A poster appeared on the back of the toilet door at my local open mic night. White clouds floated in a neon blue-green sky with the words ‘How to Find Oneself in A Queer Cuddle Puddle’ over a sugar pink centre, right in my eyeline. I was intrigued. A cuddle party with strangers?!

Two weeks later, I donate £15 for a ticket, gather a blanket, water bottle and snacks and head into central Brighton to be part of my first adult cuddle puddle. Dressed in leggings and a soft pink jumper, I’m shy but excited.

Cuddling can be good for our health

In Wales, where I’m from, we have a unique word: ‘cwtch’. It’s not just a hug, it’s a warm, safe place, such as a lamb’s manger or the cosiest nook. I long for this sort of holding, but platonic touch is something people don’t discuss often in the UK. We need it – touch, such as cuddling, is known to improve our health – yet embarrassment and social norms get in the way.

…Yes, there will be physical contact, but it’s not sexual. This intrigues me

Chris Jepson is a massage therapist at Hove Hands. “Human touch is healing​ and skin-to-skin contact ​is known to calm the nervous system, ease stress, and foster deep connection,” he says, “in a world that craves warmth; safe, consensual touch is a powerful remedy.”

This Cuddle Puddle is being run by the Devil’s Dyke Network: ‘an inclusive platform for poets, performers and artists dedicated to building community and generating positive cultural and political energies.’

I’m drawn to the event and the fact it’s aimed at queer people. Connecting with other LGBTQ+ people outside of dating is something I’m keen to do. Yes, there will be physical contact, but it’s not sexual. This intrigues me, and I want to find out more.

Models, not from actual event

I’ve tried some weird wellbeing trends: this might be the weirdest yet

I’ll be honest with you, in pursuit of better wellbeing and improved mental health, I’ve tried some unusual methods already. From Shamanic drum journeys to sound baths, trapeze to ecstatic dance, and the – now ubiquitous – wild swimming, this isn’t, as they say, my first rodeo. However, it IS my first cuddle party, or cuddle puddle.

How can this feel even better?

As we enter the dance studio venue in Brighton and take our shoes off, I’m drawn to a neon hand-painted sign that says: ‘How Can This Feel Even Better?’ It’s in green, orange and yellow, surrounded by fairy lights. We’re invited to place our own items next to it if we want to.

There are people with squishy toys; someone’s in pyjamas, others wear onesies and clutch toys. To me this is inner-child work. This is safety. As a queer neurodivergent person, this is an opportunity to unmask and let my guard down – for me and the other attendees.

…it feels like the world has slowed and I can breathe deeply and well

Friends have asked me if I was worried there “might be creeps there”. No, I was not worried about this for a moment. I have encountered creeps (and worse) in business networking events, on buses, and walking home. Entering a conscious, thoughtful space designed to discuss consent and work somatically felt safe for me. Together we’ll create our own safety. There are ground rules, and two experienced facilitators. This is the work they do.

We practice consent

There is a kind, opening circle, and opportunities to talk about how we feel. There are gentle, thoughtful warm-up exercises. Practicing saying ‘no’ and ‘yes’ to an offer of touch, such as holding a hand or linking your finger with someone else’s. There is hand sanitiser, water, discussion. We remember to breathe, we share our pronouns if we want to. I sit back-to-back with a stranger, supporting one another’s weight. It feels good, I find it soothing and calming.

Our yeses are joyful. Our nos are respectful. I listen to my body and my intuition, I don’t say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to please someone else. The atmosphere is kind, tentative and thoughtful. Nobody is diving in. There is quiet playful laughter. We create a temporary haven from the news cycle and the outside world.

I’m worried about my noisy stomach, worried about not being chosen

Eventually, after many gentle exercises and plenty of discussion and a break, we work together to make a pool of cushions and blankets and mats. And begin to arrange ourselves into a ‘puddle’. I don’t remember if there was music or if it was quiet. I do remember worrying about my noisy stomach. And I worried a bit about the fear of not being picked or chosen. We’ve been practicing our nos, what if everyone says ‘no’ to me? Rejection is a huge worry of mine in life.

