Ledges & Bridges

Sometimes I feel like I am speaking but not being heard.

Sometimes I feel like I have listened, but the person speaking does not feel heard.

In middle and high school, I found myself blaming it on not being able to relate to others, especially those of my same age, and being flat out dumb. Once I got to college and started succeeding in class, running an on-campus organization, and receiving awards I was able to see it was more than that. I have heard that communication for people with autism is much harder than for neurotypical people, but I have never had a big issue with the social part, so I thought.

What I didn’t consider at the time was the fact that I had not been exposed to neurotypical people for most of my upbringing. For one, my immediate family is definitely not neurotypical. Furthermore, the time I spent in public school where I was exposed to both the neurotypical and neurodivergent was short lived due to my behaviors that came about due to my neurodivergence and trauma. This resulted in me getting kicked out of school and put into alternative schools filled with people who struggle with social interactions.

From there, I ended up going to a college for people with ASD, Learning Disabilities, or/and ADHD which resulted in confirmation that I wasn’t socially awkward, and the awkward encounters I did have were due to the other persons neurodivergence or our clash in personality. It wasn’t until after college that I realized I, in fact, due hold some characteristics of social awkwardness whom people with autism do sometimes possess. While I can accept my autism and the social awkwardness that comes from it, I have since discovered it is even more than that.

When I was putting together the information for the support group about listening and communication this month, I came across a video that can be found here about listening. It wasn’t until watching this video, that it clicked, my difficulties with listening and communicating was not all about my autism, much of it also has to do with my training. Some of which I learned in my college years, but even more so during my time as a Crisis Worker.

As a Crisis Worker I was trained to “actively listen.” In that role this meant giving the caller space to talk, offering minimal encouragers such as a “mhmm’, and Uh hu’,” and reflecting back the content and feelings I heard. All which happened to be outlined as things that foster disconnection. No wonder I have trouble with this!

This reflection resulted in me thinking about how I would have done my job differently as a Crisis Worker if I had had some different kind of training that allowed me to be more personal, and to follow the lead of the caller instead of being met with strict guidelines and protocols.

I understand the need for guidelines and protocols, especially when talking to people who want to die. Of course, the main concern on our mind should be their safety, and to some extent that is on the caller’s mind too, or else they wouldn’t call such a line that is there to help people through such suicidal ideations. However, I wonder if those protocols and guidelines could use a bit of an update to enhance the social connection that so many people have found through such services and continue to seek and need. The poem below is an attempt to delve into what that might look like.

Ledge of Connection

What if, when someone called from the ledge,
ready to jump but aching to be saved,
we saw them as human,
as someone reaching, searching,
because they see no other way?

What if we set aside the notes, the scripts,

the corporate-approved line?
Forgot the funding, the policies –
the rules that tell us to stay out of our hearts?

No power plays, no competition,
no forcing their pain into the shape of our solutions.

What if we let them steer,
trusting the destination would go where it needs to be,
not where we decide it should go?

What if we asked, “What am I missing?”
Leaned in to hear the unspoken,
listened past the words,
left judgment at the door,
and stepped out of our own way?

Perhaps then, the door would open,
connection would form,
and instead of locking them away,
we might just help them stay.

A space for reflections & growth