Autistic Hedgehog

Not necessarily. We talk about meltdowns more frequently here, but shutdowns happen too, and are basically what you’ve described. A lot of us have some at least occasionally, and there are those of us more prone to shutdowns than meltdowns.

It’s really down to how each individual autistic copes with sensory input, and definitely doesn’t rule out an autism diagnosis. 

There could be a lot of reasons behind this that you should take into consideration way before misdiagnosis. 

First of all, it could be that you’re prone to shutting down rather than melting down (which might explain the lack of crying). Both tend to occur from overstimulation of some kind. I was very prone to shut downs whenever a family member or friend died (which happened a lot for me). If I cried at all, it was very little, and I’m sure my reactions came off very cold to other people. There was so much grief going on around me that I couldn’t cope with it, so it was a bit like I disconnected a part of myself. Maybe you do that instead.

Maybe it’s as simple as you’ve managed to, one way or another, keep yourself free of situations and spaces that cause you to meltdown. That’s pretty hard to do for anyone, though, as meltdowns can be caused by anything from a place that’s too crowded to a day of snowballing disasters (even if they’re small disasters).

Or maybe you’ve learned how to deal with things enough that you don’t have meltdowns. I don’t have them very often either. There’s complications from autism that I’ve learned to deal with quite well. I used to be the kind of person who couldn’t handle any change in her routine; literally, if I burnt my breakfast, I wouldn’t go to school. I don’t know exactly what happened since then–I think, on some subconscious level, I realized how little I got out of giving in to that–but these days I can roll with most changes, and recover from the ones that do get to me. 

Maybe you’ve learned to process what’s happening to you and avoid meltdowns without even realizing it. It’ll take some self-examination to find your answer, but don’t assume it’s misdiagnosis until you’ve looked at all the other possible answers. We’re all different, we all learn and process differently, we grow to be able to cope more with some things and sometimes less with others.

(Small caveat: I don’t go to school anymore, and I don’t have to work, so not having to deal with those upsetting environments has likely done a lot to help with my lack of meltdowns and the like. If I had to get a day job, I don’t know if I’d be able to function as often and as well as I do. Just the thought makes me sick to my stomach. Just pointing out that learning to cope is great and wonderful and all, but what therapists and the like–who will try to teach you these things–forget is that environment counts too.)

Well, Jay, my question for you is: Do under even understand why it makes you uncomfortable?

It’s important to understand why you feel the way you feel, even if facing it might be uncomfortable. You’ve been honest with yourself that you have this problem to begin with, which is good.

Now, do you feel this way because someone else’s stimming or meltdowns, which can be loud or distracting or numerous other things, overload your own senses? Is it because you, like everyone else, have been taught your whole life that this sort of thing is supposed to make us feel uncomfortable? (Hooray, ableism.) Is it because there’s a part of you that fears that somehow anyone around you might see this person and make some sort of leap that you, too, are autistic (even if you’re not stimming or having a meltdown at the time)? Maybe it’s all of those things. Maybe it’s a combination of two of them. Maybe it’s something else. But discovering the reason will help you if you really want to change how you feel.

You’re also going to need patience and understanding, both for the other people and for yourself. This isn’t something you can change overnight, so don’t get too frustrated with yourself when you can’t stop those feelings right away. We’re often raised in societies that teach us that it’s rude to stare at people who are disabled, rude to ask questions, etc. etc., but really what we end up being taught is that it’s rude to acknowledge the existence of disabled people and, if we do, it’s rude to feel anything but discomfort and pity. We’re taught that there’s a stigma just by being near or like disabled people, and even when we’re disabled ourselves, we can’t easily escape having those lessons etched into our brains. 

This doesn’t make you a bad person, it really doesn’t. You’d be a bad person if you didn’t give a damn, but clearly you do. Now you need to accept that you’re not perfect, that you probably won’t change your feelings and get this right instantly, and that will help. 

And like I said, patience and understanding for the other person(s) involved. You know what they’re going through, you’re in a better place to empathize than anyone else. You actually understand, to some extent at the least, what drives their behavior, so you know there’s no real reason it should be so stigmatized. You know, somewhere inside you, that society is in the wrong for judging people, and part of getting over this will likely be learning not to give a damn what society thinks of you.

It’s hard to get away from what society teaches us; even when we’re autistic, a lot of those lessons burrow their way in. Shaking them off takes time, patience and acceptance, and what you need to do more than anything else is give yourself (and other people like you) all three of those. 

Stimming can help you stop a meltdown or recover from one, or may occur during one–it’s generally a repetitive movement done for comfort (though plenty of us stim out of happiness or excitement, too). Classic stims are things like rocking or flapping one’s hands, but a number of other behaviors count as well (I tend to like to rub satin ribbon).

The thing about defining a meltdown is that a) they’re not precisely the same for all of us and b) I suspect they change shape and form from childhood to adulthood.

How you meltdown depends entirely on you. You might get angry (this is common in children and is, sadly, often dismissed as tantrums), you might cry, you might scream, you might go completely numb. The most important factor and the thing that distinguishes a meltdown more than anything else, though, is this: You will not care what other people think about you while it’s happening.

This is very important for recognizing what a meltdown is to you. Me, I tend to cry (though in certain situations I cry until I get angry, at which point I often find the strength to get myself through, which is different from when I was younger) and I will sob my eyes out without noticing or caring that there are people all around me. 

In the end, a meltdown occurs when you’re so overwhelmed by something that you can’t handle it anymore, and the response is usually an outburst of emotion (but can be the complete absence of it). Knowing when you yourself are having an actual meltdown is going to take a bit of time and thought on your part. After the dust clears on a particularly emotional moment for you, look back at it. Were you somewhere others could see and didn’t care what they thought of your behavior? Even if you were alone, did it matter to you if someone saw you? Learning to recognize these things will tell you when you’re having a meltdown.