until they look back. From this side there is no wall, and they see their school is decrepit and dead. They disappear into the beauty.
*Two teachers (they are male, all the teachers are male) from the school go looking for the students and decide, also, to take the drug. Assuming it will give them insight into where the students would have gone. The hallucinations are intense and everyone looks dead.
*At the wall they meet the man who greets them kindly. In return they are cruel, knowing what they've always been told: That things from the other side of the wall are dangerous and cruel.
*The man then gives them what they expect, sending them cruelly away (with an imaginative and symbolic action sequence).
*The teachers head back to their school, which looks decrepit and dead because of the drug, to warn others about the man from the wall. But their own fear and rush to conclusions sends them to their own demise.
*I don't want to give away the ending. But it's insightful, and lovely, and intelligent. And kind of creepy.
His Interpretation: My son then tells me that the dream is probably a direct result of Donald Trump talking about keeping others away, the drug represents truth, seeing everything within the wall as "dead" is symbolic of how we might as well be dead when we don't think for ourselves and welcome diversity, and my son says that in the dream HE was the man on the wall. He was the man who could see it all at once.
The story, the dream, the connections are not unique to my son. We've all seen movies and read books and had dreams that tell this story. But it's always impressive and far more deeply known and understood when we create and share the story ourselves. For my seventeen year old son to have this dream and understand it, and then to feel obligated and excited to share it, that is somewhat unique.
And very much him. Very much "a Shay thing" as we say around here.
I get afraid sometimes of what can happen when my sons speak out and tell truths that threaten people with power. But because my son is only happy when following his true thought train, I'm more afraid of what can happen, what does happen, when we don't speak our truth.
When we accept the wall and the stories we're told. When we don't experiment and see for ourselves.
When we choose to be anybody but the man on the wall.
For me, that means allowing my sons, and myself, to tell our truths and live with the consequences.
Until our truths change the consequences.
I hope you'll join us on the wall.
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
He was up all night writing, and snacking on cereal.
December 11, 2015
Autism Answer: Crazy Driver
That woman driving crazy and all wrong on the road? That was me. Sorry about that!
I've never had a "road rage" issue. I find it simple to understand and forgive
Me driving.mistakes of other driver's and different-than-me style driving on the road. Really simple! After all, my mom drove with eight of us crazy kids all the time, having to make strange choices born out of listening to screams of fear from my youngest brother if we ever had to turn around, or God Forbid, drive on the "poo highway." Choices born out of mom's overwhelming belief that employing a few strange maneuvers and cutting a few corners (or driving on a few shoulders in traffic) if carefully and masterfully employed was understandable for a single mom of eight sensory challenged kids desperate to get home.
Anyway, I'm easily comfortable understanding people who make mistakes. Because, well, I like to be understood when I make mistakes!
However, the Universe (once again!) proved that it knows me a little better than I know myself. It seems I've fallen into the habit of feeling a little bit "better than" when comfortably forgiving drivers who make mistakes. Not because I don't make mistakes, but because I feel like I'm nicer than the drivers who yell and swear and complain. Oops!
The Universe was having none of that! So, she decided to put me in the position to make so many mistakes that I would remember my kindness was not better than, but instead plain and simply human and correct.
THE SET UP: I've got a check on the seat beside me and I'm heading to downtown Los Angeles to make an important and time sensitive payment. In my sister's car, with no knowledge of the city and no understanding of how to use the navigation on my phone, I'm following the directions I've written down, making my way slowly through traffic. I just might make it!
THE PROBLEM: Driving in desperate circles I see that the address on the check does not exist! The roads and interstates and crowds are wild and unpredictable, I'm constantly rolling down my window to beg my way five or six lanes over only to beg my way back again. I back up when backing up isn't an option, I feel unsure of my own adult-ness. I mean, I'm a grown up. I know how to find an address! Finally I park at a meter and run wild and weird down the street, falling on my face and breaking my phone. Frightfully I make sure the check is okay, and it is, but I still can't find the place where I will trade it for a permit. A permit that we need before the office closes (in twenty minutes) so we can legally take our pictures in the morning. A permit that my producer sister must have (and has been trying to get from them for over a week!) by tonight. Finally, with plenty of thoughtful folks shrugging and apologizing and pointing me in possible directions, I find a guard for the building that should be at the address. She informs me that I'm right, this address isn't possible to drive to. But, also, I'm wrong, the permit office isn't here. Apparently, I need to get to Hollywood in fifteen minutes during traffic. Okie, dokie! Here I go.....
THE RESOLUTION: With help from my sister I figure out how to use the navigation in her car, with help from the folks at the permit office I get them to kindly wait for me a few minutes after closing, which means they have to keep an elevator operator informed of my impending disheveled arrival so that he can let me get to the twelfth floor. I make it, I trade check for permit, and I race down to the car which I'm pretty sure I parked legally but at this point I just don't know things anymore. The car is fine, my phone is cracked and quirky but I can make calls, and my driving has been a mess. Just for good measure, I turn the wrong way down a one way street on my way back to my sister with permit in hand. Why not? I've never done that one before.