A tall, gentle man asks if it’s okay to join us and lies behind me

I snuggle down on the pile of beanbags, cushions and blankets, with two other women. A tall, gentle man asks if it’s okay to join us and lies behind me once I agree. He places an arm around my body. It does not feel sexual to me, instead it feels like the world has slowed and I can breathe deeply and well. I feel happy and held and comforted.

I cannot see the faces of the strangers in front and behind me and I close my eyes. Mostly, I find myself most at ease among queer and neurodivergent folks, it’s like coming home. To a home I feel safe in, and where I’m accepted. I’m sad when the time’s up, but a pink-haired stranger stays cuddling me, hands on my hands as we start to debrief. I feel calm and soothed. It was the tonic I needed, and I think I knew that. There is a closing circle and some readings. Several of us ask when we can do this again.

Touch is good for us

Reflecting on my experience, I felt the Cuddle Puddle had a positive effect on my wellbeing and soothed my nervous system. I turned to a therapist to get her expert insights too. Rayner Ward is a counsellor and clinical supervisor and she explained to me why touch is important.

“Recent times have shown us the damage isolation can do and how hard it is to reconnect. Connecting with others is fundamental to wellbeing. Sharing that connection through touch can be one of the simplest ways to share the vulnerability of humankind.

“To simply share the joy of life or the pain of suffering with one hand on another is incredibly valuable. Touch not only warms the heart but reaches us in a way tech will never do.”

Five things I learned in my cuddle puddle:

• It’s about consent and finding what feels right for you. It wasn’t a free-for-all, it was a gentle way for me to reconnect to my own body and boundaries.
• Everything slowed down, and I stopped worrying. I felt very present in the moment the way perhaps others do at yoga or in meditation.
• It wasn’t as embarrassing as I expected. The other cuddlers were kind and thoughtful and the facilitators guided us.
• Cuddling is hungry work! I would bring more snacks for the break if I went again.
• Just because it’s not for everyone doesn’t mean it’s not for me. A lot of friends said this event would be their worst nightmare. But my experience was dreamy.

The Cuddle Puddle was held in Brighton by Devil’s Dyke Network

Helen Jane Campbell

Helen, 47, is a coach for creative people. Originally from Wales, she co-founded the first ever Hay Pride and currently lives on the Sussex coast.

Helen’s the author of Founders, Freelancers & Rebels: How to Thrive as an Independent Creative. She also writes fiction and poetry.

The post The cuddle party: a new wellbeing trend and I’m in! appeared first on Silver Magazine.

Lili Lowe on the realities of living with Tourette’s syndrome, busting a few myths and calling for better understanding about a condition that is a magnet for misinformation.

Can you tell us about your journey with Tourette’s syndrome?

I remember being maybe 10 or 11 and when I started making weird, uncontrollable grunts. They were really annoying. I’d have this odd feeling in my chest, like something needed to come out –and until it did, it almost hurt. After a few years, that particular tic disappeared, and I never really thought much of it.

But when I was about 19 or 20, these weird sensations came back. This time, they were accompanied by words – I started saying “Hey!” or “Hi!” or “Hello!”. At first, I was so confused. I thought maybe a terrible job, terrible relationship, and a sense that the world was falling apart was stressing me out beyond reason.

But as these new tics continued and became more severe, I realised that maybe it wasn’t going to go away quickly. At first, I disregarded the idea that I might have Tourette’s. But trying to explain to people why I was shouting “Hello!” in their faces for no apparent reason got tricky.

Fast forward to today, I’m getting more comfortable with telling people I have Tourette’s and accepting the fact. And I’m constantly fighting that lovely fella known as Imposter Syndrome, who keeps popping into my head.

“Oh, you just HAVE to make those noises do you? Just stop doing it, you’re being dramatic…”

What type of tics do you experience and how do they affect your daily life?

My tics are only verbal. I am very thankful they are not offensive – count your blessings and all that.

At the moment, my tic list includes the “Hey!”, “Hello!” and “Hi!” greetings in a variety of pitches and tones. There are a few weird squeaks, almost mouse-like, but not in a creepy way. It sounds almost like a small, high-pitched child.

