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maradyddMy mother's favourite emotional weaponry involves describing to you how you have managed to hurt her, whether wittingly or un-. Snap and retort, after who knows how many hours of questions designed to expose holes in your plans for the future, responsibilities you've managed to lapse on or problems you just can't solve over the course of a conversation, and suddenly your annoyance has caused her pain. Never mind that it's aggravation which she caused which has provoked you into snapping like a badger prodded with sticks; her hurt is at centre stage now, you are the audience, and you are not allowed to forget or change that.
Bitchy as I am, I don't like to lose my temper. So when I apologised for having a short tone in my voice, I meant it. This allowed her to bring out a weapon I'd forgotten about: "But you don't sound sorry." She pulled this out as a last resort for years when I was a kid, and it was something that always stumped me: what the hell does "sorry" sound like? My emotionally myopic kid/teenager self had no idea, and further, had too much pride and too little in the way of acting skill to make weepy contrition come off as plausible.
The solution -- at least enough of a solution to get some peace and quiet -- presented itself in the Appeal to Honesty. Earlier, she'd bridled at my blunt-yet-honest rejection of one of her ideas involving the traditional non-white second-wedding dress; my exact words were, "Mom, I love you, but it's my dress and I've already decided I want white." Her argument was that the word but negated anything that went before it, which is patently bullshit; of course I can love her and still disagree with her. I said this, and she returned, "You could have said 'Thanks for the idea, Mom. I'll think about it.'"
"So you want me to lie," I said.
To which she spluttered a bit, and had no answer. So when she pulled out the "sound sorry" card later, I already had the inspired and true response in mind: I don't know what she wants to hear other than the truth, nor do I know what she wants it to sound like, nor do I know how to know what she wants it to sound like.
This is one way in which NLD people (like me) differ from Asperger's people (like Letha). We don't expect everything you say to be a promise, but we do expect you to value honesty as much as we do. It's also a way in which we are very similar: we don't understand why you still get upset when we give you the answer you said you wanted. "You sound like a robot," my mom said half an hour ago (boy, journaling on a Palm is an easy way to make time fly), and I don't understand how. I could hear my own voice. It wasn't monotone. It had a polite but conversational inflection which I would appreciate if I were on her end of a conversation with someone who'd just flown off the handle (however mildly) at me -- the tone of someone acknowledging their irritation and doing their level best to remain civil. Either she's nuts or there's something in my voice that I'm not hearing, and I'm not equipped to determine which is true.
Two more hours. I cannot fucking wait to get home.
Bitchy as I am, I don't like to lose my temper. So when I apologised for having a short tone in my voice, I meant it. This allowed her to bring out a weapon I'd forgotten about: "But you don't sound sorry." She pulled this out as a last resort for years when I was a kid, and it was something that always stumped me: what the hell does "sorry" sound like? My emotionally myopic kid/teenager self had no idea, and further, had too much pride and too little in the way of acting skill to make weepy contrition come off as plausible.
The solution -- at least enough of a solution to get some peace and quiet -- presented itself in the Appeal to Honesty. Earlier, she'd bridled at my blunt-yet-honest rejection of one of her ideas involving the traditional non-white second-wedding dress; my exact words were, "Mom, I love you, but it's my dress and I've already decided I want white." Her argument was that the word but negated anything that went before it, which is patently bullshit; of course I can love her and still disagree with her. I said this, and she returned, "You could have said 'Thanks for the idea, Mom. I'll think about it.'"
"So you want me to lie," I said.
To which she spluttered a bit, and had no answer. So when she pulled out the "sound sorry" card later, I already had the inspired and true response in mind: I don't know what she wants to hear other than the truth, nor do I know what she wants it to sound like, nor do I know how to know what she wants it to sound like.
This is one way in which NLD people (like me) differ from Asperger's people (like Letha). We don't expect everything you say to be a promise, but we do expect you to value honesty as much as we do. It's also a way in which we are very similar: we don't understand why you still get upset when we give you the answer you said you wanted. "You sound like a robot," my mom said half an hour ago (boy, journaling on a Palm is an easy way to make time fly), and I don't understand how. I could hear my own voice. It wasn't monotone. It had a polite but conversational inflection which I would appreciate if I were on her end of a conversation with someone who'd just flown off the handle (however mildly) at me -- the tone of someone acknowledging their irritation and doing their level best to remain civil. Either she's nuts or there's something in my voice that I'm not hearing, and I'm not equipped to determine which is true.
Two more hours. I cannot fucking wait to get home.