Yesterday I was around people (lots of people) for 14 hours. FOURTEEN. HOURS.

It was our school festival, which is like a big play and a dance show all in one. We’d been practicing and preparing for about 6 months and the big day finally arrived. It really was a wonderful event and the kids were trembling with excitement.

I knew that one of our kids was going to have a shutdown. They don’t like loud noises, strange smells, disruptions to routines, bright lights etc. So I brought a shutdown survival kit with me – fidget toy, eucalyptus spray, another perfume in case they didn’t like eucalyptus and a book. Sadly, the noise cancelling headphones I ordered still hadn’t arrived.

As expected, after their group’s dance they sat against a wall, curled up with their eye fixed on the floor in a thousand-yard stare. They were stimming with the plastic bag they had brought their lunch in.

I asked them how they were feeling.

“OK”. 

“How are you doing with the loud noises?” 

*shrug*

Pause.

“It smells really bad in here”, they whispered.

“Would you like to play with this?” I handed over the fidget toy. Tucking their plastic ziplock safely between their legs, they took the fidget toy and began to examine it with curiosity. Clicking, spinning, rubbing the different textures. It seemed to do the trick.

“About that smell”, I said, fumbling through my bag, “I have something for that.” 

I sprayed the eucalyptus scent in the air in front of them. Their face lit up and they let out a “mmmmm” of approval, before going back to their stimming.

They stayed like that, curled up against the wall, absorbed in the fidget toy, until a friend came over to inquire as to what it was. They showed them the toy (either in silence or a whisper, I couldn’t hear over the racket of the dressing room) but never let it go. Then they curled up against another wall, more clicking, more spinning, more rubbing.

Before the finale, they returned the toy to me and asked me to take care of their plastic bag until Monday. They didn’t want to throw it away and they weren’t allowed to take it on stage. I popped it in my bag and asked them to remind me about it at school, since I have a terrible memory. They giggled, nodded and headed out for their final number.

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Later that afternoon, all the staff headed off for a meal and teacher’s day celebration. We were on a roof terrace overlooking Coyoacán and it was fabulous. Fantastic food, plenty of drinks and two mariachi groups to top it all off.

We arrived at around 2.30pm. The table was set for about 40 people and we were some of the first to arrive. I found my gang of lower elementary teachers and quickly huddled up in a corner with them. I am lucky to be friends with some very extroverted people, so they helped me to order drinks and understand the Mexican jokes and keep up with general chitchat. It was loud; spirits were high and the alcohol was flowing.

This is probably a good time to mention that I find big social events challenging. I love to listen, I love taking in the music and the joy and the laughter. But for me, actually participating is difficult. My sensory processing is on overdrive, and with so much input, any output on my part requires double the effort. At times I would be more than happy to sit in a corner, curled up against a wall, just taking it all in.

After having eaten my fill of the delicious feast, answering questions about chilango culture to prove my barrio knowledge and having a tequila shot poured into my mouth, it was my turn. Disassociation, jumbled thoughts and inertia. I was shutting down. 

I reached into my bag for my fidget toy and began to click and spin and rub the different textures. It helped. I could concentrate a little better and focus on the conversation. It was 7.30pm and I planned to leave at 8. I had already been around people for a full 12 hours.

For some reason, 8 o’clock came and went and I was still firmly planted in my seat. The inertia, the inability to move, had fully kicked in. I was overwhelmed but didn’t panic, focussing on the song playing in the background. I don’t remember it now but I knew the words, so I started to sing. Singing is one of my favourite, lifelong stims.

A friend leans in and says “I love your brain, you are totally into that” gesturing to the speakers.

Two more hours pass like this. I have to ask friends to help me to join in with the conversation. I feel myself zoning out completely at times. I am giving short answers. I am hearing the voices around me but I’m taking very little in. It’s time to go home.

I finally bundle myself in a taxi. I’m on the home stretch. It’s a short ride, just 16 minutes. After 14 hours, those 16 minutes can’t go quickly enough.

Before I know it, I’m jiggling my keys into the lock. My partner gives me a bear hug. I breathe in his scent. I’m home.

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I don’t know how my student experiences their shutdowns, but it helps to have some personal experience so I can support them. While being autistic has its struggles, it has shown me how to support kids who experience similar things and are unable to articulate what it is they need. I can assess their situation pretty quickly based on their behaviour and create a safe space for them amongst the chaos. 

Do I get it right every time? No.

Am I some kind of sensory overwhelm expert? Heck no.

Am I constantly observing, adapting and adjusting my understanding to support the little ones in my care? I try my best.