BONUS SCENE: The next morning, when several officials stop by to ask the producer to produce her permits, I feel proud and useful. Those permits are on set partly because I had been willing to drive like a nutter and ask for help and let the Universe remind me that I'm not being "better than" other drivers by being nice, I'm being correct.
You just never know what's going on behind the scenes in the seemingly strange, weird, or wrong twists and turns another person chooses to take. Sometimes they don't even know! But always, always, always, we can be kind and helpful. Often times it's nice to give a quick honk of your horn, say "Hey there! Don't smash me, I'm here too!" and a frazzled mom or production assistant may want to kiss you for it. But honk your horn to yell? Ummmm.... who does that help?
So, if you saw me making crazy turns and silly stops in Los Angeles the other day (and many people did!) I thank you for laughing with me, and not yelling or angrily honking at me. I did end up where I wanted to end up, and we had a grand adventure along the way!
And I remembered that I'm not "better than" when I'm friendly and forgiving, I'm just right.
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
I've never had a "road rage" issue. I find it simple to understand and forgive
Me driving.mistakes of other driver's and different-than-me style driving on the road. Really simple! After all, my mom drove with eight of us crazy kids all the time, having to make strange choices born out of listening to screams of fear from my youngest brother if we ever had to turn around, or God Forbid, drive on the "poo highway." Choices born out of mom's overwhelming belief that employing a few strange maneuvers and cutting a few corners (or driving on a few shoulders in traffic) if carefully and masterfully employed was understandable for a single mom of eight sensory challenged kids desperate to get home. Anyway, I'm easily comfortable understanding people who make mistakes. Because, well, I like to be understood when I make mistakes!
However, the Universe (once again!) proved that it knows me a little better than I know myself. It seems I've fallen into the habit of feeling a little bit "better than" when comfortably forgiving drivers who make mistakes. Not because I don't make mistakes, but because I feel like I'm nicer than the drivers who yell and swear and complain. Oops!
The Universe was having none of that! So, she decided to put me in the position to make so many mistakes that I would remember my kindness was not better than, but instead plain and simply human and correct.
THE SET UP: I've got a check on the seat beside me and I'm heading to downtown Los Angeles to make an important and time sensitive payment. In my sister's car, with no knowledge of the city and no understanding of how to use the navigation on my phone, I'm following the directions I've written down, making my way slowly through traffic. I just might make it!
THE PROBLEM: Driving in desperate circles I see that the address on the check does not exist! The roads and interstates and crowds are wild and unpredictable, I'm constantly rolling down my window to beg my way five or six lanes over only to beg my way back again. I back up when backing up isn't an option, I feel unsure of my own adult-ness. I mean, I'm a grown up. I know how to find an address! Finally I park at a meter and run wild and weird down the street, falling on my face and breaking my phone. Frightfully I make sure the check is okay, and it is, but I still can't find the place where I will trade it for a permit. A permit that we need before the office closes (in twenty minutes) so we can legally take our pictures in the morning. A permit that my producer sister must have (and has been trying to get from them for over a week!) by tonight. Finally, with plenty of thoughtful folks shrugging and apologizing and pointing me in possible directions, I find a guard for the building that should be at the address. She informs me that I'm right, this address isn't possible to drive to. But, also, I'm wrong, the permit office isn't here. Apparently, I need to get to Hollywood in fifteen minutes during traffic. Okie, dokie! Here I go.....
THE RESOLUTION: With help from my sister I figure out how to use the navigation in her car, with help from the folks at the permit office I get them to kindly wait for me a few minutes after closing, which means they have to keep an elevator operator informed of my impending disheveled arrival so that he can let me get to the twelfth floor. I make it, I trade check for permit, and I race down to the car which I'm pretty sure I parked legally but at this point I just don't know things anymore. The car is fine, my phone is cracked and quirky but I can make calls, and my driving has been a mess. Just for good measure, I turn the wrong way down a one way street on my way back to my sister with permit in hand. Why not? I've never done that one before.
BONUS SCENE: The next morning, when several officials stop by to ask the producer to produce her permits, I feel proud and useful. Those permits are on set partly because I had been willing to drive like a nutter and ask for help and let the Universe remind me that I'm not being "better than" other drivers by being nice, I'm being correct.
You just never know what's going on behind the scenes in the seemingly strange, weird, or wrong twists and turns another person chooses to take. Sometimes they don't even know! But always, always, always, we can be kind and helpful. Often times it's nice to give a quick honk of your horn, say "Hey there! Don't smash me, I'm here too!" and a frazzled mom or production assistant may want to kiss you for it. But honk your horn to yell? Ummmm.... who does that help?
So, if you saw me making crazy turns and silly stops in Los Angeles the other day (and many people did!) I thank you for laughing with me, and not yelling or angrily honking at me. I did end up where I wanted to end up, and we had a grand adventure along the way!
