Say it your way! But do it perfectly. And everyone needs to understand what you’ve said.
One of the joys of being an academic is working with a wide range of people as a writing coach, from undergraduates and PhD candidates I supervise to peers and co-authors, much of my work involves finding ways to communicate effectively and helping others to learn to do it as well.
As my opening line suggests, however, this idea of communicating as a form of authentic personal expression can often clash with the demand to ensure that your communication is perspicuous, that is, easy for others to understand. The more I learn and think about human neuro- and cultural diversity the more acute this challenge seems to me. The most obvious form of inability in human communication can be seen in those contexts where we can communicate perfectly well in one human language, but simply cannot understand another. We talk about fluency when it comes to language. But fluency also exists in forms of dialects, albeit more covertly. Especially since moving to the UK, where there is a wider range of English dialects which are aligned with different levels of social class and attainment, I’ve realised that communication in a common language can be fraught and complicated with unintentional or unanticipated forms of misunderstanding.
Does good writing transcend particularities and reach for a “canonical” or standard form of a language? Much of the infrastructure of the modern University suggests this is the case (see my post on marking, for example). But generic communication prevents us from achieving some levels of texture and nuance in communication, this is why forms of vernacular speech can communicate so much more, and many poets have privileged vernacular as a source of truth in particularity. It’s also the case that the confidence we can gain from working within so-called standards, is undeserved, simply forcing others to conceal their lack of understanding and far too often “canon” is simply another word for exclusive privilege. One can be multi-lingual, as an alternative, working with a variety of forms of language, and even seeking to learn the languages of the other persons you communicate with.
I’ve been toying with this myself lately, noticing forms of self-policing that are part of my writing process. I was taught to be cautious with pronouns, one might suggest. Lecturers drew red lines through contractions, informal, and colloquial forms of speech. I remember one paper I received back as an undergraduate with “coll.” written in the margins throughout. This is where I first learned the word colloquial. I’ve been glad to learn to be more reflective and intentional in my use of gendered pronouns (see the fantastic piece by my colleague Nick Adams in SJT on this subject for more!). I learned to make my use of metaphors more forensic, closed down, and available for easy interpretation for readers. And, when writing theologically, I was taught to for chains of citation to pristinate and authorise my insights. I’ve begun to contest these moves deliberately in my writing. You’ll notice that my journal articles have contractions strewn throughout. I’ve begun writing articles with only light use of citation (in the case where an idea from a colleague does require responsible attribution). Some of my writing takes the form of creative fiction or poetry, and not as a joke, but situated as serious scholarly reflection albeit in an unexpected genre. But these can’t be published in scholarly journals, so I publish them as preprints and blog posts.
It’s interesting to think about what this experimental turn into deliberately vernacular speech means for our work as writing coaches. We want our students to be taken seriously, and perhaps this requires deference to “standard English” but I’m becoming increasingly concerned that doing this task well, especially in the context of the assessment of student writing, is an extension of toxic regimes of behaviour modification and cultural erasure. I’ll correct someone’s grammar if I can tell they’re trying to achieve a certain genre and it’s clear to both of us what the rules are in that genre. But if someone wants to step outside the conventional genre? I’ll meet you there.
I’ve been thinking lately about how to explain how my body works, particularly in that there are some people in my life who find it hard to understand but really do want to. This is a classic conundrum of being neurodivergent – you are different, and (potentially) trained from birth to conceal those forms of difference even from yourself. So there’s a long and iterative process of unfolding self-knowledge that needs to precede those kinds of explanations, but once you’ve finally gotten to the point where you are starting to form green shoots of of understanding, the next challenge is to find metaphors, stories and shared experiences you can leverage to bridge the gap of difference with others who are curious. And then perhaps the next challenge lurking is weathering the fatigue that those friends start to quickly experience. Our societies are designed around homogeneity, such that difference must be made accessible for consumption, even by allies. Compounding this challenge is the likely fact that those allies (and you as well) aren’t readily aware of your limitations in this area, so there are forms of humility to grapple with. This all takes a lot of emotional work and often comes as a surprise. I’ve learned to give people space for surprise and retreat so they can process (a) how weird I am to them and (b) how exhausting it is for them to parse all this out and (c) how unexpectedly humbling it is to discover you are limited in your ability to express compassion for others. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I have a metaphor which I think goes a long way towards explaining inertia and stress / overload around information. Here goes:
Have you ever played with a tuning fork before? As a musician, I’ve used them many times before. It’s a heavy piece of metal, shaped like a two-pronged fork. If you hold the handle and hit something it will vibrate at a particular pitch, which you can use for a starting tone when singing or tuning an instrument. There are a lot of fun youtube videos you can watch demonstrating how they will make other objects sympathetically vibrate as the sound waves they produce make the air around them vibrate.
