Author: Kathy Marshack

“If you have been brutally broken
But still have the courage
to be gentle to other living beings,
then you’re a badass
with a heart of an angel.”
~ Keanu Reeves

Brutally broken?

Most of us cannot say we have been “brutally broken.” Life is complicated and often treacherous. Every so often we get a reprieve from the heartache and suffering. Then life can be peaceful, joyful, and downright glorious.

I have similar ups and downs, just like all of you. We find a way to resurrect our lives after a major set-back. We grieve the loss of an elderly loved one. We suck it up when there is a reversal of fortune. We hunker down and work harder toward our personal goals when they have been sidelined by the ordinary obligations of life. In spite of these set-backs, we usually let go of the grieving after a while.

However, sometimes the loss is too great and we are brutally broken. I doubt the survivors of the Uvalde massacre (what else can I call it?) will ever have another moment of joy that is not tinged with intense unremitting grief. I wonder if they can let themselves love again, when their child/ sibling/ grandchild/ friend had their life cut short so young and so violently?

 As a psychologist, I am asked about how to help the children who are going through the shock of their lives right now. Not just the children in Uvalde, or Texas, but around the country. Of course, many children have nightmares or are fearful of returning to their classrooms.

I am also asked what can be done for the parents who are grieving, or who are terrified that the same could happen to their children, in their town, in their school.

Of course, it is important to reach out to those who are personally going through this heartbreaking and horrible tragedy, but my focus in this brief article is on those who are retraumatized by Uvalde. They suffer silently because their pain is not of the moment, but of unspeakable tragedies past.

How do we lay to rest unspeakable tragedies?

First of all, we cannot move on from unspeakable tragedies if we don’t speak about them. Not everyone will listen to you, but I will. I am one of you who has lost my precious children to parental alienation, but whatever your trauma, your heart is worth knowing.

I had no idea that my ex-husband Howard would go so far as to brainwash our children against me and destroy the hearts of his family — and thus their sense of safety. In fact, I didn’t believe it for years, as I denied the horrible things he did.

I carried on through an onslaught of 12 years of ruthless attacks on me and my daughters. I was sued, harassed, stalked, assaulted, arrested, and defamed to my licensing Board. All told I hired 16 attorneys during those twelve years, to handle over 20 legal matters, and costing me $550,000. I survived by using my wits and borrowing on my house and credit cards.

One of my attorneys told me that a jury wouldn’t believe I had suffered since I carried on very well in public. Since I wasn’t acting traumatized, in the hospital, homeless, or dead, he reckoned that I would just have to move on – without my children.

Apparently crying myself to sleep night after night — all alone — wasn’t sufficient evidence of suffering. Neither was burying myself in my work as a clinical psychologist or writing books on NeuroDivergence. How could a jury understand that keeping myself busy, kept the terror at bay?

Let the terror break through.

It is too soon for the families and friends in Uvalde to begin the healing process. There remain years of terrifying thoughts to suppress. If you can be there for them, please protect them as they grieve. Make them a sandwich. Turn on some pleasant music. Mow the lawn for them. But do not make them talk yet about the unspeakable horror that invades their every waking moment. Hold them when they cry and say nothing except that you love them.

For me, the terror broke through when my dear dog companion Simon died. I also lost his little cat buddy Neo. They were old and frail and needed me to help them pass, so I did. Only then did I allow my own unspeakable tragedy to surface. This was 19 years after the start of Howard’s psychological warfare. It took a long time to be able to face that I would never again see my daughters — or meet my grandchildren — 19 years.

I suppose this is what Reeves means by “the courage to be gentle with other living beings.” My big Black Lab, Simon was 14 and little Neo, was 16. I loved them with all of my heart. They were my family during those harsh times. My children got swept away by emotional abuse, but Simon and Neo were steady and protective companions. I loved them beyond measure (as any pet parent knows). When I let them go, it was amazingly peaceful.  I held them gently, stroking their soft fur, as they fell silent in my arms — so great was their trust in me.

Become a Radiant Empathy Angel.

When you are finally ready to face the terror, it will wash over you with unforgiveable fierceness. You may be unable to sleep or eat or remember how to get your car pointed home. But I guarantee that it will pass quickly if you are ready to step into your courage and embrace the heart of a Radiant Empathy Angel. Reeves calls these folks “badass” but I prefer the term “warrior.”