And I remembered that I'm not "better than" when I'm friendly and forgiving, I'm just right.
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
December 7, 2015
Autism Answer: My Boys at Burger Lounge
My two oldest sons, Tyran and Jory.My two oldest sons often do production assistant work for my producer sister. She produces big advertising photo shoots and they do their best to help her out on set. They love it!
Last week my sister worked a big job and needed all of her crew. However, my oldest son was working his regular job and was unavailable, so I replaced him. I've been on sets before, and I love being an assistant, so though I knew it would be hard work, I also figured I'd be naturally good at it.
Oops! Silly me!!
I did work hard, and I did love it (working with my family tends to always include a fantastic atmosphere) but I was not a natural!
However, my son trained me and my sister assisted me (yes, the producer assisted her assistant!) and while I was continuously learning I was also continuously impressed and amazed at how talented my sister and my son are. Patient, focused, lovely, creative, and strong are a few words that immediately come to mind.
I had many favorite moments. And I expect over the next few days you'll be invited to share a few with me. We all know I love to tell you about my favorite moments!
For now, let me share this simple, beautiful, mom-tastic one.
One evening after we wrapped, my oldest son met us in Santa Monica for a late night meal. He knew we only had a couple of hours to spend with him, but he also knew that it was likely the only chance he and I would have to see each other until who-knows-when, so he and his girlfriend endured the California traffic for a meal with me.
We met at Burger Lounge, he bought us food, and we hugged so tight!!! Then, my two oldest sons talked about the production, how it was going and how my oldest son was missing the energy and people on my sister's crew, and what it was like to work with me.
I listened to my boys talk about me and love me and laugh at me and adore me and be embarrassed of me while they ate their burgers. I saw them keep an eye on me to make sure I was enjoying it. I saw them love each other and miss working together and share work memories and care about including me, while being honest and comfortable.
I saw my two grown sons and listened to their banter; comfortable and careful and caring and gorgeous.
We're always learning and forever growing up. We're all confident and practiced at some things and uncertain or new at other things. I know I'll have to work at least one more time to get a good groove and intuitive nature as a production assistant.
But one thing I know for sure after seeing my boys at Burger Lounge, one thing I know completely and with absolute certainty, is that they are grown up. All the growing up and learning they do now, for the rest of their lovely lives, will be much like the extra patties on their over-sized burgers: more.
Just, more.
Simply, more.
Who they are now is enough. They are grown, they have the tools, they know what matters to them. The rest of their lives will be mostly about adding more.
I'll continue to be amazed.
I'll continue to tell the stories.
And together, we'll keep adding more.
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
Tyran and my sister, Brandessa. As you can see Tyran loves when his mom takes pics of him on set!November 24, 2015
Autism Answer: "I Am Thankful for Uncle Dar."
Declyn and Dramma (his grandma)"I am thankful for my uncle (Dar) because without him my grandma wouldn't have started her business that helps thousands of families with autism in the world."~Declyn Shelton
When my youngest son, Declyn, was about five months old he would twist his body in crazy positions to avoid eye contact and certain types of touch.
As he grew he would throw-up daily, hold me tight for at least an hour at the playground working up the courage to play where strangers played (even though his brothers invited and invited), he had a need to wrap his fingers in my hair that kept him forever in my arms. He and his other sensory and socially challenged brother became intense friends, with a closeness that made them seem like twins.
This never frightened or worried me. I have grown up surrounded and gifted by autism. I have family members with similar sensory, social, and communication challenges. Because my mom has not only helped my brothers in these areas but also hundreds of others around the world, my son and I were in good hands. It was a simple question of enjoying the work. Which I strongly believe meant helping my son with his challenges while asking the world to be more open to diversity. It's not his job to be like us, it's our job to shift ourselves and learn to like all of us.
As a family we encouraged eye contact, discovered ways to help him keep his food down (mostly!), visited playgrounds intentionally over and over--not pushing him to become socially comfortable but believing he could and celebrating each step of the way--until he became Mr. Popularity. His need for wrapping fingers in my ponytail had lessened; became mostly a bedtime thing with the odd stressful-day type need thrown in for good measure.
Declyn is now involved in Marching Band, he's doing a trumpet solo for the regional competition, he's on the debate team, he's rarely home and consistently surrounded by people which he's quite comfortable with. Safe in the knowledge that when he comes home we'll allow him time alone and personal space. And I'll let him play with my hair when he needs it.
Declyn is fifteen. He is my youngest. My baby. I kind of want him to stay little and I even catch myself getting my hair wet for him (he loves it when my hair is wet) just in case he wants to still need me. Usually, he's busy.
I'm so proud of all four of my boys, who have helped each other, hurt each other, compared themselves to each other, pushed away, pulled close, but have always, always loved each other.
I'm thankful for my entire family.
I find it simple and natural to feel and express gratitude often, and with volume. My sons do the same, mostly when talking about each other or me.