If you gently strike the tuning fork on a hard surface it will ring quietly, but becase it is machined quite precisely and is made from substantial quantaties of metal, it will continue to resonante for quite a long time. If you hit it on something a second time before it has finished resonating, the volume will increase, and you can keep doing this repeatedly until the sound is quite loud.
I’m a human tuning fork in a few ways. I’m constantly vibrating from taking in information, including from my senses. When I’ve had a particularly full or overstimulating day, it can feel like the resonance just won’t stop and my partner and I often joke with each other using this language. When I take in information, just like a tuning fork that keeps humming long after you’ve struck it, I can’t turn my mental resonance off. There are a variety of neurobiological theories (some of them full of bias and discrimination) about why this is the case, but what I’ve found is that I need to process information – all of the information – or it just won’t go away. When I was young, I’d lay awake at night, sometimes for hours processing all the facial expressions, conversations (including those I’d unwittingly overheard that weren’t intended for me), and things I’d observed about nature and the human world. It’s possible I could have found medication that helped me to sleep better, but I’m pretty certain that I’d wake up the next day and pick right up where I left off so there’d be a debt to pay. All the tasks, details, projects, and undigested information from books, social media etc etc etc are always just queued up waiting for a turn until I can get through the list.
So the best thing for me is to either (a) find a way to process everything or (b) limit the amount of information I take in.
Let’s talk about processing first. Since I’ve been working in community with neurodivergent friends, colleagues and family, I’ve learned to appreciate that there are different personal cultures around information processing. Some people, like my partner, are internal processors. The main thing that personality needs (I think) is a quiet place, some time, and space to themselves to work through it all. I do this a bit, but it’s not my primary mental economy. I’m an external processor, e.g. I process information in conversation with other people and need an extrinsic catalyst – the push and pull of conversation, confusion, and query from another being – to move things along. It’s not merely helpful, it’s necessary. If I can’t talk to someone about things, my processing can sometimes slow or freeze completely. One of the great joys of being autistic is what’s often colloquially called info-dumping. For those of us who do it, especially in conversation with other autistic body-minds, it can be an amazing way to parse through a lot very quickly. This is where someone tells you everything they know about a particular personal passion (I’m not really a fan of “special interest” which is more than a little patronising), perhaps as a monologue, for quite a while. [Quick aside: have you noticed the length of my blog posts and emails? Why do so many people write and communicate with unnecessary brevity?]
I’ve observed that there are different levels of externality and processing independence and this can express quite differently for different flavours of neurodivergence and autism. Some people need and thrive on interruptions, others need a more or less silent captive audience for quite a span of time. I’m somewhere in the middle. Sometimes I really just need to get something out, without a lot of interruptions, so I can piece together all the parts in a coherent narrative and then I’m really keen to have a back-and-forth parsing out of what I’ve just put together.
One of the great gifts of being a lecturer is that people often want to listen to me process things in an uninterrupted way for a long time and then parse out the details. It’s delightful. I do try to keep things interesting entertaining so I don’t lose that audience. And since I’ve spent so much time thinking about the different ways that humans can tend to process information, I’m actually pretty good at accommodating difference here. So what’s your processing style? I’d love to hear a bit more! How do you prefer to balance internal / external forms of rumination? And what kind of flow do you prefer? Uninterrupted? Rapid back and forth?
I’ve also been learning about some helpful ways to limit, control or curate inbound information, especially for those cases when I don’t have the option to process in a holistic and adapted way. But to be completely honest, I’ve encountered some pretty fierce resistance and hostility from the modern workplace in this area. Many middle managers and designers of infrastructure are accustomed to controlling the amount of information that goes out, the pathways it uses to get to us, and the rhythm and pace it travels at. When someone like me comes along and says, “hey, could we do emailing a bit differently?” or “all those alerts and social features that you find it so easy to ignore are driving me nuts, I’d really love it if we could have more options for software with different interface styles” or “can we have a search feature on that with ulfiltered results?” the reactions that come back can be dismissive, patronising, even snarling. And then I’ve got to process all the information from those negative and controlling encounters. This is also one of those situations where allies are desparate to hear about these things, but then when we hit resistance and they see how intractably designed our social infrastructure is against the kinds of adjustments I’m talking about here, I can tell that their energy gets zapped pretty fast and the conversation veers into exhausted neurotypical “pragmatism”. I get it, but it’s not a great scene overall, especially as ed-tech venture capital driven development cycles have changed the way we use information in ways that are totally toxic to my mental health.