A Radiant Empathy Angel, or Gentle Warrior is someone who has weathered the most unspeakable tragedy, and yet hasn’t lost their humanity. They not only know they have a job to do to make the world a better place, but they are no longer keeping busy to suppress the terror. To become a Radiant Empathy Angel is the only door that is open to you if you are to heal.

If you stay stuck in your grief, you will be retraumatized time and time again by the brutal world we live in. If you keep a lid on your terror, you won’t allow the rekindling of love in your life (and the world desperately needs more love). The only way out of this dilemma is to become a Radiant Empathy Angel — which requires the heart of a warrior.

I still grieve. I still give up on myself from time to time. I still suppress the terror occasionally. But I am getting better at flying high as a Radiant Empathy Angel. When I let the love flow and trust that God is right there — you know what I mean, right there? Then I get a sweet text that reminds me it pays to be a Warrior in service to others.

Here’s one of those God messages I got from a client right after his therapy session with his wife:

“I’m not sure I can put into words what you did for us just then. So, whatever you take from this you can multiply it be a factor of a lot….YOU.WORK.MIRACLES. You’re awesome. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. . . . You rock! I’m so very grateful to have found you. Thank you Kathy.”

If you have been “brutally broken” by one of the cruel actions of others, whether that be a war, a rape, parental alienation, or a mass shooting — I hope you realize that you can heal. Furthermore, when you rise out of the ashes of your despair, aim to operate as a Radiant Empathy Angel. With this spirit of a Warrior (or Badass as Reeves tells it), you will do far more than survive an unspeakable tragedy — you will work miracles too.

“Look me in the eye.”

I watched my daughter as she shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t know?” I had just asked her where she got the new Barbie clothes I found in her room.

“Phoebe,” I said sternly. “Look me in the eye. Where did you get these new things?” Again, she evaded my look, but said nothing. She looked uncomfortable, knowing full well she was trapped.

“Mrs. Burton told me that you took these things from Lauren when you were playing Barbies next door. Is that true?” I was hoping she would come clean before I had to press again.

Phoebe raised her voice a bit and did indeed look me in the eye. “Lauren said I could have them!” she said defiantly.

“Phoebe,” I said. We both know that’s not true, or why would Lauren’s mother come to me with the problem. “Nope, you took them without permission. And you will give them back. In fact, we are going over there right now and I want you to apologize.”

Of course, Phoebe was humiliated and looked away in shame.

Most parents have used this expression a time or two – “Look me in the eye.” It’s an expression meaning that we want to determine if the other person is being truthful. It’s assumed that if the person can look you in the eye with confidence, they must be telling the truth. If there is a hint of shame or embarrassment, then we assume the other person is lying.

However, only those on the Autism Spectrum believe that an ongoing conversation requires looking the other person in the eye. They mix this up all of the time when they accuse NeuroTypicals of wanting them to make eye contact. In fact, when we NTs talk about making eye contact, we don’t mean that either. After all, NTs don’t make eye contact all of the time. We frequently look away or down or up or side to side, as part of the nonverbal signals we send and receive in a conversation.

So, what do we mean? It’s just one of those expressions that has a deeper meaning. To make appropriate eye contact is a request to connect, interactionally. To validate and affirm the other person is the first step in an empathic conversation. Nodding, smiling, looking at the other, leaning forward, shaking hands — these are all nonverbal gestures that NTs use to connect first with the other person.

On occasion, we might assert our authority with a child and tell them to “Look me in the eye!” But mostly various types of eye contact are viewed as polite ways to acknowledge the value of the other person.

It gets confounding for NeuroTypicals when NeuroDiverse individuals avoid eye contact, or stare for too long, or make exaggerated eye rolls at the wrong moment. It’s hard to trust people who do not make reasonable eye contact — or we tend to think the person is immature — at least that is how NeuroTypicals feel.

“See what I mean?”

NeuroTypicals use a variety of expressions that are intended to foster emotional connection. We use sensory words to reach the other person through their feelings first.

• See what I mean?
• Does that sound right to you?
• Let’s stay in touch.
• That resonates with me.
• Ah, yes, that rings a bell.

We also express distress similarly. And this is where it shows up as a disconnect in NeuroDivergent relationships.

• Why don’t you ever listen to me?
• He’s so cold.
• Don’t give me that look!
• Why can’t you see me?
• Do I have to scream to be heard?

These expressions “fall on deaf ears” when NeuroTypicals use them with their
NeuroDiverse loved ones. This is because Autists are transactional, not interactional. They wait patiently for NTs to finish the small talk of emotional connection. They listen to the words, not the interpersonal connecting language. Thus, they miss the person who is speaking, in favor of the content of the wording.

