What does an adult autistic meltdown look like?

It can look like rage or hysteria. It can look like someone being difficult, or wobbling like they are drunk, rude or refusing to cooperate.

The last time I had an autistic meltdown was in April, at Corfu Airport. Several planes had landed at the same time and unexpectedly I was surrounded by queues, people in front of me, behind me and beside me, unpredictable sounds, instructions being fired at me that I couldn’t process, and what felt like hundreds of bodies being funnelled into one space. I was overwhelmed.

I asked the person in front of me to hold my place while I went to the bathroom, and I stayed there for a while because I needed to get away from everything.

While I was there, I found my sunflower lanyard and put it on. When I returned to the queue, I still couldn’t cope, so I asked if I could sit on a nearby chair until the queue moved forward. That’s when a staff member approached me. She asked why I was wearing “that sunflower thing”. I told her I was autistic. She said “Can you prove it?” I knew what I wanted to say. I knew I had my diagnosis saved on my phone. I knew why I was wearing the lanyard. But I couldn’t get the words from my brain to my mouth. I started stuttering, and tears ran down my face. My heart was racing. I couldn’t process what she was saying quickly enough to respond, and the more I tried, the harder it became. To someone watching me, I probably looked like I was withholding information and arguing.

I wasn’t.

When I experience an autistic meltdown, I can lose my ability to speak clearly. My words can begin to slur. My balance can become affected. Everything becomes heightened and eventually my system reaches a point where it begins to shut down. Sometimes I freeze completely. 

My previous meltdown was a year before at a university in Italy when a fire alarm went off and continued for what felt like forever. Thankfully, my colleague Maria Yang, CFA saw me in shock mode and took me by the hand and led me out of the building. She was my ally when I couldn’t move by myself. And that’s what the sunflower lanyard has become for me.

A visible ally. Something that says, I may be struggling even if I don’t look like I’m struggling, I might need more time or you to repeat yourself. 

Please be kind and please be patient.

My next post is going to be about what it means to be an ally for somebody when, they cannot speak for themselves. I think often allyship is speaking up for somebody when they need you.

Does anyone else use a sunflower lanyard in your world?

Thank you 🙏🏾Hidden Disabilities Sunflower 🌻