OT And Me: How Occupational Therapy Saved My Life

At the age of 28, I walked into my Occupational Therapist's office for the first time. I walked in, an utterly broken and defeated human being.

For 28 years, I had lived my life as an Autistic person who didn't know I was Autistic. 28 years of trying to fit in. 28 years of trying to be "normal", when I didn't know what was "wrong" with me in the first place. 28 years of hearing that I was the problem. 28 years of believing everyone hated me. 28 years of hating myself. 28 years of being used. 28 years of feeling defective. My entire working life, through multiple jobs, of being told, through words and actions, that I was basically both useless and worthless.

As my first assignment, my OT asked me to list three things that I liked about myself.

I couldn't do it.

Believe me when I am telling you, that I sat there in her office, struggling to find something that I liked and appreciated myself for, and literally could not think of a thing. It had been hammered into my head for so long, that I was good at nothing, and good FOR nothing, that I wholeheartedly and sincerely believed it.

Finally, with a little prompting, I came up with one thing: "I'm good at being nice to people."

Yes, I was good at being nice to people. Partly because I didn't EVER want anyone to feel the way I felt, but also because the fawn response in the face of trauma, being overly nice and pleasant and friendly and submissive and people-pleasing, was the only thing that had kept me safe.

Gently, very gently, my OT reminded me of something else; I cared enough about myself, to reach out for help. Because I knew that if I didn't, I would very likely end up in a mental hospital... or as a statistic. And I didn't want to end up as a statistic. There was still a part of me, no matter how many nights I prayed to die in my sleep, and dreaded waking up the next morning, that wanted to live. There was still a part of me that believed I was worth fighting for. Which is why I chose one morning to walk into a Mental Health Walk-In Clinic.

It was the bottom of the barrel for me. I ended up on Social Assistance shortly after, not because I was "lazy" or "didn't want to work", as most people say about people on government assistance... but because if one more person told me I was useless, I would die.

And I didn't want to die. I wanted to live.

 

Six months later, with my OT's support, I got my Autism diagnosis, along with a diagnosis of Other/Unspecified Trauma Disorder, which has now been confirmed as meeting and exceeding all the criteria for PTSD.

And slowly, very slowly, with the patient help of my OT, I began the process of recovery and healing. Of learning to love myself. Of learning to understand my brain. Of learning to, for the first time in my life, both identify and meet my sensory and social and emotional needs. Of learning that it's OKAY to have needs. Of learning it's okay to ask for support. Of learning how to build my own support network.

Slowly, we began to pick apart the tangled threads of the rat's nest that was my mind, and wind them up into neat and organized piles. There's the sensory overwhelm. There's the low self-esteem. There's the anxiety. There's the demand avoidance. There's the physical issues like gastrointestinal problems, hypermobility, and proprioceptive dysfunction. There's the religious trauma. There's the trauma from being bullied at work. There's the overwhelming need to fawn and people-please. There's the SIBs (Self-Injurious Behaviours, different from Self-Harm) like biting, hitting, or pinching myself.

And bit by bit, we started the process of building me back up.

Fast forward to now, at age 34. I still live independently, but now with confidence and pride in my home. I'm a musician who has performed in various venues. I have a job I feel fully supported in, where I am now an asset instead of a problem. I have a small, close-knit circle of friends whom I adore, and who I know have my back just as I have theirs. I have found healing and joy in my nature-based spiritual path.

When I first began seeing my OT, she had, admittedly, not really worked with any Autistic individuals before. Helping me was a learning curve for her too. A challenge, but an opportunity for her to grow her practice as she helped me.

As of today, six years later, she is one of the few, if not the only, Occupational Therapist specializing in helping Autistic individuals in this area. She is a strong advocate for Occupational services for Autistic adults on a provincial level. And she is using me (with my permission, of course) as a case study and an example of how Occupational Therapy services can save lives. It's incredible for me, knowing that my story is helping to pave the way for other Autistic adults to get the support and services that they need.

Just a few short weeks ago, I hugged my OT goodbye as we both shed tears. She's starting her new journey now... the journey of being a Mom. And she is going to be absolutely incredible at it.

As for me, I will take the tools and strategies she taught me, share them with others as much as I can, and keep on living my best life.

Thanks, Sam. We did it. 

 

 

Christianity, Buddhism, And How I Befriended My Anxiety

 

Image description: A small Buddha figurine seated among
smooth stones and green plants. Photo by simardfrancois on Pixabay.