“You just don’t get me!”

With Empathy Dysfunction (EmD) our NeuroDiverse loved ones fail to grasp the NeuroTypical need to be affirmed interpersonally first. Before moving on to a topic of conversation, we NTs seek to connect, emotionally, empathically. Without this connection, it can feel as if we aren’t heard or seen, or that we aren’t seeing or hearing the other person.

“I feel invisible, Dr. Marshack.” Ashleigh was in tears as she tried to describe the emotional disconnect in her NeuroDivergent marriage.

I nodded a look of understanding, and Ashleigh continued.

“I mean I know that Roald loves me, but he is so cold. He doesn’t listen to me. He doesn’t see me. He doesn’t get me.”

“Yes, Ash,” I said. “It’s like he is hearing your words, but not you — the woman who is speaking — the woman he loves.”

“Exactly, Dr. Marshack. Why can’t he understand where I am coming from?” Ashleigh believes it should be easy.

Can you recognize Ashleigh’s confusion? Do you understand her pain? Does it make sense that she feels so distraught just because Roald doesn’t use empathy to communicate? Can you imagine Road’s confusion too, since as a NeuroDiverse man he diligently listens to her every word?

“How do we find each other?”

It’s such a tragedy that a NeuroDivergent couple falls out of love because they can’t get past this barrier to connecting. Transactional people listen to the words. Interactional people listen to the person. That’s a big difference and it means all the world to “finding each other.”

That’s the question, isn’t it? “How do we find each other?” Presumably, there was love once and it can be reignited in these NeuroDivergent relationships. But it won’t be because those transactional NeuroDiverse folks suddenly shift to interactional NeuroTypical language. That’s because the NT language is more than words.

Empathy is more than words and requires a type of energy that is like music. Like a symphony orchestra playing a stirring rendition of “The Imperial March” by John Williams. Music has the capacity to transcend the words and create meaning that connects heart and mind — within and among us.

So how do we find each other in a NeuroDivergent relationship? Perhaps it is to start with the knowledge that we don’t speak the same language. If we can stay detached or neutral, and stretch to understand where Autists are coming from — maybe the Autist will get it that their NT loved ones are holding space for them. The NeuroDiverse may not see us, or hear us, or touch us with unspoken “words,” but maybe a kind of trust can grow as we search for a way to bring these divergent worlds together.

It’s a relation thing.

“It’s a relation thing.” This is how Hannah Gadsby responded to the question posed by the talk show host, Fredrik Skavlan.

Skavlan was trying to get at what stops Gadsby from feeling comfortable with people in a social situation. He said, “So, is that the thing… so as long as you are home with yourself… autism is like nothing?”

Gadsby, an Australian comedian continued. “Yeah… when I am by myself, I’m smooth. I’m good at life… but when someone else comes in… with all of their facial expressions and stuff and it really throws me for a loop.”

The first time I heard this odd expression (“It’s a relation thing) it was from my former husband, Howard. He actually wrote it in an email to me, shortly after we separated. In an attempt to understand why our marriage was failing, he wrote, “I think it’s a relation thing.”

Since then, I have learned a lot about “Asperger Syndrome.” I not only recognized the Autism in my former spouse, but also in my mother and my eldest daughter Bianca. Being surrounded by Autists all of my life, you might think I understood them better. Instead, they had the opposite effect on me. They puzzled me. They made me feel like something was always wrong with me. Our relationships were oppressive and tragic.

It’s a relationship thing.

Take a good look at this word — relationship. How do you feel about it?

Now look at these two phrases:

It’s a relation thing.

It’s a relationship thing.

Do they feel (or sound) the same to you?

NeuroTypicals (NTs) have relationships with others. I perceive the world this way too — through my relationships with others. But for Gadsby and Howard and others on the Autism Spectrum, they exist in relation to others — separately and discreetly.

Gadsby is overwhelmed when others enter the room, “. . . with all of their facial expressions and stuff.” She prefers being alone rather than in the world of relationships, where all that “stuff” is part of the interactional and connecting world of NTs. When she is alone, autism is not an issue, because autism is only relevant in relationship with others — where it stands out and feels odd.

Yes, the energy of interactional people is a lot to track, but if you are NT, you just jump into the flow. You don’t worry about categorizing or listening to every word. Instead, you engage in a friendly exchange.

