Recovering From Autistic Burnout

Posted on by Astrid

Today, the prompt for Reena’s Exploration Challenge is one word: burnout. This word evokes so many thoughts, feelings and memories in me! After all, though I was never diagnosed as suffering with actual burnout, the reason is more that burnout isn’t a DSM-IV or DSM-5 diagnosis than my not having suffered it.

That is, I did indeed not suffer the classic shutdown-type burnout where people are too exhausted to function. Rather, my burnout was more of the meltdown type, where I got so irritable and dysregulated that I couldn’t function anymore.

In 2007, I suffered autistic burnout. This is an actual thing and is more and more recognized by autism professionals too. It involves an inability to function in daily life as a whole, not just work, due to the experience of being overloaded, being autistic in a neurotypical society.

I have shared my experience of landing in a mental crisis in 2007 many times before. I was at the time living independently (though with a lot of community support) and going to university. That all changed within a matter of days: on Tuesday, I was sitting an exam, while the following Saturday, I was a patient on the locked unit of a psychiatric hospital. First, while there, I had to stabilize. I had to get back into a normal sleep/wake rhythm and regain my will to live.

Once I was no longer nonfunctioning and suicidal, however, I had to get my life back on track. My social worker thought I could go into supported housing for autistic people. I, at first, thought so too. Until I saw all the criteria relating to independence, lack of challenging behavior, trainability, etc. That wasn’t going to work out.

To be quite fair, I never fully understood my actual level of functioning until sometime in 2020. I had wanted to prove myself for so long. I had worn so many masks that hid the real, messy truth of who I am. Consequently, I constantly overestimated myself and my abilities. So did the people around me. Until one day, in November of last year, I crashed again. I probably suffered another burnout. That was when my one-on-one support was started.

There still are voices in my head telling me I could, should in fact go back to my life of before my first burnout in 2007. Back to independent living and college. Otherwise, how can I claim recovery?

The thing is, people who experience work-related burnout, usually don’t go back to their exact jobs from before their burnout either, if to the same job at all. Why should I then go back to a life I hated from the get-go? I try to see recovery from burnout not in terms of recovering lost functioning, but in recovering lost pieces of myself.

What Recovery Means to Me

Posted on by Astrid

Yesterday, one of the daily word prompts here on WP was Recovery. I didn’t see it till it was already time for me to go to bed, so I’m writing about this word today. Today, I am sharing with you what recovery from my mental health conditions means to me.

First, there are a few things recovery doesn’t mean to me. Recovery isn’t the same as being happy all the time – that’d be an unrealistic goal. It also isn’t the same as independence. I don’t intend on ever living independently again and there are few things with respect to life skills I’d really still want to learn.

Recovery does mean no longer being scared when I’m able to do something independently. Currently, I constantly expect people to overestimate my abilities, so when I can do something independently, I think people will expect me to do it all the time.

Similarly, recovery means no longer being afraid of my feelings, both good and bad. Affect phobia is a thing, you know? I currently tend to dissociate from my feelings a lot. I also often counter joy or sadness with anger, because that’s the easiest emotion for me to express.

Recovery means having a relatively stable sense of self. I don’t necessarily want to integrate all alternate parts of my personality, although it’s okay if it happens spontaneously. We do want to achieve cooperation among ourselves. This also means being able to accept the seemingly opposite sides of me.

Recovery means, as a result of the above, no longer needing to rely on negative coping strategies such as self-harm, rage or impulsive behavior. I will no doubt still have times when I indulge into an unhealthy habit such as overeating or buying stuff I don’t need. That’s okay, since I don’t think total self-control is a realistic goal. I just don’t want to use these as coping skills when feeling overwhelmed, and I no longer want to engage in self-harm at all.

Lastly, recovery means no longer expecting people to abandon me if they know the real me. Currently, I have such a negative self-image that I believe any positive aspects of me are a façade and at the core I’m so wicked no-one should want to be associated with me. Overcoming this is probably the hardest thing to achieve, as expectation of abandonment is such an ingrained thought pattern. I really hope to someday stop seeing myself as one giant manipulator though.

In addition to the word prompt, I am linking up with #LifeThisWeek and #SeniSal.

X-Patient: Psychiatric Rehabilitation and the Recovery Movement #AtoZChallenge

Posted on by Astrid

Okay, welcome to my letter X post in the #AtoZChallenge. I’m not really motivated for this one, but I don’t want to give up on the challenge either. My topic today doesn’t really fit in with the rest, but well. Today I’m writing about what it is like to be an ex-psychiatric patient. In the anti-psychiatry movement, some people choose to write this without the E, so it counts.

When I first heard of psychiatric rehabilitation around a year into my psychiatric hospital stay, I hated the entire concept. It was all based on training people to be more independent whether they wanted to or could do this at all. I knew already that I needed long-term care, so I was like: “Didn’t I just complete 18 months in a training home only to have it fail?”

Then, a few years later, I heard of the recovery movement. Unlike psychiatric rehabilitation, this is entirely patient-led. I signed up to participate in a recovery course. What surprised me immediately was the fact that my mental hospital chose to only allow those staying there as inpatients on the course. They later started a course for outpatients too. I loved this course. Going into long-term care wasn’t frowned upon but seen as a means of getting my life back on track. Unfortunately, that’s not how most professionals, at least on my last unit, saw it.

A few weeks ago, I watched a short video on a Center for Consultation and Expertise case in which the recovery viewpoint was misapplied to an autistic man. Indeed, I’ve never felt that concepts like “rehabilitation” apply to autistics. I mean, the idea that we all want a meaningful life, is good. However, considering a meaningful life as the same as independent living, is in my opinion rather misguided.