When I was a child, I had no word to describe what anxiety was.

I knew that anxiety meant being nervous. I heard growing up that "Everyone gets anxious sometimes." and "It's normal to be a bit anxious."

But I had no words to describe the monster that lurked over my shoulder, ready to strike without warning.

I would be invited to a friend's birthday party. There would be cake, balloons, games, laughter. I couldn't wait to go.

Then suddenly, I would be sick. Horrible pains would seize my stomach, making me cry out in pain. Nauseated, I would run to the bathroom... again, and again, and again. I would feel dizzy. I would sweat. I would see black spots swarming in front of my eyes, and I would slump to the floor gasping for breath. All I wanted was to crawl into my bed, close my eyes, and rest.

My mom would pick up the phone. "I'm so sorry, Hannah won't be able to make it today. She's feeling sick."

Then she would tuck me into bed, bring me a drink, and offer some noodle soup or toast, which I always refused. When the sickness came on me, I couldn't even be in the same room as food.

Family trips became a torture. As much as I loved to travel, and have fond memories of visiting different provinces, a lot of my time was spent shivering by the roadside, sobbing as my stomach tried to rebel against whatever mouthful or two I'd managed to force down. My mom holding a raincoat over my head, holding a wad of tissues, offering comfort as best she could.

Finally, fearing something was wrong, they took me to a doctor. I was poked and prodded, sent to a neighboring hospital for an ultrasound. The ultrasound technician was overly hearty, and I inwardly squirmed, stoic on the outside as always. Even at the age of ten, I hated being talked to like I was a baby, and I could always tell when adults were being patronizing.

Test results came back clear: my parents and I heaved signs of relief.

"She probably just has anxiety," the doctor mused by way of explanation.

It didn't compute to me. Anxiety was the nervousness I felt before taking an English test. It wasn't the bone-jarring, stomach twisting sickness that would strike out of the blue whenever a routine would be changed or I was required to try something new.

But, seeing as there was nothing we could do, I learned to live with it.

Image Description: Wooden Scrabble tiles spelling out the word
"Anxiety". Photo by WOKANDAPIX on Pixabay

As a child, my family were churchgoers with one station on our rabbit-eared TV. So it was exciting when we bought a satellite dish, and found a plethora of Christian stations featuring prominent televangelists.

I was always a "good" child, very pious and eager to keep from displeasing God in any way. As an undiagnosed Autistic, I frequently developed intense interests and rituals around things that made me feel safe, and church was one of those things. Of course, these important men with three-piece suits, gold cuff links, smooth voices, educated views, and congregations numbering in the thousands, must be very close to God. With the innocent faith and trust of many Autistic people, it never occurred to me that people could lie, or be manipulative for their own gain. It certainly never crossed MY mind to do so, and I couldn't fathom anyone else doing so. So I took everything these preachers said at face value, and gobbled up every word they said.

"Jesus can heal sickness!" A preacher boomed. "You just have to ask!"

I listened attentively. So here then, was the answer! I simply had to ask, and my sickness would be gone!

Childlike, I wrote down my petition and tucked it away, thinking that if it was written down, maybe God could see it better and He would be sure not to forget.

And I waited.

And nothing happened.

"It's not enough to just ask," another preacher droned. "You must have FAITH."

"Faith," I said to myself, nodding wisely. I could do that. I would pray more. I would try, again, to start the habit of reading the Bible every day. That would show God I have faith.

And still, I clung to the toilet a few days later, stomach heaving.

"It doesn't require much faith," another white-coated speaker crooned. "Jesus said you just need faith 'as a grain of mustard seed'."

My mom had mustard seeds in her kitchen. They were extremely tiny.

Well, I reasoned, if THAT'S all the faith it takes, surely I have that much? But why am I still sick?

"The Children of Israel gave sacrifices!" a black-suited preacher yelled, waving his arms. "How can you expect God to give to you if you never give to Him?"

A-ha! Now here was something I could do! I counted out my precious coins that I been saving for years. The preacher said if I gave a "seed gift" I would be healed. Confidently, I sent my gift away, and waited. Any day now, I was sure. Any day.

"Claim your healing!" A jovial pastor exclaimed cheerfully. "Next time you have a cold, don't say, 'I'm sick', say 'I'm healed in Jesus' Name'!"