If you listen to people, their language reflects their underlying belief system and view of the world. In this very brief interchange between Gadsby and Skavlan you get to observe how a transactional woman and an interactional man discuss the same topic — social situations — but from dramatically different points of view.

For Skavlan, he wants to know the person. He encourages Gadsby to open up about herself, revealing what makes her tick. For Gadsby, she answers the questions and nothing more. With each of Skavlan’s questions, she politely gives an answer, along with a quirky facial expression that makes the audience laugh— and then waits for the next question. She has observed that Skavlan likes to ask questions, so as far as she is concerned all she needs to do is answer those questions.

Skavlan is an entertainment professional so he can handle his guest, but does he wonder why she doesn’t engage — engage in relationship building? She ignores the other guests on the show. Do they wonder too? Skavlan and his guests all keep smiling but there is no opening to engage with Gadsby.

Autists are intimidating.

Gadsby is puzzled that people find her “intimidating” (her word). She doesn’t intend to be intimidating. In fact, she wants to make people laugh. Yet she admits in this interview that she is not the least anxious when she performs on stage. As she puts it, she feels “dead inside.” That sounds intimidating to me.

That “dead inside” expression tells me a lot. She is not engaging her audience the way an NT comedian might do. In a transactional manner, if the audience laughs, she is successful. On the other hand, if an adoring fan wants to hug her after the performance, she rejects the hug, thereby rejecting the person. It’s OK not to want to hug strangers, but an NT would offer a kind gesture instead, such as a smile, or a handshake, or a high five — or an autograph — something to let the fan know they are appreciated.

I suppose appreciation is not what Gadsby is after, either receiving or giving it. If it’s just “a relation thing,” then all of that dynamic, interactional, friendly give and take is not necessary. It may seem unkind to think of Autists as intimidating but for NeuroTypicals the lack of social reciprocity leaves us cold.

Love is more than “a relation thing.”

Hearing Gadsby use that phrase, “it’s a relation thing” and describing herself as “intimidating,” and watching her ignore Skavlan’s bids to connect — this brought clarity to me about why I have felt alone most of my life in my relationship with my “Aspies.” I kept trying to have a relationship with people who saw me as a transactional object. In relation to them, I served a purpose. If I served the purpose to their liking, I was accepted. If not, I felt discarded. They answered questions or asked them. Once they got what they were after they moved on.

I remember a moment with Howard when I discussed filing for divorce. He looked surprised and said, “But I thought we were getting along better.”

Even though this was a painful moment for me, I was amused by his response. I said, “Howard, I understand why you thought we were getting along better. That’s because when I decided to get a divorce three months ago, I stopped talking with you.”

Howard was quiet for a long time. He sat very still with his eyes closed. He must have been thinking about what I said. When he finally opened his eyes, he said, “I think you are right. We haven’t been talking.”

This was his world, a world in which all was well as long as Howard was satisfied — and left alone. But for me, love is much more than “a relation thing.” It is an alive, exciting, energetic give and take between people that helps us both grow personally and interpersonally — stronger, smarter, more creative, kind, and aware — over time.

When Howard spoke those words, my resolve crystalized. I had spent over two decades with a man who was cocooned in his own world and seeming oblivious of his wife and children. He literally watched TV, while listening to NPR with earbuds, and at the same time sitting in front of his computer working on legal briefs. There was no room to invite me (or the children) into his world, nor would he step into ours. After 23 excruciatingly painful years of this mistreatment, I quit.

I felt invisible to my NeuroDiverse mother, husband, and child. Serving a purpose in the lives of NeuroDiverse family members is a role — in relation to — not with them. A purpose or role does not feel affirming, or appreciative, or known, or loving.

I spent a lifetime not understanding the irony of being in a family where the NeuroDiverse were satisfied when I left them alone, while I desperately wanted to connect. I missed the joy of being in relationship with those I loved because they didn’t know how to love me back, interactionally, as NeuroTypicals do. This has been a terrible loss for me to come to terms with — a lifetime without love.

However, with this discovery of my authentic self, I recognized an incredible opportunity. I am grateful that I prefer creating relationships — or loving connections — to a “relation thing.” This means that I am free to feel and enjoy the love all around me, anytime I choose.

It’s also true that I can freely honor those with NeuroDiversity like Hannah Gadsby, to choose the comfort of being alone. I find it odd, but I get it — I just wouldn’t choose it for me.

 

To know, know, know you, is to love, love, love you.
~ Bobby Vinton, Singer/Songwriter

Love is a conversation.

