Social Skill Breakdowns

Earlier this week SLPs and other related service providers had professional development training on social skills and autism spectrum disorder. The presenters discussed the steps required for social engagement and friendship. People with autism have deficits in social communication and typically have difficulty making and maintaining friendships. During the course of the training, the presenters put into words some of the areas in which I am struggling socially due to grief.

A critical aspect of interacting with other people is reciprocal exchanges, or the give and take of conversation. Conversations are successful when people take turns asking and answering questions, typically on the same topic. These days, this is a tremendous struggle for me.

Friends and acquaintances are good at asking me questions and checking in on me. I respond to inquiries then have to actively remind myself to ask them questions as well. Last Sunday, my husband and I were greeted by a friend at church. He asked about Christmas and I answered, then started to walk away. My husband (whose social skills were luckily more intact on Sunday) asked him about his Christmas. Oops.

During the training I texted a friend in the session, whose son died during her second trimester of pregnancy, that “my conversational skills often break down at the give and take stage.” She responded, “Oh man, I know exactly what you’re talking about! Give yourself grace, my friend.”

It is incredibly easy to become frustrated, resigned, or apathetic with my diminished social graces and forget to give myself grace. My friends give me so much more grace than I give myself. When I don’t respond to emails or text messages for many days, people understand. When I walk into a therapy session in the classroom, trying to hold it together as the weather turned cold, and totally lose it in front of all my students, I only get hugs. Hugs from the students, the teacher, and the teacher reads aloud the book while I pace in the back of the classroom with a wad of tissues and pull myself back together.

If I had not had friends before Isabella died, I would not be able to make or maintain friendships at the moment. By God’s grace, my friendships have only deepened, despite me.

The week my husband went back to work after the funeral, I was a total mess. I very quickly found that I could not be alone in the house with so much unstructured time. Early that week we had this text exchange:

Husband: Did you make it on your walk yet?

Me: No

Aw, lovie

You just have to put shoes on and go, right?

Yeah

And a hat. And socks.

My heart just aches today.

Yeah, I’m sorry honey

It will keep aching while you walk, but your body will have something to do too

Okay. I am getting up.

Shoes are on and I’m leaving for the walk. Got my phone.

While on the walk we talked on the phone to discuss how I would make it until he got home. I asked him to set up people for me to meet with, because I did not have the energy. He did. For at least the three weeks before I went back to work, I saw 1-3 people a day because I could not be alone in our empty house, with my arms aching, and nothing on my schedule. I know I was not good company, but God used that time to strengthen friendships and create new ones. Despite me.

My social skills are slowly coming back. At least I usually remember that conversations involve a give and take, even if I have to remind myself to utilize this information. My memory is also returning, although if something is not on my calendar, it’s not going to happen. Most days I have a filter on my comments and don’t blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. Like the other day, someone posted a photo of her baby on an SLP Facebook group and said she wanted some encouragement as she returned to work after three months of maternity leave. I stopped myself from commenting, “Encouragement – your daughter is alive.” My filter was engaged.

The only reason I met the friend I texted during training this week was because we had both lost our children. I completely stood her up the first time we were supposed to meet because I forgot to put the coffee date on my calendar. She texted me while I was at a Pilates class. When I called her, apologizing profusely, she understood, better than most people would. We rescheduled and are now friends. Friends who understand what it is like to cry in between therapy sessions, pull it together for the group, then later break down because a mom of a student is pregnant or has a newborn.

Isabella’s death has forever changed me. Over time I will continue to regain aspects I lost after she died, but I will never be the same person. And that is okay.