Recently I came across a mural in Melbourne that provides an excellent insight into the inner lives of my students. The work is by autistic artist and advocate , and sheds light on sensory awareness and best practices to support the autistic community.
I love the mantras braided into Stevenson’s ‘’ drawings. How each one has its own unique pathway but are all somehow interconnected:
When I am overwhelmed I need to rest my brain.
I have invisible barriers.
I love sensory seeking.
I love social distancing.
A repetitive movement is an important tool which helps me calm down.
I have a widened sensory perception.
I love sensory seeking.
I love social distancing.
A repetitive movement is an important tool which helps me calm down.
I have a widened sensory perception.
My favourite is, ‘Don’t fear the meltdown’. I can identify with a meltdown. I remember having them at school myself. Not finding the class or getting an answer wrong was one of my biggest fears. And if that happened, I would sometimes burst into tears.
Meltdowns aside, I find myself back at school again. Today, I work as a student support learning officer (SSLO) in a primary school. I’m also in the second year of my Master of Teaching degree, so I’m not far off from being a teacher myself.
Working as a support staff for children who are on the autism spectrum can be challenging. And often it means helping my students feel understood.
For instance, looking at the mural, you will notice the phrase ‘stimming for all’. When I sent this photo to my Inclusive Education lecturer, he explained that stimming is a physical self-regulation strategy that is stereotypically linked to people on the autism spectrum. But many people do it in some form. I know I do a bit of stimming when I am excited or anxious. I clasp my hands together, and I tap my foot.
My lecturer explained how stimming may include things like the flapping of hands, as it puts pressure on the wrist and releases a lot of endorphins in a repetitive way. He revealed how this practice was once discouraged in young students, but with better understanding, now it’s a behaviour that’s becoming more accepted in schools. My lecturer recalls the story of a six-year-old boy who had a song, ‘If you’re happy and you know it flap your hands.’
During COVID lockdowns, many students became more anxious when school resumed. In those times it was hard to come up with strategies to get my students to stay on task.
One thing I did with two particular students was to exploit their love of drawing. I took a drawing course so I could get better at it and show the students that we had some shared interests. It was a blatant attempt to get them to do more work in class and for a while, that strategy worked. Drawing allowed the students to self-regulate. Also, getting a pencil in their hand was halfway to winning the battle of getting them interested in writing.
Having a young family member who is also on the autism spectrum has helped me greatly in my job as an SSLO. I come armed with empathy. The strategy I used in my family is trying to make him laugh, make him feel secure that he could be himself, and take an interest in his interests.
This is the same strategy I use at school. The only difference is that during each 40-minute lesson I’d also set a personal goal that the student I am supporting would learn at least one thing. If the student didn’t have at least one lightbulb moment of knowledge go off, then I would know I’d need to reflect on how to do better next time.
Sometimes the goal was achieved, other times I know that my antics just annoyed an already bored or tired student. The biggest challenge I have faced with one particular student was trying to keep up with their superior science brain. For months, we had conversations about black holes, electricity and metaphysics. I knew I was out of my depth but I tried to stay engaged and pay attention even though sometimes things went over my head.
During that time, there was one particular theory that my student told me over and over again. After one morning of struggling to keep up, I asked him, "Why do you keep repeating this theory?" He quickly shot back, "Because I keep trying to explain it, but you still don’t understand and I’m checking to see when you’re finally going to get it!"
I have been given a few diagnoses myself that came along with a three-letter acronym, so when I read ‘we are all neurodiverse’ on Prue Stevenson’s mural, I felt empowered. I felt solidarity around that statement. The best thing about Stevenson’s artwork is that it doesn’t just show you how a person with autism might see the world, but also takes away the shame of being labelled autistic and rightly celebrates its uniqueness. A lightbulb moment indeed – for all of us.