As Bobby Vinton suggests in his 1969 song lyrics, there is a profound connection between knowing you and loving you. Can you truly love someone without knowing them? Does the love grow stronger as you get to know them better, through shared life experiences? Can love fade if a partner fails to keep up with the knowing part?

I chose the title of my book, “Empathy is More Than Words,” (to be published), because to know someone is far greater than just the words spoken, or the rules defining the encounter between people. It is more than an accumulation of data researched on each person. That data set may include facts about the person, or noticeable facial features, or common gestures they might use. But to really know someone is to connect at a deeper emotional level.

To feel loved is to “know, know, know you” — and to know, know, know that the other knows you too.

The love can come in many forms, can’t it? As Bobby Vinton croons this tune, he is alluding to romantic love. But whether it is between lovers, or friends, or parent and child, or even the fondness for a neighbor or coworker — when someone knows you, more than just a passing data point, but knows the heart of you — that feels like love.

At least all of this appears true for NeuroTypicals who use an interactional approach to their relationships. For them, Love is a Conversation.

But what of those NeuroDiverse folks who are transactional? Hannah Gadsby is an Australian comedian whose YouTube videos and comedy performances reveal the mind of one Autistic woman when it comes to knowing another person. She admits she has a social interactional problem, something she calls a “relation thing.”

Even more complex is the relationship world of a Radiant Empathy Angel. Let’s compare all three worlds of the NeuroTypical, the NeuroDiverse, and the Radiant Empathy Angel — when it comes to knowing you and loving you.

To “know you,” Asperger Style.

The camera panned in on celebrity comedian Hannah Gadsby as she pondered the question delivered by her Norwegian/Swedish television talk host, Fredrik Skavlan. In this 2019 YouTube vignette, Skavlan encouraged Gadsby to speak about her diagnosis of Autism and how her life has been affected by this relatively new diagnosis for her.

There are many traits of autism that Gadsby alludes to in this interview. She jokes about needing routine and that she doesn’t like surprises, so she eats the same breakfast and lunch menu day after day. She quips that her facial expressions are hard to read because she hasn’t “told” her face to catch up to her feelings. She makes no eye contact with her host or the others on stage but does offer exaggerated eye rolls that bring laughter from the audience.

In fact, it is her humor that is charming enough to get the audience and host past the off-putting Autistic behaviors. However, she speaks about other more painful traits as well. Three major obstacles for Gadsby are her social anxiety, her social awkwardness, and that others see her as “intimidating” (to use her term).

“It’s a relation thing,” she said of Autism. And so it is, but I would refine that definition a bit. Those three major obstacles (social anxiety, social awkwardness, and intimidation) are reflective of Empathy Dysfunction (EmD).

Puzzled that Gadsby would be willing to meet on a talk show, with other guests and to converse with the host, in front of television viewers and a studio audience — especially with her stated social anxiety — Skavlan wanted to know how she has the courage to do it. He says, “You come in here . . . “pointing to the stage and the other guests and the audience laughing . .. how do you do it?”

Gadsby points to her nose and then to Skavlan, tilting her head and looking knowingly over the tops of her glasses, in an exaggerated gesture to mean she “knows” him. She says, “I’ve done my research though.” More audience laughter.

In NeuroTypical fashion, Skavlan is delighted that she has researched him and wants to know what she knows about him. He leans forward and smiles at her invitingly, probably with the assumption that she got to “know” him during her research. He expects a conversation.

Instead, Gadsby describes what she has observed in her research, “You’re just one of these people — just one of these people who want answers to questions.” Again, the audience laughs.

Skavlan smiles and agrees with her observation. No surprise there since most of us assume a talk show host has the gift of gab and knows how to get his guests to talk about themselves. But he still doesn’t understand why knowing this about him helps her social anxiety.

“This [the talk show setting] is easier than a social situation,” Gadsby offers. “Here I know the rules. You are asking the questions. And I answer them.” She goes on to explain that she would get flustered and overwhelmed if she had to ask and answer questions of everyone on the stage — conversational style.

In other words, Gadsby is transactional, not interactional.

• She can answer questions, but not easily engage in a reciprocal conversation.
• She researched the talk show host only to learn the rules ahead of time. But she didn’t research the talk show host himself — only the rules.
• She declined to make small talk with the other guests on the show because she would be overwhelmed by their need to chat/connect.
• She knows that eye rolls and quirky behaviors make the audience laugh, but she doesn’t engage the audience.
• She hates surprises so she controls the outcome by researching the rules, and/or sticking to her routines — which is all in service to her emotional comfort, not the relationship with the talk show host.