I always say that the ‘greeting’ tics have stuck around because my Tourette’s just wants to be acknowledged

And my latest persistent tic is “Bah!” I’m not sure how I feel about this one, but a few friends have said they hope it sticks around for Christmas. Bah humbug!

Over the last few years, there has been a broader range of tics, but a lot of them come and go. I always say that the ‘greeting’ tics have stuck around because my Tourette’s just wants to be acknowledged and is desperate for attention.

How do you manage your tics?

I don’t think anyone with Tourette’s should have to manage their tics. It’s simply not fair. It would be like telling someone who desperately needs to sneeze that they’re not allowed to.

But of course – and I’m sure I’m not alone – there are some situations where I would like to not tic. It’s normally meeting new people or situations where I don’t want to draw attention to myself.

Sometimes I’ll do them more quietly, which can help scratch the itch. But ultimately they need to come out. Holding them in means I’ll suffer later.

What are some of the everyday challenges you face because of Tourette’s syndrome?

I’ve just started dating again – I know, the joys – but this means meeting new people. And I don’t always want to tic, especially when I’m trying to look hot and elusive. The sexy mystique sort of goes out of the window when I’m shouting “Hello!” in someone’s face like an angry Karen while they’re trying to tell me a story.

I don’t like all the questions, even though I know people are curious. I’ve been on dates where I have been upfront about it and allowed myself to tic. But then they’re full of questions – and there is a lot more to me than just Tourette’s.

How do you navigate these challenges in your day-to-day life?

In the past, I have held them in and not told new people about my tics to avoid the awkwardness. But trying to explain it further down the line then becomes hard.

It’s almost as if people don’t believe me. “Well, you didn’t do it for the first few times we met…

It’s almost as if people don’t believe me. If someone says something like, “Well, you didn’t do it for the first few times we met, so surely you don’t need to do them?”, this really plays into my imposter syndrome.

With that in mind, I have decided to try and be more open. Sometimes I tell people in advance of meeting them. Or I have just let the tics out and been very clear that I have Tourette’s. Generally, it’s okay. It’s a little scary for me, but it’s probably better this way.

Does Tourette’s syndrome affect your relationships with coworkers?

I’m not punching anyone or swearing uncontrollably or calling a stranger on the bus a fat bitch. So in that sense, my tics are non-offensive and easy to deal with. I feel very blessed about that. I like to say I’m overly friendly – and it probably seems that way when I’m shouting “Hey!” at everyone in the beer garden.

But work has been interesting. When I was working as a chef for a funny little pub, my tics started to become more frequent and noticeable. I felt comfortable to tic there, everyone was a bit mad, and it just became a comical part of our work. It was nice.

I honestly had no idea how they’d react. I knew they all thought I was a little weird anyway

After working at the pub, I took a job in an all-female office. Right from the start, I felt isolated. Don’t get me wrong – they were all lovely – but they were the type of women who went for morning runs, were a part of their kids’ PTA, did lots of yoga, had “tried weed once at uni” … I just didn’t fit. It wasn’t a Mean Girls situation – they were all sweet and welcoming – but I knew I wasn’t going to make any real friends.

When I worked there, I held my tics in all day, every day, and never once let on that I had Tourette’s. We were in such close proximity to each other, and I honestly had no idea how they’d react. I knew they all thought I was a little weird anyway. It was fine. I was only in the office three days a week and my tics aren’t too severe. So, I could hold them in, but my ex got the brunt of it later on at home.

What about when you’re out and about with strangers or in public places?

If I’m out and about with mates, I will tic happily and shout at strangers. I think there’s a confidence with being around your friends. They’ll back you up. On multiple occasions when I’ve been shouting and someone gives me funny looks, I’ll hear one of my mates sassily say, “She’s got Tourette’s syndrome”.

I like loud spaces. Gigs and busy pubs are perfect places to tic because no one even notices. I can be as loud as I like. And you’ve got to try and have fun with it. Something I really enjoy is when a new person joins our group, unaware of my tics, I’ll shout “Hey!” at them and watch them look around at no one batting an eyelid, as if they’re the only one hearing it.

How do you think society perceives Tourette’s syndrome?