It’s important to emphasise as well that I often don’t necessarily want to cut off the flow of information. As I frequently tell others, I am a hedonist for information. I delight in the riding the torrent as long as I can before I’m shut down and nonfunctioning, which is not to say this is the only possible outcome of such surfing. The experience of being in a state of saturation can be euphoric and healthy for me, as long as I have some control over how thigns are working in practice. So when people assume that the way to respond to this disability for me is to (out of paternalistic kindness) simply shut me out of things, that’s far more miserable, even terrifying. For me it’s about fine tuning, especially flow, rhythm, and aspect of the information that’s coming at me. If I’m allowed to fine-tune things, which I can more or less do independently (including writing my own software and scripts), everything can be lovely.
Thinking about my tuning-fork-body, there are a few things which are just kryptonite for me, in ways that often puzzle friends & family. One of them is reminders. I realise it’s totally normal to remind someone about something you fear they’ve forgotten. But I don’t really have the luxury of forgetting as often as I’d like. It’s all there sitting in my mental buffers whether I like it or not, and if it seems like I’ve forgotten something, it’s really that I’ve been shut down by circumstances or there’s a bunch of other more prioritised stuff ahead of that one thing. And let me tell you, when you have persistence of information in this way, the discomfort of being unable to attend to things can get pretty extreme. So when someone comes along and drops what they think is a gentle reminder, actually you’ve just hit the already resonating tuning fork against the wall again and it gets a bit louder than it was before for me. And then the next reminder makes it even louder. The experience of having something amplified like that can be pretty stressful, even panic inducing at some levels of noise.
So if it seems like I haven’t gotten to something, even though it might seem completely counter-intuitive, it’s better to assume I haven’t forgotten. Instead, do a quick mental inventory before asking me about it, ask yourself: if Jeremy hasn’t gotten to that thing, am I prepared to set aside what I’m doing and devote some energy towards helping him or even independently finding some help for him? If your honest answer is “no” much better to hold off on the reminder. Please. No really, I’m begging you. I hold no resentment for people who don’t have the time or energy to help me out and am actually really grateful when someone can do that kind of quick check and openly acknowledge that they can’t help me because they’re already at full speed on their own stuff (and BTW it’s not always so great when people do the “quick check” but then fail to share).
But if, after an honest self-assessment, you conclude you’ve got some bandwidth, then I’d love to have a conversation that starts like this, “I’ve noticed you haven’t gotten around to X. Would it be helpful to talk through the barriers that are preventing you from getting to that thing? How can I help?” I have a few beautiful humans in my life who do this, and it is amazing when it happens.
Another kryptionite bar for me can be out-of-control information flows. This manifests in a few ways, but with particular sharpness in meetings and conferences. Usually meetings are chock full of information. Most people just ignore 90% of what’s discussed and I’m really delighted they can compartmentalise and forget like that. But I can’t. My brain is running down various trails exploring possible avenues to manage each thing we discuss. And I’m processing all the facial (micro-)expressions in the room, body language, side-conversations, the content of the slides, something I discussed with another person who is in the room 5 weeks ago which relates to the topic at hand, etc etc. It’s a lot. But if it’s just some manager doing an info-dump at the front for an hour, that’s uncomfortable but not traumatic. I can manage the discomfort and hold on for the ride and sift through it by myself afterwards. And let me pause to say, if this is the situation we’re facing, it’s a relief to be told straight-forwardly by the presenter that there isn’t going to be time for discussion.