One day while I was cleaning our house (okay, fine, trying to find something under all of the mess. tee hee!) I found a piece of schoolwork Declyn had done way back in his younger years, when he was still struggling pretty strongly with sensory issues and social challenges.
"I am thankful for my uncle (Dar) because without him my grandma wouldn't have started her business that helps thousands of families with autism in the world."~Declyn Shelton
That heaping helping of gratitude and gratefulness is a delicious addition to the Thanksgiving season!
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) www.brainbody.net <--- Check out the business he's talking about. www.tsarashelton.com www.fourbrothersoneworld.com
My boys having burgers with Uncle Dar
November 20, 2015
Autism Answer: The Value Of Less Words
His deep brown eyes pleaded with me to take away the anguish while his newly accepted maturity knew that I could not.
But we both also knew, my youngest brother and I, that—as always—I would try.
His anguish was manufactured by his perseveration of the moment (having to do with the shape of cars in the future) and a strong frightening certainty that things would not go his way.
I took a breath and distilled the words that usually helped him. Tossing away any unnecessary fluff or digressions I attempted to gift him with a soundbite he could hold onto and clearly remember.
“The Universe doesn’t speak English or French, Rye, it speaks the language of mood. The more joy and faith and love you speak to it and envision for it, the more it will return that same communication.”
I put the dish I was washing in the dish strainer, rubbed my wet hands on a nearby towel, and returned my brother’s gaze. I spoke to him for a moment clearly in the language of mood, sending understanding and supportive energy his way and felt a surge of appreciation returned. I was encouraged then to add more words.
“Right now you’re speaking fear to the universe. You saw a car shaped the way you don’t want them shaped and rather than laugh, believing in a playful Universe that teases, you chose to fear a Universe that refuses to care about you. You thought words like I don’t want that shape but the Universe speaks mood, not words, and is giving you what it thinks you want based on where you put your energy.”
My twenty-eight year old baby brother relaxed then, and sat comfortably in a chair in my kitchen, looking at me expectantly. He wanted more words.
“The Universe is kind. It listens. So use the language of mood to tell it what you want.”
My brother smiled then and we started making up scenes and situations where he could choose to feel afraid or instead choose to feel encouraged. Admittedly, we got pretty silly! Because by then we were speaking the mood of comfortable sibling silliness.
This wasn’t the first time I had helped my brother by sharing this idea with him, but it was the first time I was able to bring it down to a smaller number of words; the necessary ones.
Ever since that day I’ve been able to remind him of the entire conversation and concept by simply saying: Use the language of mood.
Words are powerful. Communication is even more so. Often the clearest and most honest way to communicate is by using less words.
I’m in a unique position to know this. As a writer I spend a delightful amount of time tweaking my meaning by weeding out words. A practice I first learned to value while growing up surrounded by autism and siblings with immense challenges in communication.
I am the oldest daughter of eight now grown children. My mom always planned on being the fabulous mother of at least a dozen kids and was heartbroken when she had to have a hysterectomy after my sister and I were born. However, after a brief dance with depression, mom started again speaking the language of mood purposefully; the Universe saved many lives by introducing mom to the world of adopting children with brain dysfunctions. As a child my mom had felt forever unwanted and misunderstood, and she was drawn to save my brothers from that same fate.
Which she did!
My brothers were challenged in many ways. Among other things they all landed in various places on the autism spectrum, so they all had issues to some degree with communication. The most challenged were the youngest and the oldest of my brothers.
My youngest brother, the one who sat with me in my kitchen contemplating the language of the Universe, was echolalic. Though he could say words he only copied what he heard others say, often creatively using the words and phrases of others to say new things. Things that would get him what he wanted in the moment.
The oldest of my adopted brothers couldn’t speak almost at all. Though he tried and tried; getting a clear word or sentence out only about once every few months.
I’ll admit I spent too many years assuming they had nothing to say.
I know now that I was cruelly mistaken. When I began to put aside my assumptions (and the assumptions, sadly, that society encouraged in the language of mood) and really watch my mom with them, I saw true communication. Communication that was far more real than the gossip and lies and attempts to be cool that my friends and I were involved in.
My mom and brothers spoke the language of the Universe. The language of caring, believing, letting go of judgement, loving, and action.
They spoke the language of energy and mood.
My brothers (and most autistic people) respond more quickly to energy and mood than words. This is true, I believe, for most of us. But we also lie with words more easily, pretending we’re not. We put our words out there to play the game of lies while we engage also in a battle of moods.
Growing up with my brothers, while also always harboring a deep desire to become a writer, put me in a fantastic position to consider this conundrum.
After all, as a writer words would be my only tool. Words and punctuation are how I would communicate my stories and ideas. What value could there be in seeing the lie words often represented?
And here is the gift. Words are not a lie. They are a powerful, meaningful, and impressive way to communicate; especially when we distill them down. When we recognize them as a direct line to our mood and truths.