Signaling: Using Crisis Prevention Plans #AtoZChallenge

Posted on by Astrid

Welcome to my letter S post in the #AtoZChallenge. There are really many S words that are fitting in a self-care routine. After all, “self” starts with an S and self-care is about YOU. I will be writing about creating a crisis prevention plan.

A crisis prevention plan, which is also called a signaling plan in Dutch (hence the letter S), details the signs and symptoms you experience leading up to a crisis. In most mental hospitals, it consists of three phases:


  • Phase 1 or green: I’m doing well.

  • Phase 2 or orange: I’m not doing well.

  • Phase 3 or red: I’m in crisis.

Here in the intellectual disability care facility, a signaling plan is more extensive and can also be used to signal lowalertness. It consists of six phases:


  • Phase -2: sleeping (when not appropriate).

  • Phase -1: low alertness.

  • Phase 0: adequate and alert.

  • Phase 1: low stress, highly alert.

  • Phase 2: high stress, too highly alert.

  • Phase 3: emotional outburst or loss of control (crisis).


I find it pretty hard to translate these into English, so sorry for my quirky word choice.

In each phase, the signaling plan lists signs patients or their staff will notice when the patient is in that phase. For example, one of my phase two behaviors is loud talking. Abilities are also explained. For example, in phase 0 in my case, I am able to make decisions adequately. In phase 1, I can make choices between a few (usually two) different options. In phase 2 and 3, it’s up to the staff to make decisions for me.

Mental hospitals and mental health agencies in general are strongly focused on patient self-reliance, so they include lots of stuff about what you can do yourself in the different phases. In most cases, in fact, the patient is held fully responsible for their self-care unless they enter phase 3. I mean, patients are allowed to ask for help in phase 2, but staff will not reach out and patients are usually required to come up with direct requests for help. IN my opinion, this is rather odd.

I find it extremely comforting yet a bit surprising to see that my current signaling plan, which was created by my care staff and the behavior specialist, details staff responsibilities for each phase.

Like I said yesterday, my signaling plan also includes a recovery phase, which lists signs I’m coming out of a crisis and ways staff can help me then. This is really helpful.

Recovery Time After a Crisis #AtoZChallenge

Posted on by Astrid

Welcome to my letter R post in the #AtoZChallenge. There are a lot of R topics related to self-care. I want to write about recovering after you’ve been in a mentally hard space or crisis.

First, let me tell you that recovery time is important in preventing a crisis too. You just can’t go, go, go all the time. No-one can, whether you struggle with mental health issues or not. So take your down time. Whether that be a nap, a nice bath or shower, or listening to your favorite music, is up to you. Or something else entirely, of course. I often need to take a little time to unwind in the afternoon. I do this by lying on my bed with nature sounds or relaxing music playing on Spotify. When we still went to the day center, I’d go to the sensory room for about half an hour to an hour.

When you have just come out of a mental health crisis, it’s especially important to take your time to recover. Your recovery time, according to my DBT handout, may help you come to an insight as to how to prevent this crisis from happpening again. It often does for me. It may not, but then at least you’ll need time to come back to your usual self.

I have a crisis signaling plan here at the care facility. Its different phases normally range from -2 (asleep when you shouldn’t be) to +3 (emotional outburst or loss of control, ie. crisis). My staff put in another phase for me, which they call “recovery”. This is what happens after I calm down from a meltdown. I usually feel sadness and shame then. Staff are in this phase advised to stay near and help me process my thoughts and feelings. This is, for me, often the time when I can be most honest about my needs.

What do you do to recover when you’re climbing out of a mental pit?

Recovery

Posted on by Astrid

Today’s Sunday writing prompt over at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie is “recovery”. This is such a commonly used word in mental health. “Recovery” is the ultimate goal for any mental health consumer or so it is assumed.

I attended a recovery course while in the mental institution in 2010-2011. It was very interesting. It was made clear that recovery is not the same as cure. You can be recovered and still live with a mental illness. Rather, recovery refers to getting as positive and fulfilling a life as possible. It is commonly used in conjunction with “rehabilitation”. The difference is though that rehabilitation is a treatment approach and is hence centered on the professional relationship, whereas recovery is completely patient-centered.

The recovery course I took was specifically for those residing on one of the long-term wards in the psychiatric hospital. This at first surprised me, since being hospitalized is clearly not having a fulfilling life. Or is it? I mean, if you can’t live independently, can you still consider yourself recovered.

I was at the time not planning on ever living independently. In fact, though I was engaged to my now husband, I was planning on going into a workhome, a long-term living environments for autistic people.

Here, it is important what I wrote above, that recovery is completely patient-centered. This means that, though it is believed that most people would want to live as independently as possible, if you don’t, that’s okay too. You are encouraged to make your own decisions, no matter how ill you are.

I have always been of the opinion that self-determination and self-reliance are not the same and shouldn’t necessarily be connected. I am pretty determined, but I’m not very self-reliant. I think personally that self-determination should be more important. Clearly, my last psychologist at the institution disagreed. She diagnosed me with dependent personality disorder, which according to the DSM is characterized by passiveness and an inability to stand up for oneself. I didn’t meet those criteria, but she felt I was asking for care she felt I didn’t need. She kicked me out of the institution almost with no after care. I survived, but I don’t feel well. Now it’s time to focus on self-determination. To try to reach the goals I set for myself.

Like I said, recovery is completely patient-centered. This is what I strive for. To me, recovery is feeling as well as possible. This means I can still work on recovery while going into long-term care.