"I'm healed... I'm healed... I'm healed in Jesus' Name... I'm not sick, I'm healed..." I lay down in the middle of the bathroom floor and wondered if this would be the day the pain would finally kill me. "If I die, at least I'll be in Heaven with Jesus."

Or would I?

"Sickness is of Satan!" A preacher glared, with fiery eyes and voice. "You need to tell the devil to get behind you!"

My stomach lurched in protest. Did I have a demon? Is that why I was still sick? But if I had a demon, how did it get there? And how did I get it out?

Slowly, I became convinced that I must secretly be an awful person. I was full of sin and evil and absolutely worthless without God, just like the preachers said. If I wasn't healed, then it must be my fault. They insisted that Jesus WANTED to heal me, and if He didn't, it meant I either didn't have enough faith, or I wasn't trying hard enough.

Slowly, as I grew older, seeking healing from anxiety became an obsession... that ironically, caused me to spiral deeper into anxiety.

Every time I found myself on the bathroom floor at 2 in the morning, I would run through all the reasons I wasn't healed. I would babble Bible verses on healing until they lost all meaning. I would frantically confess every sin I could think of and even a few I don't think I'd ever committed, just to be sure. I would promise to read my Bible more. I would yell at the devil and tell him to get out. I would spend hours on my knees in prayer, hopeful that maybe THIS time, God would see the sacrifice I was making, and find it in His heart to heal me.

Because, you see, God is perfect. And compassionate. And merciful.

So if I wasn't healed, it was all my fault.

All... my... fault.

I became twisted. I became so obsessed with my own guilt and shame that I could hardly hold my head up in public. I was so evil that even God wanted nothing to do with me. If people knew that I was such a bad person that God refused to heal me, they would want nothing to do with me.

Image Description: A backlit hand reaching up towards the light.
Photo by Jackson David on Pixabay.

Looking back, I wish I had never even heard of televangelists. Their well-meaning words, their sermons on healing, their advice that varied from day to day and station to station, almost succeeded in completely destroying the little bit of self-esteem I had left.

And then one day, I just.... gave up.

I was tired of yelling at the sky, at a God who apparently wanted nothing to do with me, and I gave up. Nothing I could do would induce Him to answer me anyway, so why even bother?

People think that leaving Christianity is a "crisis of faith." For me, my whole entire life was the crisis, and I was finally seeking escape from the madness.

Because at this point, I was tired.

The day I walked out of church and swore that I'd never go back, was also the day I was sure I could feel invisible chains snapping. Fetters falling off me. For the first time in my life, I felt truly free from the control. I felt like I could breathe.

Oh, there was so much more that drove me from Christianity. It wasn't just that I was never healed from what I knew, by that point, to be debilitating anxiety. If it was only that, I would never have left. I would have found a way to hang on, even then.

There is so much more to my story than that. I could write pages and pages and pages and never even come close. But this isn't the day for that.

I want to share, what finally helped to set me on the path of healing.

Therapy helped, of course. I learned to recognize anxiety for what it was, and better, to recognize what my triggers were.

But I was still floundering.

Even as a Christian, I had often joked that if I wasn't a Christian, I'd probably be a Buddhist. Something about their peaceful serenity called to me... me, a now almost 30 year old woman with a brain that seemed full of bees at the best of times. I now knew that I was Autistic, of course, which was a full journey to self-acceptance in itself, but I still wanted something more.

I wanted peace.

The peace I had been promised in Christianity, but which proved to be so very, very conditional. Peace, but only if you do this. Peace, but only if you give more. Peace, but only if you pray more. Peace, but only if you talk to God more.

Peace, that you had to fight for.

So, having decided that Christianity was no longer in the cards for me, and now with the freedom to explore any religion I chose, I decided to look into Buddhism a little deeper. I knew I wasn't willing to become a vegetarian, and I had no desire to join a monastery (although, to be fair, days spent in the mountains far away from people, chanting and being at one with nature, sounded pretty close to my idea of Heaven) but I wanted to know exactly what it was they taught and believed, and how exactly they obtained the peace they seemed to have so freely.

As I listened to different teachings by different people, I stumbled across a man by the name of Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche, a Tibetan Buddhist meditation teacher. His warm smile, gentle humor, and soft-spoken ways appealed to me. Also, the fact that he, too, suffered severe and isolating panic attacks as a child, helped me connect with him immediately.