The joy of less words, then, becomes the joy of discovering our truth.
I do this now as a writer. I delight in the tweaking of words, searching for exactly my meaning.
I do this also as a mom, friend, and sister. Although in spoken word I always first use far too many. That’s fun also!
My youngest brother and I had discussed the value of mood for almost a year before I really understood what I was trying to say, and before I really knew the best way for my brother to understand it. We had many chatting sessions where we overused words and followed where they lead. Too many words is often where I start.
Luckily my life and my family have taught me the value of simplifying and seeking the truth amidst the mess. Whether I’m looking for the problem within the symptoms, or the person within the behaviors, or the truth amidst too many words.
I try to always be intentional and careful, to speak the language of mood, and to honor the joy and value of less.
Hugs, smiles, and love!!Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
My youngest brother November 17, 2015
Autism Answer: Why It's Easy For Me To Open My Borders
Things People Told My Mom Before She Adopted My Siblings:
"This one is blind and deaf. He can't control his bowels and doesn't sleep and your whole family will have to deal with it. He's feral and won't ever be able to learn. You'll be keeping him until a bed is available at the institution. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"He's dangerous. You'll have to teach the family to protect themselves and to hide their weaknesses. He's small but he's mean. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"She's been abused so much there's nothing good left in her. She lies and takes advantage of anyone and everyone, don't believe it when she says she loves you. It's not her fault but it's not your problem either, and you have other children to protect. Are you sure you want to do this?"
I could go on and on and on. These people were well meaning but terrifically misguided.
My mom -- Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad--has always exampled love, hard work, strong expectations and raising the bar. But never has she taught us to permanently close our hearts or our door.
And when mom did cave into the pressure and judgements of others for a short time, attempting to keep dangers at bay and to find folks focused on protecting us, when she doubted her instincts and thought perhaps others were right, in those few years we were hurt. We were left feeling lost and afraid, acutely aware of the monsters in our midst but unable to easily identify them, and we were taken dangerous and cruel advantage of.
It is with the greatest of gratitude that I appreciate and love my mom for having the strength and vision to choose love and open borders again.
I am the oldest daughter of eight kids, six were adopted. My mom has continuously invited people to live with us for temporary stints (she has a filmmaker from Uganda staying with her right now). My life and the lives of my siblings have been forever and infinitely made better because of this.
Yes, there have been mountain sized challenges and scary moments, we have had to say "no" with strong love and a belief in each other now and then. Mom has had to offer love and help to people in a dangerous frame of mind while being smart and careful about it, without inviting them to live with in our home, though she still helped. There have been confusing times of deep introspection where we had to keep careful watch on the balance between kindness and blindness; knowing that, always, kindness is possible.
So, yes, like with all lives there have been times of inconvenience.
But there have been no regrets.
Love, gratitude, laughter, tears, support, worry, adventure: yes.
Regrets: no.
We are best and beautiful when we don't let our fears control us.
Keeping our eyes open to the true nature of beings is brilliant, it helps us to stay safe while we remain willing and able to see the value within.
It helps us stay safe while we open the borders of our hearts and open our doors.
Open hearts and open doors is a gift my mom is always strong and kind enough to offer.
I try to follow in her footsteps.
I invite you to join me!
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
Mostly my family, plus one more. Which, in truth, is fully my family!
"This one is blind and deaf. He can't control his bowels and doesn't sleep and your whole family will have to deal with it. He's feral and won't ever be able to learn. You'll be keeping him until a bed is available at the institution. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"He's dangerous. You'll have to teach the family to protect themselves and to hide their weaknesses. He's small but he's mean. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"She's been abused so much there's nothing good left in her. She lies and takes advantage of anyone and everyone, don't believe it when she says she loves you. It's not her fault but it's not your problem either, and you have other children to protect. Are you sure you want to do this?"
I could go on and on and on. These people were well meaning but terrifically misguided.
My mom -- Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad--has always exampled love, hard work, strong expectations and raising the bar. But never has she taught us to permanently close our hearts or our door.
And when mom did cave into the pressure and judgements of others for a short time, attempting to keep dangers at bay and to find folks focused on protecting us, when she doubted her instincts and thought perhaps others were right, in those few years we were hurt. We were left feeling lost and afraid, acutely aware of the monsters in our midst but unable to easily identify them, and we were taken dangerous and cruel advantage of.
It is with the greatest of gratitude that I appreciate and love my mom for having the strength and vision to choose love and open borders again.
I am the oldest daughter of eight kids, six were adopted. My mom has continuously invited people to live with us for temporary stints (she has a filmmaker from Uganda staying with her right now). My life and the lives of my siblings have been forever and infinitely made better because of this.
Yes, there have been mountain sized challenges and scary moments, we have had to say "no" with strong love and a belief in each other now and then. Mom has had to offer love and help to people in a dangerous frame of mind while being smart and careful about it, without inviting them to live with in our home, though she still helped. There have been confusing times of deep introspection where we had to keep careful watch on the balance between kindness and blindness; knowing that, always, kindness is possible.