Gadsby uses her social anxiety and social awkwardness and quirkiness to amuse us. But there is a touch of sadness when she discusses that others see her as “intimidating.” She believes this is because she is autistic, but I believe it is because she is transactional.

This is the tragedy of being Autistic and having Empathy Dysfunction (EmD-0). It’s not so much her social anxiety, or her social awkwardness, or even her goofy eye rolls that are off-putting to NeuroTypicals like Skavlan. It is her transactional style that makes her intimidating to others.

Transactions don’t feel inviting. They don’t invoke a sense that the other person wants to know you — or even cares about you. NeuroTypicals feel the transactional style as cold and calculating and they instinctively pull away. Yes, it feels intimidating.

To “know you,” NeuroTypical style.

NeuroTypical knowing is very different than the transactional knowing of the NeuroDiverse. In fact, NT knowing must be interactional to be knowing at all. Here are some examples:

• A new mother can distinguish the sound of her baby crying, from among the other babies in the hospital. Her baby is calling out to her and she has to pick up her child to connect.
• Before we had caller ID, we often knew who was phoning because of imperceptible cues (i.e., time of day, or following a brief thought about the person). A friend is reaching out.
• A glint in someone’s eye that they are happy to see us. Smiling back seals, the emotional connection.
• Leaning forward and offering a compassionate comment, “How are you?” This comment brings a flood of tears from the other person — because you affirmed them.
• Finishing my sentence for me, just as I intended. In other words, “Knowing where I am coming from.”

Looking at just one of these examples of interactional knowing, that is, “Knowing where I am coming from,” gives you a solid example of the difference between transactional knowing and interactional knowing — and loving.

Andrea was in pain. It was clear from her distressed facial expression. “Dr. Marshack, what am I supposed to do when my ASD spouse gets angry with me? I mean, I tell him that I am just trying to explain my feelings so that we can resolve a problem, but he accuses me that I always have to be right!”

“Andrea, your spouse is NeuroDiverse, so he struggles to understand where you are coming from. He thinks you are arguing or debating just because you express an opinion that may be different than his.” I wanted to explain more to Andrea but she burst in urgently.

“Yes, I understand. I try to tell him that it’s OK that we don’t agree on everything. I have just asked him if he could meet me halfway? I just want him to know where I am coming from. What am I doing wrong? I am at the point of giving up and walking out, but we have two small children!” Andrea is in tears.

For Andrea to “know you” is to know where she is coming from, and to offer her husband recognition of where he is coming from. This is what she means by “meet me half way.” In order to meet her half way, her spouse has to know more about how she thinks, what’s important to her — and he needs to kindly explain where he is coming from. He needs to acknowledge the love between them first — as a starting point. But instead, he argues the facts, or the rules.

Like Hannah Gadbsy, Andrea’s husband only seeks the information that would comfort him or win the point. He doesn’t engage the two of them in a win-win. He has no idea what Andrea means by “meet me halfway.” To a transactional NeuroDiverse person, that is just so much “NT-splaining.”

To “Know You,” with Radiant Empathy.

Years ago, when I was a child protective services social worker, I learned the importance of Radiant Empathy in bringing vastly differently people together and working toward creating a win/win solution. I was young and fresh out of graduate school, but for some reason, I believed that I had an important job to do. It wasn’t to rescue abused children or follow government mandates. In my mind, it was to help families work through the abuse, to resolve their conflicts, to learn the art of parenting, to forgive and to ask for forgiveness.

I wasn’t always successful, of course. Some people are so traumatized by life on this treacherous planet, that they cave to their fears and harm others. But every once in a while, I made “contact.”

I remember this one day when I met Larraine, a single white mom. She lived in a hovel of a rental in a frightening inner-city neighborhood. She couldn’t lock her front door because the door frame was out of alignment, so she held the door in place with bottlecaps nailed to the frame. She had already lost one child to SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome). Her teeth were in disrepair. She and her other son had a noticeable odor about them from lack of bathing. She had no heat in her home. Nevertheless, when I showed up, she invited me into her humble home. She trusted me for some odd reason.

I went through the drill. I told her she had to send her 6-year-old son to school. I explained that he needed clean clothes and decent food. I asked if she had taken him to a pediatrician. But I also saw a frightened mother who had already lost one child to poverty. I knew she believed she had no way out.