Mingyur Rinpoche explained that he asked his father, a great meditation teacher, to teach him to meditate in an effort to stave off his frequent panic attacks. As he was meditating, he would continue to experience panic attacks. He would mutter, "Go away, panic, I'm meditating!"

I chuckled and nodded when he told that story. It sounded like the Tibetan Buddhism version of "Get thee behind me Satan," that I learned as a child.

It was the advice that Mingyur Rinpoche gave next, however, that made my ears perk up with interest. He explained that after receiving advice from his father, he sat down to meditate the next day. And this time, when the inevitable panic attack occurred, he simply smiled and said, "Hello, panic. Welcome."

It seemed mind boggling to me that something so simple could work, but I tried it.

The next time I faced an anxiety attack at 2 in the morning, I inhaled.

And exhaled.

And inhaled.

The pain was intense, but familiar to me. It would pass. It always had. I was not a bad person.

I observed with interest what my body was doing. I noted the racing heart, the nausea, the clammy skin, the twisting stomach, with the calm and detached air of a doctor observing a patient's symptoms.

And for the first time, I didn't panic over my panic.

I was not a terrible person for experiencing sickness. I had not failed. I was not dying. God was not sending me to hell for some mistake that I was unaware I'd made, or for not being pious enough. I was no longer wracking my brains for whatever terrible thing I thought or said or did last week that could possibly be causing this, or silently cursing my ancestors for the "generational sin" that was causing me to wail in pain because my great-great-great grandfather smoked a pipe.

And I smiled.

"Hello, panic. You are here again. You are familiar to me... I know you well. But I am not afraid of you this time."

Image Description: The cupped hands of a Buddhist monk,
folded in his lap. His is wearing an orange robe. 
Photo by kalyanayahaluwo on Pixabay.

And then, I laughed. So simple... so very simple. I had been fighting my panic for years... but when I welcomed it, when I made friends with it, when I accepted it in my life and sat with it to listen to what it had to tell me... it left.

Not completely, of course. There are days that it still creeps in. But now I no longer beg and cry and blame and quote verses and make rash promises and beat myself up.

Now, I just smile and say, "Hello, panic, old friend. Here you are again, for a short time. You are here because I am human... but you will soon leave again."

And it always does.

Because it's always better to make peace with your enemy; sometimes, in fighting your enemy, you end up destroying yourself in the process.

And that is how Buddhism saved my life in a week, after more than twenty years of struggling.

How I Deal With Nighttime Anxiety

 

If you're a person who battles severe anxiety like I do, you may find that sometimes, night time is the worst time of all. I'm not sure if it's the combination of the dark, being alone with your racing thoughts, feeling farther away from help, or a combination of these; but what I do know, is that night-time anxiety is the worst.

Image Description: A figure walking away from the camera
through a dark and foggy forest. Ahead of him looms the outline
of an alien-like figure with glowing eyes and hands outstretched
towards the camera. Overlaid white text reads: How I deal with
nighttime anxiety.

Since it's something I've been struggling with a lot lately, especially during the holiday season, I wanted to share with you some of the techniques I use to help calm myself down.

1. Get Up!

If you're like me, you've spent hours tossing and turning in your bed; or, worse, frozen in fear and unable to move at all. A lot of times we tend to have something against getting up in the middle of the night; after all, aren't we supposed to be sleeping? But what I've found over the years, is that sometimes getting up and moving around helps you feel as though you're doing something constructive. A little change of scenery, such as going out and sitting quietly in the bathroom or living room for a few minutes, may wake you up and help you get a better grasp on reality, particularly if you've had an upsetting dream.

2. Get Some Fresh Air.

If you have a house or apartment with an outside door, you might consider stepping outside briefly to clear your head. If it's winter, you live on the tenth floor of an apartment building, or you don't feel safe going out at night, you can also open a window and just breathe the fresh air for a few minutes. I find this often helps me settle down more quickly than anything. It also cools me down if my anxiety has me feeling overheated.

3. Warm Up.

When I have anxiety, I tend to feel extremely cold and shivery. Consider draping a warm blanket or sweater over your shoulders, holding a heating pad in your lap, or sipping a warm drink. You can also run some warm (not hot!) water from the faucet and dip your hands in it. If you're using a heating pad, please make sure not to fall asleep with it, or make sure it's the type that shuts off after a certain period of time so you don't accidentally get burned.

