I’m writing this post to try to explain what blogging means to me.
One of the things I’m really thinking a lot about just now is how the same words/actions/practices can have very different meanings to those who engage in them, and that often we might spend time and effort trying to ascertain the ‘right’ meaning, without thinking and reflecting on different perspectives and trying to understand them in their own terms.
I know that people blog for lots of reasons – sometimes as a way of engaging with an interest or hobby to take them away from pressures they experience in everyday life, sometimes to raise awareness of an issue about which they feel passionate, sometimes to engage with other members of a specific community. And I suppose to an extent, all of these reasons apply to me too, but I’m learning that there is so much more to my experience with this blog, and what I’m getting out of it – particularly in terms of its relationship to my PhD, and I want to share this here.
I also want to speak AS A PHD STUDENT, because I think there might be a tendency to think about writing a blog as something that is separate from, and that detracts from the process of “proper” academic writing for a PhD. So I want to share that for me, I feel the experience is actually quite the opposite.
Why did I start this blog?
The short answer to this question is – “because I had something to say”.
What this means is that there were ideas, questions and concerns running around in my head – things that were making me confused, troubled, angry and challenged and that I just couldn’t leave alone – they were also things that were not part of the focus of my PhD, and I was getting really concerned that I was being far too obsessive over those and should just switch off from them, leave them alone and get back to work like a “good PhD student”.
One of the stories I was telling myself about this was “you’re being obsessive – problematic obsessions are part of autism, maybe this means that your being autistic means that you can’t be a good PhD student”. I don’t think this now, but it was a powerful feeling until recently and a source of real anxiety – which in itself is something that I think has tremendous power to prevent productivity (in a pleasingly alliterative fashion.) And I mention it here because one of the things I’ve been exploring with this blog is how the ways in which autism is talked about in society (discourses) can actually be just as disabling, if not more so, than anything that autism actually is or might be.
So in those circumstances, it may have seemed easier for me to tell myself, and to be told by others, that I needed to leave this stuff alone. That the posts in this blog, and the endless streams of consciousness of which the material I write here is a very small, very measured part, are not my “proper” work and are taking up too much of my time. People have told me this before when I’ve been thinking about things that are important to me – and it is certainly true that none of us has infinite time, and there are things which must be done and must be prioritised – we all to an extent have to work with what we’re given in that regard.
But I honestly don’t think I could have done that.
And it would be easy to frame that statement in terms of autistic obsessions too, but don’t we all have things in life that matter so profoundly that we can’t leave them alone? And don’t some people manage to learn from those things and use them in their work to really powerful effect? I don’t know for certain yet if this is possible for me, but it’s definitely something I want to try to achieve, because trying that seems a better option than collapsing in a heap of despair about my broken brain and how it’s ruining my life again.
So what was the problem? What has the blog “fixed”?
Well, for me, this blog has given me a means of self-expression without being scared, and that is a powerful, powerful thing.
I honestly don’t know how I got to be so scared.
I certainly didn’t start off that way. I started off as a child who read obsessively, who questioned everything and who always wanted to know more. At home this was met with an endless supply of books, straightforward answers to any question I asked, and encouragement to go beyond what I learned in school and try to experience the world for myself (lovely trips with my mum to build on things I’d done at school). Very, very privileged.
But the trouble is that asking questions just because they pop into my head, and wanting to discuss certain topics in public (because they were interesting, important and meaningful even if – or perhaps especially if they were socially ‘taboo’), and saying when I thought things were wrong, also got me some other labels – so I was “outspoken” and “blunt” and “tactless” and I didn’t think of others, and I challenged authority, and then I was ‘impaired’ in social interaction. On two occasions in two different schools a teacher told me in front of the class that my writing was brilliant but she wasn’t going to read it out (as she was with the work of other pupils) because it was about a topic that “we don’t discuss” or that “might be shocking”.
And I internalised the message that these things I was interested in, and these personality traits were BAD and had to be repressed, that I was BAD and had to learn to perform in order to be socially acceptable. None of these things that I thought, or that I was, were “good” and I wanted to be “good”. This meant that my focus shifted profoundly to “trying to get it right” – trying to be acceptable to other people.