I sat on her filthy couch and took a cup of coffee from a cracked coffee mug. I accepted her hospitality because I knew that she knew I had opinions about her. As she warmed up to me, I offered that I wanted to help — if she would let me — if she trusted me.

I explained that there were Food Banks nearby where she could get free food. I suggested social service programs that would help her pay for heat and water and electricity. I said, I would stop by again in a few days — just to see how she was doing. I knew she probably felt threatened by the young white social worker in the government car. On the other hand, I took the time to “know” this mother. I know that Larraine felt acknowledged.

I waited a couple of days and then I visited Larraine again. She seemed happy to see me. I was happy to see her too. She smelled better. Her house was tidier. I knew that she felt more in charge of her life even though she and her son still lived in abject poverty.

It was on this second occasion that I leveled with Larraine and told her about the child abuse report. Larraine had disciplined her son by holding his bare bottom in scalding water in the bathtub (not too long, but enough to make him cry). She used this method as punishment when she felt he needed it. The burns on his bottom were why she had not sent him to school for a few days.

I explained to Larraine that she would have to appear in court because it was a crime to abuse a child. But I also told her that I would help her through all of this. I gave her the phone number for a social service agency that would help her with learning appropriate parenting skills. I gave her a list of resources to get money for heat and utility bills. I told her that if she followed up with my recommendations by our court date, I would persuade the Juvenile Court judge to recognize her desire to cooperate.

Larraine was shaken. Child abuse is serious and she was terrified of losing her son. As I walked to the door — the door with the bottlecaps — she implored, “Will you be at court too?”

I was surprised at her request since I had delivered devastating news. I looked at her — I saw her — I knew her — Larraine, the mother who had lost a baby, and the mother who was struggling to care for a little boy with no father. I looked at her sweet, frightened face and offered love. I said, “Yes of course I will be there, Larraine. I can pick you up and take you there if you want me to.”

Larraine smiled slightly and seemed relieved. “Thank you, Kathy. I have no car and no money to pay a babysitter. I would appreciate the help.”

“No problem, Larraine. That’s why I am here. I want you to get this all settled so you and your little guy can get back to life. Pick you up at 8:30 Friday, Okay?”

Larraine nodded. I gave her a hug and patted her son on the head. He laughed. It was heartwarming to see this child smile.

I have no idea what happened to Larraine and her child over the intervening decades since we had this encounter. I believe that she believed I knew her and was there for her, in Radiant Empathy style. I also know that she gave me something special too. She trusted me and I believe she knew me too — the heart of me that wanted to help her. Larraine demonstrated courage to allow me into her world.

Radiant Empathy is to know, know, know you.

Compassion is important but it does not carry the force of Radiant Empathy — the force of knowing and loving flow between people.

Returning to the interview with Skavlan, we can see that Gadsby has compassion, though not Radiant Empathy. Gadsby gets serious for a moment as she explains a cherished belief of her own. Because she has found fame and fortune, she doesn’t believe she should just rest on her laurels. She believes she has a responsibility to use her platform as a public figure to make a difference for others with autism who are still “suffering” to use her term.

This is an admirable position, particularly considering how hard won her fame is. As a woman who struggled for years to find herself, who had a mental health breakdown, who went from job to job, who was homeless for a time, who lived during a period of Australian history when it was illegal for Lesbians to marry, who was diagnosed with autism at midlife, who discovered how to use her sense of humor to save herself and entertain others — well, Hannah Gadsby is remarkable.

Yes, Hannah Gadsby is a role model of toughness and compassion. She has earned all of those awards that have been bestowed on her, such as an honorary doctorate from the University of Tasmania in “. . . recognition of her role as an ambassador for all LGBTIQ+ people world-wide.”

Yet, Gadsby does not have Radiant Empathy because she is not able to integrate the three aspects of Radiant Empathy, namely (1) interaction, (2) the Empathy Triad, and (3) courage. Having a strong sense of purpose is not enough. Compassion is not enough. Becoming famous and having a public platform is not enough. Why not?

“It’s a relation thing,” says Gadsby. But I think it is much more.

Radiant Empathy is of the moment — this moment, not an abstract charitable thought.

* It requires being there for others, not gathering information on how to be more comfortable in their presence;
* It requires listening to the heart and mind of the other person, seeking to understand where they are coming from, not seeking to be understood;
* It requires affirming the other person’s right to exist and be different;
* It requires conveying being there and listening and affirming in such a way as the other person feels loved and protected — not intimidated.
* It is there — unspoken yet profoundly moving — “I know you.”

