Friday, June 26, 2026

On Relationship Standards: Is Reliability a Necessity?

I'm on the autism spectrum, and I have kids on the spectrum and with ADHD and former partners with ADHD. I love them all to bits, but it can be tricky to navigate what behaviours should look like without an attainable standard of comparison. 

People who are neurodiverse are a minority in society. We perceive and think differently, so we will behave a little differently as well. It's a bit similar to being left-handed. We used to force people to write with the right hand which caused all sorts of problems. Now we're in a place where we accept this difference and have accommodations in place, like left-handed desks. But ND is different from left-handedness, of course, in that it affects our basic personality -- who we are, and some traits common to ND brains are overwhelmingly seen as undesirable.

Like being unreliable.

About twenty years ago, I had a partner who commonly got distracted from tasks. The only time he wasn't distractible was when he was engrossed (hyperfocusing) on something of specific interest to him. This is a common ADHD issue -- or a common way of being for a specific group of people. One day he offered to make dinner for me as I marked final exams on my front porch: fresh fish on the BBQ. I watched him leave for the market and then return. A few hours passed, and I went to get an ETA for dinner only to find the fish unwrapped and sitting on the counter, covered in flies because the back door had been left open. I found my partner under his car changing the oil. It had occurred to him on the ride home with the fish that he hadn't done an oil change in a while, and something in his brain told him it's vital to do it RIGHT NOW. Not after dinner, but immediately. When I asked him about his choice, he insisted that the problem is that I just don't understand cars. It's kind of hilarious, if we're allowed to laugh at idiosyncrasies, but also kind of annoying. It didn't always happen like this, but it did just often enough to make it hard to trust that he'd follow through. 

CAN'T OR WON'T

How do we best live with people who just can't do what they say they'll do? Part of the problem is what it means to us when people let us down. We associate caring and loving with remembering things: our likes and dislikes and what makes us feel cared for and special dates. I have a mind like a sieve, so every recipe card has a list of who likes and hates it, with many crossed out as their tastes change, and I have an ongoing list of potential gifts for people, which often end up returned anyway, so it's complicated. Our level of memory for detail is sometimes used as proof of our level of care, when it might be more of a fluke. Some people are just better at keeping those facts in mind, so they appear to be more invested in us when they might not care about us at all. It's not always clear evidence of affiliation, yet we can't let go of it as evidence.  

Sunday, June 14, 2026

The Complexity of Letting Go

Finding peace with end of life decisions.

Somehow our only kitten pic!!
My cat died of pancreatic adenocarcinoma a few weeks ago. In March she had an annual check up and was deemed to be in good health for 13, although a bit overweight. We noticed that she was walking a little funny sometimes, so the vet suggested we think about arthritis medication. Then one day in May, just before our appointment to start meds for her suspected arthritis, she went into hiding. A more in-depth vet appointment discovered that her changed gait wasn’t from her joints, but from a huge abdominal mass. It took some tests to find out what it was, then came the dreaded decision-making about what to do about it. Apparently cats can live for months with the condition but often with a very dismal quality of life.

BURYING DIFFICULT PERSONALITIES

She was an ornery cat despite living a life of safety and comfort. I have a certain respect for the fact that she’d snap if you pet her one too many times or in a way that she didn’t want today. She was my work companion, often snuggled in beside me during online school sessions or marking marathons, but there was more than one time during a meeting that she suddenly attacked my arm if I gestured too widely, and I had to feign nonchalance as I shook her off me just outside of camera range. And she was always a bit dirty. As soft as she appeared, her fur acted like velcro, tracking litter throughout the house. Despite regular brushing, wherever she curled up, she left behind the expected layer of hair, but also bits of gravel and maybe some sticks and leaves. Of course she loved to sleep in my bed under the covers. (And who could say no to a tiny mew beckoning to be let in?) I feel asleep to her purrs, but I’d often be rudely awakened by a few sharp bats to the head if I moved around too much. She either couldn’t learn or didn’t care that disciplining me would cost her bed-privileges for the rest of the night.