I felt ugly and stupid and wrong and broken and weird, and like the only way to survive, and to stop others hurting me, and me hurting myself, was to keep quiet about myself, my views, my feelings because these were so obviously different from those of others that they must be wrong.
And as you might imagine, this is not the strongest, most desirable or efficient position to be in if you’re trying to learn and to do academic work. It put me “on the back foot”. As I already thought that what I felt and said were wrong, anything I wrote academically also felt wrong almost before I wrote it – and writing became an exercise in trying to please others, rather than trying to express myself and my thoughts. It was an exercise I was quite good at, but it was unfulfilling. And as I already felt stupid and lacking because I couldn’t make myself think like others, rather than opening my eyes to new possibilities and ways of thinking, reading things that I didn’t already know just served to confirm my stupidity. A long, long way from innate curiosity and a passion for reading – and unhelpful, stunting, limiting and unproductive. Thought processes like these become prisons that shut you off from so much of the beautiful stuff in life, and I feel now like I’ve missed out on a lot. I’m desperate to catch up.
I don’t expect that this will necessarily make sense, and I certainly don’t seek to justify thinking like this. It is what it is – or maybe, it was what it was.
I also don’t know why it happened like this – I’m not trying to blame anyone else for the fact that I picked up this message – a lot of it was given totally unintentionally, and that which was intentional was well-intentioned, and I’m also refusing to blame myself for being weak. It is what it is, and we are where we are – and part of me getting beyond this to where I’d like to be, is about being straightforward about things that feel painful and shameful. Naming these experiences takes away their power, even if they can’t be fully explained.
(I also need to be clear here, that I’m talking about ‘me’ not about ‘autism’. What I’m saying will speak to the experiences of some autistics, and not others – but it will also surely speak to people who are not autistic. It’s really important to me that my words be taken as mine – not as some “account of autism”)
So how does the blog help?
This is possibly going to sound quite lame, but it honestly feels like this blog has given me a “voice”.
To be clear about this – I always had a voice in a physical sense. With the exception of moments of extreme anxiety, I am a (very) verbal person, and I’ve been writing for work, and in order to achieve academic qualifications for a long time. But there is a difference between doing these things and having a “voice” – as in, saying something because it is right inside your being, and you feel it with every part of yourself and it is your truth.
I’d lost touch with much of what that is for me, and it was making the PhD process really difficult – I was making it difficult for myself because I wasn’t in touch with, and wasn’t drawing on myself, my voice, and what I as an individual could offer to the process. I was thinking I was stupid and worrying about having those suspicions confirmed. I wasn’t feeling it.
But now, because I’m blogging, and because I know I have this place for self-expression, I’m thinking and feeling things all the time. Sentences run through my head constantly, and now I have a reason to shape them and to really work (and play) with them – interrogate and challenge them until they take some kind of useful form. I know that I can put them down here and they will be safe and contained and “real”. I don’t need to run away from them so I can work with them and learn from them. And this – not just the blog itself as a physical (virtual?) entity, but its place in my life and in my thinking – is helping me to know who I am, and what matters to me. I’m getting in touch with the themes that make up my position in the world and really learning what I stand for.
The other powerful part of this experience is that through this blog, I’ve engaged with others, and people (some of whom I know and whose opinions I care about) have engaged with my words. They’ve taken them seriously and valued them – including questioning them and in so doing they’ve helped me to question them and move on. But they haven’t laughed at them. They haven’t laughed at me. They haven’t told me I’m weird and they haven’t said “you can’t say that” or “we don’t talk about that.” And this is giving me freedom to write with my “voice” academically too. Now, the sentences for my PhD are starting to pop into my head without being forced. I’m starting to get at what I want to say, which is exciting and exhilarating. And that’s why I think that although this blog won’t feature as part of my PhD, it’s going to run invisibly though it as the driving force that makes the “proper” academic words flow.
The blog may (does) take up some time, but it’s making me unafraid to learn and to question, and it’s making me want to write. I don’t see how one could do a PhD in any other way.