I’m terrified of them. I was in Maryland recently, and met a lot of them. Very rude, really.

It took me a long time to understand how phobias work. What I think they are is a placeholder for experiences we cannot yet name. Metonymy of sorts…

It’s tempting, as parents, to view sensory issues in autistic people in the same way, isn’t it? In which case exposure therapy is the obvious solution, right? Not really.

You still need to obtain consent in a meaningful way. Otherwise the child is masking their suffering as much as possible, then folding in on themselves when they’re finally alone. And now they associate the sensory experience with a loss of trust in their parent, plus having their favorite snack or toy withheld till they complied (behavior modification), and it’s potentially turned into a lifelong avoidance.

We are talking about a lifetime of not being able to wear certain types of clothing because the seams or collars or buttons are unbearable. Also a lifetime of eating a very limited range of foods so as not to encounter aversive textures. And so much more.

Even autistic adults who have fewer support needs tend to isolate, and I have to believe it’s because of this sort of well meant intervention which was experienced as brutality and loss of consent. Being alone means fewer sensory violations, more ease, less insistence that they just find a way to cope. More time to recuperate from interactions.

That’s sad, because we were often told when our kids were young that it was the wise parental move to seek out such behavioral interventions for sensory dysfunction.

Back to bugs for a second. Shudder. And I will admit that it’s hard to choose whether writing about bugs is harder, or writing about how I may have chosen wrong for my kids is harder. They both send me to the bad place in my head.

The last night I was in Maryland recently, it was very humid, and, as I was removing my makeup and brushing my teeth, I heard the telltale sound of a beetle. You know, when their carapace bangs into walls and light fixtures. GAH. PHOBIA.

I am going to write this somehow, even if it finishes me.

I made sure not to look too closely at where it was, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to finish my skincare routine. But when I was climbing into bed, I noticed either the same creature, or perhaps another one, shudder, on the window shade.

Nope. Just in case it was the lights attracting them, I turned all the lamps off and went to sleep.

The next morning, after breakfast, shower, packing, and saying goodbye to my companions, I turned to the last of my chores, which was to gather up my towels and bedding, and take them to the laundry room of the house.

I pulled the blanket back, and found that I had spent the night with the beetle in the bed.

As a child, I felt a sense of shame every time I panicked overtly in front of other people because of a bug. People would make fun, and sometimes refuse to help me. So I associate bugs with being seen in the worst way, and with being abandoned. I’m extremely afraid of dogs and cats too, and refuse to be in any indoor spaces with them for the same reason. It’s the humans who leave me alone when I inevitably unravel, and, now that I live in the west, it becomes a public humiliation ritual.

What did I do about the beetle, you may be asking? Very uncharacteristically for me, I wrapped it up in the sheets, somehow carried the bundle to the laundry room, dropped it, and fled.

And I know how some of you will read this and say: but you did it! Yes, I did. And I’m proud of myself for being able to help Child Radha in that moment. I was the grown up she needed.

But you know, if I had left the sheets instead of gathering them, and sent a text to the housekeeper to let her know and apologize, that would have been me taking care of myself too.

I think, with phobias and such, sometimes the grip they have on us is eased when people don’t focus on them FOR us. Just like how, in living with autistic people, sometimes it’s easier on everyone if we do a mix of a) going at an issue indirectly, kinda sideways, and b) just letting some of that shit go unremarked upon.

For example, is it not enough to just have gotten through each day? Everything doesn’t have to be a teachable moment. And in this way, we can build some trust by indicating to the person that they are not flawed or broken, and their coping is not some major misfire that must be rectified through intense observation.

When I can trust that someone won’t make a huge deal of my phobias, and will just remove the bug, or allow me to cross the street instead of be near their dog without turning it into a “you are a dog hater, I hiss at thee” thing, or meet me at a restaurant instead of asking me to go to their home where I will be in terror the whole time because of dogs and cats, I am allowed to be my actual self instead of guarded, and exhausted from vigilance.

And if someone can be their actual self, whether that is autistic or phobic or whatever, then we might even notice some nice things about them, such as that they are kind about others’ issues too. You too can be less about status and posturing, and not always leading with your insecurities and accomplishments! That too is a sort of dysregulation that we don’t talk about enough.

Both autistic people and people with phobias can experience the world as very isolating, and I really think people believe this is what we deserve. They would rather continue to think this way than make accommodations. In both cases, in my experience, the person is unaffected by you not being afraid or distressed, so trying to force them to interact with your dog, or try a certain aversive food item, or touch something that gives them the creeps—it doesn’t work the magic you think it does. It does break trust, though.

What if the goal isn’t to cure every single thing? What if it’s to be more attuned to one another?

I cannot go back and rewrite the past, and all the ways that it led to my phobias. Nor can I materially affect the ways in which my kids experience the world with their senses.

But I can offer them respect for who they are, and I can respect myself as I have turned out. And sometimes, sometimes that can mean I am able to run through an old, creaky house, bundled up sheets held away from my body, and spend the rest of the day being both thrilled that I took care of myself, and also feeling every chronic pain that is also a metonymy for things I cannot name.

I don’t actually want to interact with dogs, cats, or bugs. What I do want is to be able to stay somewhat regulated when I encounter one. It’s hard, when people bring their animals everywhere, and no place is safe.

But trust is not built by interfering with someone’s process or journey. You have to let us weirdos be.

Radha.