I think the biggest misconception about Tourette’s is that it’s common for people to swear. There have been so many documentaries covering people with more offensive tics. So I think people assume that everyone with Tourette’s just swears all the time. But it’s such a diverse disorder. Tics can range from eyebrow movements to blowing breaths to repetitive grunts.

Read more: Can microdosing psychedlics help your mental health?

What would you like others to know about living with Tourette’s?

This one goes out to my exes who would get annoyed and angry with me for my tics. I am aware that the tics can be loud, especially when you’re trying to relax. But I can promise you, it is a hell of a lot more distressing for me than it is for you. The more you get annoyed at someone for their tics, the more anxious and stressed they’ll become – and the more they’ll do it. Don’t be a dick!

Have you found any activities that help you with tics?

Anything that involves intense concentration is good. When I’m totally wrapped up in something, I don’t tend to tic.

What changes would you like to see in terms of societal acceptance and understanding of Tourette’s?

Most of the online information, such as the NHS website, talk about children and tics. For years, the understanding has been that it starts in childhood, but this has been disproven. Plenty of people who never experienced tics as children have developed Tourette’s as adults.

It would be nice to see more support for adults experiencing tics for the first time, instead of just advice on what to do if your child starts having tics.

What advice would you give to someone who may have Tourette’s?

It’s not your fault. You’re not doing it on purpose. Usually, other people are so in their head that they might give it attention while it’s happening, but then very quickly move on.

I’ve found great support and got a lot of questions answered by other Tourette’s sufferers on Reddit’s r/tourettes subreddit. It’s full of people with Tourette’s – and those who deal with people with Tourette’s – so you can get both sides of the story. When I have asked questions, everyone has been so lovely, so 100 per cent would recommend.

Lili Lowe

Lili works across all the channels; writing articles, taking photographs, creating content, and designing eye-capturing imagery. She’s an animal-lover who cries just seeing a picture of a baby sloth.

The post Living with Tourette’s: It’s about so much more than swearing appeared first on Silver Magazine.

But now late autism and ADHD diagnosis are offering women revelations, and a freedom to accept themselves as never before.

…girls are good at masking. Which means they have a greater ability to act ‘normal’.

This isn’t a ‘bash the guys’ article, let’s just kick off with that. The imbalance of boys being diagnosed and girls not has risen largely because girls are good at masking. Which means they have a greater ability to act ‘normal’. And so for generations, autism has been widely regarded as a male condition. Girls are just better actors, and often pressured to behave better. Boys will be boys? Apparently girls have to be quite a lot of other things besides just being themselves.

There are other theories too – including the hypothesis that more males than females just really are autistic, or have ADHD. But the phenotype, the behavioural traits associated with autism we have come to recognise and classify by, have been historically built around male behaviours.

And so girls have slipped through the net. They’re often labelled shy, or anxious, or withdrawn. Maybe they’re troublemakers, rebelling against discipline. Actually, maybe they’re just autistic. Boys will often get spotted at young ages, like two years old. Girls, maybe their teens. Maybe their forties. Maybe only when their own kids are being diagnosed.

Why don’t they get spotted earlier?

Apart from the masking, childhood tests are often skewed towards boys’ understanding. For an autistic girl, a question like ‘Do you like to play with just the wheels of a toy car, rather than the whole car?’ is likely to elicit a literal no, because she doesn’t play with cars. The question is about hyperfixation, not cars, but an autist can often find subtext or nuance impossible to process. So she will fail to see the root of the question. You see what can happen?

That’s a very simplistic example, purely for illustrative purposes. But you get the idea.

One thing that has become increasingly obvious with recent research, is that no two autists are the same. And it’s not a case of ‘more’ or ‘less’ autistic. It’s a spectrum, a circle, with different points on it. There are similarities, and commonly shared behaviours. But it’s not linear, and there are no pigeonholes. Neurodiversity is just that. Diverse.

So with girls more able to mask, or often dismissed as emotional, hormonal, hysterical, shy, weird, and so on, it’s not unusual for the diagnosis to only surface decades later.

I spoke to two late-diagnosis women about their own experiences.

SUSIE’S STORY

What are your specific diagnoses?

Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) although I’m sure I’m autistic too. Waiting for an assessment.

What age were you diagnosed?