Image Description: Illustration of a person with their hair in a bun,
wearing a turtleneck sweater and pink fuzzy slippers
with a blanket over their knees. They are sipping from a mug with
a cat curled up next to them.

4. Take Something For Nausea.

Everyone's anxiety symptoms are different; mine almost always display as nausea or upset stomach. I also have a phobia of throwing up, which tends to become a vicious cycle; anxiety makes me want to throw up, and needing to throw up makes me even more anxious. I usually take a ginger Gravol, since they're very gentle and don't make you drowsy (medication that makes me drowsy also tends to increase my symptoms of panic, so keep that in mind!). Often, knowing that I have something in my stomach that will help relax the spasms, helps calm the fears around throwing up and makes me feel less likely to do it.

5. Have Something To Eat Or Drink.

If you're already feeling nauseated from anxiety, putting something in your stomach may be the last thing you want to do. And I definitely wouldn't recommend sitting down to a slice of pizza or some salami and pickles, but if you feel up to nibbling on a few soda crackers or a slice of toast, you may find that it helps with the nausea. Plus, the act of preparing and eating food may be a calming ritual that can temporarily take your mind off your anxiety.

6. Listen To Calming Music Or Nature Sounds.

I really can't emphasize this enough... long play nature videos have saved my life. I always fall asleep to one, and waking up to the sound of a gentle rain, birds chirping, or a cozy fire crackling often avert the panic before it even starts. Many long-play nature videos have dark screens, so they won't disturb your rest.

Image Description: Close-up photo of a pink lotus flower
against a backdrop of dark green leaves.

7. Listen To A Guided Meditation.

If you've never tried a guided meditation or sleep talkdown before, I highly recommend it! One of my favorite channels is The Honest Guys. Please note that I'm not affiliated with them in any way, their channel has just been super helpful for me! They have several videos aimed at reducing anxiety and panic attacks. Here's one of my favorites, but be sure to check out the rest of their content!

8. Sleep With A Lamp Or Nightlight.

Not everyone feels comfortable sleeping in total blackness, and there's absolutely no shame in being afraid of the dark. If I've been feeling sick during the night, I have a small nightlight that I turn on. That way, I can easily find my way out to the bathroom should I need to, and I can see at a glance that all is well. If you don't have a lamp or nightlight, you could also try turning the hall light on, or a light in another room, and leaving your door open a crack.

9. Do Something Calming.

I probably don't need to tell you that scrolling Facebook is not always a great idea in the middle of the night when you're fighting off a panic attack. But that doesn't mean that there aren't other options. For me personally, I like flipping through a gardening magazine. There's something so calming and relaxing about plants and flowers, and it's kind of hard to concentrate on what's making you anxious if your mind is occupied with different types of potting soil and the best fertilizer to use on a rosebush. Many people also enjoy coloring, drawing, knitting, and other calming activities.

10. Have Someone That You Can Contact.

Whether it's a trusted friend, family member, or the number of your local mental health crisis line, it may set your mind at ease to know that there's someone you can call or text for help if it's needed. Don't ever be afraid to reach out for help; chances are, the person you are reaching out to may have gone through something similar themselves!

Image Description: Simple cartoon illustration of
two hands holding a smartphone.

11. Talk To Yourself.

When you're anxious or having a panic attack, there are negative thoughts coming at you from all angles. Don't be afraid to give yourself a pep-talk... inside your head, or out loud if that's more comfortable for you. Tell yourself, "You are strong. You are okay. This is temporary. These feelings (or sickness, or fears) will pass. You are going to be fine. You have a lot to look forward to. You will make it through this. Everything will be all right."

12. Practice Grounding Techniques.

If you're panicking and/or struggling to breath, your first priority is to get to a safe space both physically and mentally. Lie down on the floor if you are afraid of falling or fainting. Take slow, deep breaths, and exhale slowly. Look around the room and name the objects as you see them: a chair, mirror, shelf, curtains, and so on. Use your thumbs to touch each of your finger tips in turn and count them. Count your inhales and exhales. Gently rub your chest or stomach in a slow, circular motion. Press your palms together and concentrate on the pressure. Grounding techniques may take some practice, but eventually, you will find yourself doing them almost instinctively.

I hope you find some (or all) of these techniques helpful! What do you find helps you the most during an anxiety or panic attack?