So, yes, like with all lives there have been times of inconvenience.
But there have been no regrets.
Love, gratitude, laughter, tears, support, worry, adventure: yes.
Regrets: no.
We are best and beautiful when we don't let our fears control us.
Keeping our eyes open to the true nature of beings is brilliant, it helps us to stay safe while we remain willing and able to see the value within.
It helps us stay safe while we open the borders of our hearts and open our doors.
Open hearts and open doors is a gift my mom is always strong and kind enough to offer.
I try to follow in her footsteps.
I invite you to join me!
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
Mostly my family, plus one more. Which, in truth, is fully my family!
November 16, 2015
Autism Answer: Facilitated Communication - A Brother and Sister Adventure
give attention your wayIt's been a while since I've shared with you one of my childhood cruelties. A thought or action I'm not proud of but where I was able to learn an important lesson.
i will do it mine
feed some souls with music
fastest way to fine~Dar Shelton (2015)
Let's fix that, shall we!
My brother, Dar, started facilitated communication when he was about ten years old (or so). My mom was overjoyed to discover this method of chatting with my brother. She'd been insisting he had things to say for years, and she was certain he'd also been reading, so when this Ouija Board type talk was introduced to her, a way for my brother to point to letters on a board, spelling words, sentences, paragraphs, poems, my mom wasted no time learning and teaching all of us siblings.
The thing is, I was a sibling who thought mom was almost as crazy as Dar. No way he had anything to say! No way he could spell! No way! And besides, the way to help him "speak" was to give him support, pull back a bit on his arm while he used that pressure to regulate his intention tremor and give him confidence as he pointed to letters. In other words, it looked like we were guiding his hand, like I liked to do with the Ouija Board.
But some of the things Dar said were so different, so beautifully surreal, words that explained things in ways I'd never experienced, as if he were pulling them through another world and putting them together in ways we could almost understand, and certainly feel.
Unlike when I would push the planchette on the Ouija board, I was left honestly wondering and wanting to know more about the world he was composing for us.deep in Dar's head is a contact c time capsuleit tick tick ticks and hurts his earsespecially when the world's asleepthose non-drowsy tiny time pills tick all night long~Dar Shelton (1993)
When we help our loved ones via facilitated communication, it's true that we will and do influence the message a bit, as is true with every other form of communication. But I think the most important thing is to keep in mind that facilitated communication is about believing our autistic friends and family member do have something to say, and we want to know what that is.
When my brother began facilitating I didn't believe in it at all. He needed help, and to me he didn't seem like a person with things to say. I was young and cruel. I was overly influenced by the so many others who insisted it was impossible, he couldn't possibly have ideas and thoughts to share. He was a broken person who couldn't possibly learn to read or write. I believed them quietly while I let mom show me how to use the board with my brother.
While mom taught me how to help him I struggled with my own issue. I liked being the helper, the one who could do things for mom, and I didn't want to look like someone who couldn't do this so, like with the Ouija planchette, I lead my brother's hand.
Dar looked at me in a strange and uncommon way. I got my first inkling of how wrong I was and how right mom was. He was looking at me with so much hurt in his eyes, I knew that he knew I didn't believe in him.
But that didn't stop me right away. In front of people I would still lead him a bit - which meant he would reach toward letters on the board and if he took long I would decide for myself which letter I thought he was trying to reach for. However, when no one was looking I would try to do it honestly.
There is a skill in giving him the support he needs without leading, and I eventually got it.
So, yes, sometimes his words belonged almost entirely to me, but most often they were a mixture of us. Brother and sister. And then I learned how to let them be almost entirely his.
Facilitated communication is one of those things that has camps "for" and "against" which is something I'm pretty much against. Camps, that is. Though I understand why these camps have cropped up. People have been accused of horrendous things via facilitated communication. Sexual abuse, physical abuse, and more. If the accusations aren't true, if they are words coming from the helper "leading" I can see why this would be cause for concern. But false accusations is a thing that happens in the world and with all types of communication, and it's sad. It happens more in a world of talkers than non. And people who struggle to speak, or who can't speak at all, are enormously at risk of being abused. They are abused often and easily, and it's a terrible thing.
However, I also agree with my mom who believes it's better to always encourage my brother to practice speech first, for obvious and even less obvious reasons. So I wouldn't pitch a tent in the "for" facilitated communication camp either, where I'd have to argue that it's necessary and best and has to be in all schools and, and, and....
Facilitated communication is a gift I wouldn't want taken from my brother. It's an imperfect tool that plays a perfect role in his challenging life.
Today Dar still prefers a little help (my mom invented a brace to try and simulate the pressure he needs, he doesn't like it) but he can type independently. Well, someone still has to be there encouraging him and promising we want to know what he has to say. He shares insightful and cheeky posts on his Facebook profile. His intention tremor and poor fine motor skills often mean we step in and delete letters for him so he can start again. Without the pressure or support his fingers hit the wrong letters and words. It's extremely challenging for him. But he can now finally do it.put family under your pillow~Dar Shelton (2014)
Often, though, he'll ask mom to hold his elbow while he types. And she will.