The worst thing is when we have break-out groups or short full-group discussion after each agenda item. Here’s how this works for me: let’s say we’re 30 minutes into the meeting, and then we set aside 5 minutes to talk in a group and generate key points to bring back in a plenary style. Because I need to process externally, it’s going to be desperately difficult for me to get through piecing together all my thoughts about the topic we’ve just been handed. I’m still processing all the emotions in the room, the five items on the outline that came before the thing we’re supposed to be talking about, and I’m aware that if I talk too long, some neurotypical non-allies will start mobiling forms of social shaming to put me in my place – talking about the awkwardness of “overshare” or how I’m “mansplaining” or just assuming that I’m not aware that it’s rude to take up all the talking time. I’m aware. But you’ve just told me I need to participate and share, and this is literally the only way I can do that. I’m also mindful that simply sitting silently can be taken as rudeness too. So that break-out group whacks that tuning fork a few times and then tells me I’ve got to be suddenly silent and shift to thinking about something else. But I can’t stop that vibration and I find that by the end of most meetings, I’m resonating to such an extent that I need to find a room where I can just sit in the dark with the door locked to let my nervous system cool down. Perhaps worse still, as I’ve confirmed in discussed with autistic colleaues, on most campuses and open-plan offices the only place you can do this is a bathroom stall, which is not great.
Meetings are a lot. And conferences are even more. I love the saturation of both of these things, but they can also be a form of conviviality that defeats me sometimes. And I’m also aware that, as a regular facilitator of many things, I’m often the person who is leading the charge in designing forms of gathering that aren’t accessible and suitably inclusive. There’s so much to consider here in caring better for each other and finding ways to work together that are truly accessible (and by extension, effective). And as a designer of many colloquia myself, I think it’s important for us to be generous to people who are leading meetings given that inclusive design and execution of meetings is time consuming. Many covertly neurodivergent leaders are given demands to “be accessible” but not the time to do so well. We desparately need to adapt our social infrastructure and cultures to enable these things before we start telling managers to do them. I want things to be different, but doing different well, requires us to slow down, accommodate each other, and lower the level of expectation so that we can craft functional communities of practice.
Bearing this all in mind, if we were to rethink meeting design and structure, there are a few elements to consider, I think:
(1) It’s helpful to provide an explicit agenda, not just 5 vague titles, but explicit indications of what will be discussed, by whom, and what the purpose of the discussion will be. Note: potentially unreasonable time investment expectations here for facilitators. If you can, why not share this in advance? And perhaps you might even consider having a “living agenda” where the external processors can generate Q&A ahead of the meeting, identifying the truly intractable questions that can’t be worked out asynchronously on a shared online document and thus ought to be prioritised in the meeting.
(2) It’s worth thinking about shortening and simplifying our meeting agendas, really considering what we will be able to cover well (based on a holistic consideration of the parameters of neurodiversity) in a given window of time, and choosing only to present those items, rather than bringing an expectation that we’ll parse, sift and compartmentalise in the same way through a long list of items with various levels of development, significance and urgency. Maybe we need to do more 30 minute meetings with one-item agendas and we should limit 1 hour meetings to 3-item agendas as a maximum. And if you you’re planning out a meeting and think you can get through more than that, and want to exclude time for discussion why are we having a meeting at all? Please just email me, or create a collaborative document we can use for discussion, so we can pace our work and thinking in asynchronous ways and in digital venues.
(3) It’s helpful to provide opportunity for people to process and respond in a variety of ways. Short 5 minute, one-size-fits-all breakout groups will achieve a thing but not for everyone and certainly not inclusively. So perhaps it’s better to provide 30 minutes (or more!) for discussion / break-outs, with the option for some people to sit by themselves, some go for walks in pairs to infodump, and others sit in smaller groups to discuss. Or maybe you just make the presentation part of the meeting 20 minutes long and then devolve the meeting into various forms of discussion / processing. Facilitatirs please note, forms of discrimination will be tacitly present in your meeting and past histories will be driving social anxiety for some of your participants, so it is your duty as a facilitator to do the work to normalise all options, and provide some level of facilitation / matchmaking to enable inclusive groups to form.
(4) It’s gracious to support different kinds of focal attention. People like me might need a distraction or find a way to check-out mentally if not physically if they’re oversaturated while presentation is underway. But also, my conscious and subconscious attention work together in ways that I don’t completely understand and sometimes if I can do something distracting in the foreground, listening to music, reading emails, scrolling a web page that a speaker has mentioned, playing with legos, fidget toys, taking a walk etc., the complex thing I was trying to sort out will continue to work along in the background and some of the unnecessary background noise can fade a bit. I often process and understand a speaker more effectively if I am doing something else.
