A day late, but posting a story of when we first got married to celebrate our anniversary:
The thing about having an autistic husband, is as much as I love him, he just is not capable of picking up on behaviors or facial expressions and knowing what they mean. He needs me to speak the words Iām feeling.
Early on, this was a problem. When I was exhausted after work and didnāt have the emotional energy to deal with anything, I needed some time alone.
I would say āIām tired,ā get up and leave a room.
He would open it, and keep talking to me.
I had to actually speak the words, āI would like a little bit of space for a while.ā
And then he would say, āOh.ā In a sad voice.
And then Iād feel like an asshole, because he always seemed so sad when I did that. I didnāt want to hurt him. I loved him, and I thought I was a bad wife for wanting time for myself. Things were not good.
One day, I came home, and on my desk was a card, laminated. It was simple, black text on white background, in 36-point font. It said:
And he took my hands and said the reason he was sad wasnāt that I needed spaceā he needs his sometimes too, but I pick up the signals and leave him alone.
He felt bad that he couldnāt understand me, and I always looked so uncomfortable and guilty when I told him.
So now I have a card that I can hand to him, any time, and he will understand and go away for an hour and nobody feels guilty.
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