For years and years and years my mom supported his arm, invented things, believed in him, taught us how to do the same, reminded him to try and try for independence without withholding support.
And the most exciting thing happened. He sent me this in the mail. His first independent handwriting!
A letter I got in the mail. So, regardless of how we choose to help our loved ones tell us what they have to say, I suggest we value and believe in their ability. I suggest we not judge others for how they help their friends and family share ideas. And I suggest we be willing to change our beliefs when it becomes clear that we were wrong. Like I was wrong.
Now, I wonder if I should gather my children together tonight to play Ouija? And this time I won't influence the planchette.
Maybe I'll discover that I've been a believer all along,I was just afraid of what I might learn when talking with the other side....
Hugs, smiles, and love!!Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
Author's Invitation: I happily invite you to peek at this video of Man Alive, a documentary style show that featured our family back in 1994. You'll also have an opportunity to watch Dar facilitate and to hear the entirety of Dar's poem!
Autism, Abuse, Lynette Louise, Prisons, and Man Alive
November 13, 2015
Autism Answer: Cool Clothes and Following Passions - His Idea Of Success
Declyn Declyn: I can't wait to go to my high school reunion.
Me: Dude, you haven't even graduated yet. Slow down!
Declyn: I know but it's going to be so fun seeing my friends and showing off how successful we are. I'll have cool clothes and a nice house. I'll probably be famous.
Me: (trying not to sound too "parent-y") You know that none of the things you just mentioned equal success, right?
Declyn: (trying not to sound too condescending) Of course. I know that and you know that, but society doesn't. I'm not going to ignore my idea of success, I'm going to go after all the things I want to do and I'm passionate about. I just know that it's the cool clothes and nice house and fame most people are going to notice.
Me: Okay, sure, but you can't focus on what society wants from you. That's not healthy. Anyway, maybe society will shift by then. Maybe....
Declyn: (laughing) Not gonna happen! And I can't pretend society's idea of success isn't important. It is! The way I get treated and the way my family gets treated will be affected by it. So, I'm going to care mostly about my idea of success but I'm not going to pretend not to care about theirs.
Me: You're almost too smart for your own good, kiddo!
Declyn: It's probably because of the autism. Probably because of all those years trying to figure myself and the world out. Everything seems to be falling into place right now. I know it'll get confusing and hard again while I try to make all my dreams happen, but I also know I can do it. Mostly because of the autism. Now, don't say anything else. I don't want to talk about important stuff anymore.
Having teenagers is the craziest, scariest, wildest ride! They are people you love so darn much you'd do anything to make them happy, strong, popular, adored, healthy, rich, proud, humble, etc, etc, etc. And yet they remind you over and over and over again, it's all up to them.
You can't do it for them.
They must.
They will.
And although most days it feels like they may not be able to do it, like they're focusing on all the wrong things and trying too hard to please a group of teenager friends who are also focusing on all the wrong things, there are moments like this. Moments where they show you that they have a handle on this whole actively and purposefully maturing thing.
It's amazing!
My sons are amazing!!
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
My darling Declyn. www.fourbrothersoneworld.com
November 11, 2015
Autism Answer: Our Minds Are Like The Virtual World
Our minds are like the virtual world.
Limitless, with absolutely everything available. Either it's been created or it can be created - infinite possibilities with infinite space. Our minds and our virtual world are learning from us as they focus on our habits, offering more of what we want, giving us proof of our intentions and searches, easily and quickly the more we continue to search.
We are infinitely powerful because of this!
But our minds and our virtual world sneakily slip into the power position because we easily forget our role. Forgetting that we are the true deciders of what we create, imagine, and search. We are the true deciders of the images and beliefs that surround us. For the most part.
And when our brains are unbalanced or our virtual world hacked or borrowed, we can give up, we can believe we are not powerful.
Or we can take purposeful control again. Reach out for help from recommended experts while using our own creativity to navigate happily among the unbalances and viruses. This, again, is power!
Our minds are like the virtual world. And we are not only in control, but responsible, for what we ask them to create and discover for us.
You know what I think, friends?
I think that's wonderful!!!
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
November 6, 2015
Autism Answer: Communicate
Words, words, words, talk, talk, talk, blah, blah, blah....
If you've met me or listened to me on a podcast you know that I like to talk! All night long, sipping copious amounts of coffee, laughing and making funny movements to emphasize a joke, touching your hand and bringing down the tone while we get serious and deep, looking off into the world beyond our world while we imagine and describe endless and infinite possibilities...
I love to talk! I love to write about it! I love to share and listen and hear words and words and words! But...
I also respond to a more real communication. Energy, intentions, actions; less easily expressed with words but far more deeply felt and understood.