I was 50. I’d always known I was different, but just thought I was a bit of an oddball. Then as knowledge around neurodiversity started to grow, I started to read and research, and it was like a light came on. I talked to my doctor, who was amazingly supportive (also female, not sure if that helped) and we started delving.

What did getting a diagnosis mean to you?

The relief was profound. I mean, I’ve upset people, I have struggled to fit in, I don’t recognise people – there’s a long list of things that really affected my socialisation. School was an absolutely miserable experience, largely. I tried to go in as little as possible. And growing up I was in trouble a lot, for failing to respond to discipline or routine. For not being able to concentrate on things, or focus. And to understand that there was a good reason for it all was enormous. It was hugely emotional actually.

Also I have been precribed methylphenidate which most people know as Ritalin, and that has been life-changing. I start things and finish them. I think clearly. I can focus. It’s seismic, the difference this has made to my life. I try not to be furious it took me this long to get here.

Can you briefly outline what describes your own experience?

I think one of the big things that I became really aware of once I was a business owner was my inability to see faces. I had to train myself to look for prompts – like certain glasses or facial hair, notable eyebrows, that sort of thing. Once I know someone or have seen a face a lot I can recognise it. I also blurt things out a lot. I know instantly I’ve said something inappropriate but by then it’s too late. I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to dig myself out of having inadvertently offended someone – now I just tell them I’m neurodivergent. Being able to explain is magical – for both me AND for the person I’ve upset. They realise it’s not personal or intentional.

My memory is almost entirely visual. Tell me a name or a number verbally, and I’ll forget it. But if I see it written down or I dial it, I can remember it forever. I physically describe the sequence of numbers in the air with my finger if I’ve only seen the number dialled, not written. But it’s in there.

Have you found a fix for some things?

Noises, and bright lights and stuff like that quite hard – supermarkets are tough. So I get deliveries. I used to go out dancing a lot and found that MDMA really helped. I believe there are trials now using MDMA for stuff like PTSD. It certainly changed life for me.

I fidget my feet and shake my hands when I’m nervous. And I love patterns, I have OCD although it’s mild, I can’t bear dirty hands and I have to really watch that doesn’t get ridiculous. I hyperfixate on things – bands or musicians usually – and I watch the same programmes on TV over and over again. It makes me feel safe. There’s loads more, but that’s a fair glimpse.

What do you think your life might have looked like with an earlier diagnosis?

That’s really hard to answer, because honestly I’ve ended up doing what I wanted, pretty much always. Despite my neurodivergence I seem to have an ability to just drop into the right places and grab the opportunities. Perhaps not ‘despite’ but ‘because of’. School would have been less hellish I think. That would have been nice.

Why do you think it took so long?

Apart from when I was at school and just labelled a failure, I’ve mostly been able to mask really successfully. I just thought I was selfish and thoughtless and hurtful, mostly. In fact have been told that by so many people. So I just thought I was a bit defective and perhaps not a very nice person underneath! I don’t know. I got there when I got there. It’s good to know, even at this stage of my life.

Things not to say to someone neurodivergent…

‘Wow does that mean you’re really good at maths?’ No, I’m really shit at maths. But I do have an obsession with linguistics and etymoogy and I could read entire adult books aged three. That freaked them out when I got to prep school. I also see music in colours and patterns – which is called synesthesia – a word which has its basis in Greek. Don’t get me started!

Also “you don’t look like you have ADHD. My cousin has a six-year-old boy with ADHD and you’re nothing like him.” Ugh. Where to start with this? I never know what to say to that. I usually just stare at them because I can’t think of anything to say that isn’t blunt or rude. I’m not a six-year-old boy, for a start.

How can neurotypical people better support neurodivergents without being patronising or dismissive or ableist or whatever?

Just go with the flow? This is hard – I don’t want to be made to feel ‘different’ but even the terminology… ‘typical’, ‘diverse’… I’d like to see that change although I doubt it will.

Also be really clear when you’re talking to me. I’m not good at nuance, and I find it hard to look in your eyes. So don’t hint – be really direct. I might not get what you’re on about otherwise.