Because Gadsby is autistic and transactional, she misses the opportunity over and over again to connect on this profound level, while at the same time she is brave and compassionate in her own way.

All the same, she is wrong to quip that Autism is only “a relation thing” as if that is a small detail. It is not small to all of those NeuroTypicals who seek to know and be known — so we don’t feel so alone in this difficult life — where a little bit of love means so much.

 

“To know, know, know you
Is to love, love, love you
Just to see you smile
Makes my life worthwhile

“To know, know, know you
Is to love, love, love you
And I do, and I do, and I do,
Yes, I do”
~ Bobby Vinton

 

This photo was posted on Facebook by Eduard Koller, a Seattle resident. It was taken by journalist Francesco Malavolta. Polish mothers left these prams and strollers at the train station, for Ukrainian refugees when they arrive in Poland with their children. (March 6, 2022).

Empathy is More Than Words.

Empathy is more than words, and this picture reveals the true meaning. These Polish mothers stepped into the reality of Ukrainian mothers (and fathers and grandparents) who were not only fleeing to safety with their children, but who needed to know that they and their children are welcome.

Mothers are like that, aren’t they? I remember one time when I was driving the family to church on a Sunday morning. I saw something alarming and quickly turned onto a side street and parked the car. As I jumped out of the driver’s seat, I said to my husband Howard, “Stay here! I’ll be right back.” My two children were tucked into their child seats in the back, so I once again looked sternly at all of them and said, “Don’t move! I’ll be right back.”

As I dashed across the street, I kept my eye on the toddler. No more than 18 months old, he was dressed in a yellow footed sleeper. No adult was in sight. The child was walking across the front yard of an apartment complex, now perilously close to the parked cars, the only protection left between the toddler and a busy two-lane city street.

When I was within inches of him, I dropped to my knees on the wet grass, and reached out my hand. He stopped walking, looked me in the eye — and smiled. He laid his precious baby hand in my outstretched one. I gently turned him away from the oncoming traffic and asked him, “Where do you live Little One?”

I got a little “Baby Babble,” but nothing to help me find his mother. I looked around the apartment complex and noticed that one door was open behind a screen door, so I took the chance that this might be his home. I didn’t pick up the child because I didn’t want to frighten him or his mother since I was a stranger, but he held my hand as I steered him toward the open door.

I knocked a few times. Eventually, the baby’s mother awoke and came to the door. When she saw her son standing outside with a stranger, she screamed at the recognition that she almost lost her baby. But all was well. I got one more sweet smile from the toddler before I left — and took my family to church.

 

Radiant Empathy Requires Courage.

The Empathy Triad consists of Empathy, Context and Conversation. At least at its simplest this is true. But to develop Radiant Empathy requires taking action to make the world a better place. Whether the action is motivated by a mother’s heart, or a spirit of justice, or to create beauty and light in the world — Empathy is much more than kind words, much more than being highly sensitive, and much more than being a good listener. To function at the level of Radiant Empathy requires courage.

The courage can be simple such as rescuing a toddler. Or it can be heroic such as defending one’s country from an aggressive invasion. It can also be as dedicated as working tirelessly on behalf of your NeuroDivergent family. The members of our group have certainly learned how to do all they can — and a little bit more.

A few years ago, when I developed the membership website, “ASPERGER SYNDROME & RELATIONSHIPS,” (www.ASD-NTrelationships.com) I wanted a logo that represented this empathy and courage. Our members are strong and loving and kind. They have faced incredibly tough conditions in raising their autistic children, or growing up with an autistic parent, or parenting with a partner on the Autism Spectrum. I decided we needed a logo that represented the soft side of courage which is demonstrated by the Radiant Empathy Angels in our group. 

The sunflower is perfect. It is a bold beautiful blossom that radiates cheer and hope all day long as it follows the sun. The sunflower is also resilient. Our logo shows the sunflower in the rain, still vibrant and strong even in a storm. If you have ever seen a field of sunflowers following the sun, or even just soaking up the rain, you know how radiant they are.

 

On a Personal Note.

On a personal note, I find it a marvelous serendipity that the sunflower is also the national flower of Ukraine. Considering that my grandparents were refugees from Ukraine with one of the “Russification” purges in the early 20 th century, it is a stunning message. The sunflower is just a flower after all, but it represents the courage to take your empathy to a higher level and to “be the change you want to see in the world,” (Mahatma Gandhi).

Thank you all for being a part of our group and my life.