I like to believe that I would have learned to value and recognize this type of connecting simply by growing older and becoming wise. But I'm old enough and wise enough now to know that learning some things happens only with the intention and desire to do so.
Quieting the mind, knowing words to be imperfect symbols attempting to express or hide or distract from true communication, this is something I learned because I was in a unique position to want to know it.
My brother, Dar, struggles with words. They don't come easily and when they do come they are often a simple request for something to nourish him from the hard work of communicating silently with a world that doesn't seem inclined to understand his meaning.
My brother, Rye, struggles with words. They slip easily out of his mouth as a representation of what he thinks he's supposed to say or words he's heard from others. People he assumes know the appropriate response. "You've hurt my feelings, you're talking to me like you think I'm an annoyance rather than a workmate," comes out of his mouth in words like, "You're an asshole."
I struggle with words. I pile the nicest ones I know on my sons when they are hurting, burying them deeply in my nice, nice words. I know better and I want to do better but while I communicate quietly with soft touches, an allowing of space, and an unsolicited cup of hot chocolate, I muffle the meaning behind these moments by spilling more words and making a mess.
Words are wonderful!
I love words!!
Yet they are hardly the truest form of communication.
When we listen with our energy, we don't need to understand exactly how it is we're able to communicate so clearly. It's not necessary to put it into words.
We're all intelligent enough and able to communicate deeply; even if some of us have almost forgotten how, we can remember.
This doesn't mean we won't misread the intentions, energy, or actions of our loved ones! Goodness, no! We absolutely will! And in those moments words can be a wonderful tool for exploration and clarification. But they aren't necessary. We can simply shift our assumptions and try again.
When we communicate from our deeper meaning, from our intentions and hopes and energy and actions, we're already in the truth. Sadly, we've become inclined to misunderstand it.
We've almost forgotten the language, we don't focus on it enough.
So, let's focus on it!
Let's remember it!
Let's communicate honestly.
Let's highlight our intentions, our actions, our energy!
Let's communicate deeply.
Let's discover and tweak what we're really saying!
Let's communicate thoughtfully.
Let's be so comfortable and in tune with our intentions and actions that the words we choose to use closely represent them.
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
Holding my husbands hand while he drives. Communication, loud and clear.
If you've met me or listened to me on a podcast you know that I like to talk! All night long, sipping copious amounts of coffee, laughing and making funny movements to emphasize a joke, touching your hand and bringing down the tone while we get serious and deep, looking off into the world beyond our world while we imagine and describe endless and infinite possibilities...
I love to talk! I love to write about it! I love to share and listen and hear words and words and words! But...
I also respond to a more real communication. Energy, intentions, actions; less easily expressed with words but far more deeply felt and understood.
I like to believe that I would have learned to value and recognize this type of connecting simply by growing older and becoming wise. But I'm old enough and wise enough now to know that learning some things happens only with the intention and desire to do so.
Quieting the mind, knowing words to be imperfect symbols attempting to express or hide or distract from true communication, this is something I learned because I was in a unique position to want to know it.
My brother, Dar, struggles with words. They don't come easily and when they do come they are often a simple request for something to nourish him from the hard work of communicating silently with a world that doesn't seem inclined to understand his meaning.
My brother, Rye, struggles with words. They slip easily out of his mouth as a representation of what he thinks he's supposed to say or words he's heard from others. People he assumes know the appropriate response. "You've hurt my feelings, you're talking to me like you think I'm an annoyance rather than a workmate," comes out of his mouth in words like, "You're an asshole."
I struggle with words. I pile the nicest ones I know on my sons when they are hurting, burying them deeply in my nice, nice words. I know better and I want to do better but while I communicate quietly with soft touches, an allowing of space, and an unsolicited cup of hot chocolate, I muffle the meaning behind these moments by spilling more words and making a mess.
Words are wonderful!
I love words!!
Yet they are hardly the truest form of communication.
When we listen with our energy, we don't need to understand exactly how it is we're able to communicate so clearly. It's not necessary to put it into words.
We're all intelligent enough and able to communicate deeply; even if some of us have almost forgotten how, we can remember.
This doesn't mean we won't misread the intentions, energy, or actions of our loved ones! Goodness, no! We absolutely will! And in those moments words can be a wonderful tool for exploration and clarification. But they aren't necessary. We can simply shift our assumptions and try again.
When we communicate from our deeper meaning, from our intentions and hopes and energy and actions, we're already in the truth. Sadly, we've become inclined to misunderstand it.
We've almost forgotten the language, we don't focus on it enough.
So, let's focus on it!
Let's remember it!
Let's communicate honestly.
Let's highlight our intentions, our actions, our energy!
Let's communicate deeply.
Let's discover and tweak what we're really saying!
Let's communicate thoughtfully.
Let's be so comfortable and in tune with our intentions and actions that the words we choose to use closely represent them.
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
Holding my husbands hand while he drives. Communication, loud and clear.