Ask questions and be interested, I don’t mind that. Also understand that it’s exhausting trying to fit into the ‘normal’ world all the time. So if I duck out of things or cancel plans, it’s probably because I’m frozen, immobile on the sofa, not because I don’t like you.

ELAINE’S STORY

What are your specific diagnoses?

Autism Spectrum Condition (ASC) and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), which are viewed by the medical profession as separate conditions, but I’m not sure they are.

What age were you diagnosed?

56

And how did you get there eventually?

I have an online friend in the US who said she’d been diagnosed with ADHD and the meds had really helped her. At the time adults weren’t getting diagnosed in the UK so I had to leave it for ages. When I got the diagnosis I tried the meds, but because of other things – TMJ and migraine – I couldn’t handle the meds.

I tried different ones for nearly a year and at the end of that I asked why they thought I had ADHD and not PTSD, and they agreed to have a session or two with a psychiatrist. Around the middle of the second session the psych started asking me questions I had never heard before; ‘Do you watch the same TV programmes over and over?’, for example. He asked if I minded being screened for autism.

I didn’t really care, I assumed it’d be another thing to cross off the list. But very quickly into the assessment I realised I definitely was. I wrote a quick blog post about it which I share regularly because there’s a link between ADHD, ASC, and CPTSD.

Read Elaine’s blog here

Can you briefly outline what kind of behaviours classify your own experience?

I don’t really know what the difference is between ASC and ADHD so it’s hard to say what is specifically autistic. But I do stuff like eat the same thing over and over again, and can get overwhelmed easily. Then I make poor decisions. I’m terrible at my own life admin, and have serious demand avoidance.

I stopped wearing jewellery because I used to fiddle with it constantly. I thought it was making me more nervous, but I don’t really know. Actually I find it hard to follow TV programmes unless the characters wear the same clothes all the time, or something that gives me a clue as to who they are. Otherwise I have to ‘coast’ a bit and pick up the storyline when things fall into place.

What did getting a diagnosis mean to you?

I didn’t get any sort of aftercare – unless you pay for therapy or something you don’t. What I did get was a vocabulary that has helped me understand why I’m different, and then a way of explaining myself a bit better. Mostly this is to do with not overdoing things. I need a good couple of days to recover from doing a task or seeing people. This has mattered less during the pandemic. But because also I am older now anyway I don’t feel duty bound to explain myself.

What do you think your life might have looked like with an earlier diagnosis?

I think I would have been very lucky not to have been much more bullied, and I wouldn’t have internalised the hatred. If it wasn’t to do with the time I have lived through, say I was born much later, it could have really helped me to make better choices for myself.

Why do you think it took so long?

Girls manifest as teenagers with crushes and eating disorders and stuff that isn’t to do with knowing numbers or the ‘boy’ things, so they get ignored. Also, girls tend to be forced to be social in a way that boys don’t, and lots of girls then make this a ‘special interest’. Autistic women are drawn to psychology.

A lot of women get diagnosed now when their kids do, but I didn’t have kids. If I had, and my kids were autistic, I probably wouldn’t have been diagnosed, because that’s quite a new thing, my kids would have been a while ago.

The next time we seem to get picked up is during menopause, since our coping mechanisms go to shit. Frankly, I should have been diagnosed in my early 40s, but again, it’s all about how things stand now.

Things not to say to someone autistic…

The same things you wouldn’t say to anyone you respected. But a lot – ‘everyone’s a bit on the scale, aren’t they.’ No, they’re not.

How can neurotypical people better support autists without being patronising or dismissive or ableist or whatever?

I don’t really care as such about people being arseholes to me. It tends to be people who don’t know me, so although it burns I can move on (eventually). I hate feeling misunderstood, so something like someone commenting on a social media post I’ve made, say, about a difficult experience I’ve had and they’re dismissive or scornful, it’s hurtful. But I have to remember people don’t know me and they don’t really GAF about me.

If you’d like to know more about autism diagnosis in women and girls visit this National Autistic Society page

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Sam Harrington-Lowe

Sam is Silver’s founder and editor-in-chief. She’s largely responsible for organising all the things, but still finds time to do the odd bit of writing. Not enough though. Send help.

The post Late autism and ADHD diagnoses for women. How thousands have slipped through the net appeared first on Silver Magazine.