Bored

Our family (me and my relatives, my husband and his, two separate clans) has more than a smattering of neurodivergence. As understanding of this and research into it has increased in the last forty or so years, we have acquired the insight and vocabulary to help us manage the various manifestations of neurodivergence in our tribe. This has been very helpful, and has considerably augmented the feeling our way instinctively that we relied on before, into a more confident management of who and what we are.

One of us — most definitely on the autistic spectrum — recently moved house. This family member has a history of rather detailed hoarding (careful curation of every letter and birthday card, every till receipt, written transcripts of every phone text message) and of marked hypersensitivity to noise, crowds, and all the usual sources of stress to the nervous system.

Other family members helping with the house move (a daunting task in this case for even the most experience and determined) reported back that the move had been effected, and the new home had a bed, a chair,  and fifty-two boxes waiting to be unpacked. And they said the one of us who had just moved said they were "bored".

This word "bored" deserves attention.

It's a word children use very often. Adults often respond crisply, impatiently, their tone warning of their lack of sympathy. I recall the educational philosopher A.S.Neill (of Summerhill School; I love his work) writing that when children — or adults — tell him they are bored, he says, "Everyone's bored until they find something to do."

I've also often read articles on creativity recommending that we should allow our children to be bored, that boredom is the compost from which ingenuity and invention sprout.

I probably agree with all that, but with the proviso that often when people say they're bored, it's not quite what they mean.

Do you know the word alexithymia? It's useful.

Alexithymia — the "a" denotes absence, the "lexi" is words, and the "thymia" is feelings. So it's when someone has no words or vocabulary for what they are feeling. Sometimes they can't even identify how they feel o even try and express it. They feel deeply, but don't really know, can't really say, what they feel. The Google AI overview puts it rather well:

Alexithymia is a personality construct characterised by difficulty identifying, describing, and processing one's own emotions. People with alexithymia have trouble differentiating between feelings and bodily sensations, and may have difficulty understanding the emotions of others. It is not a mental health disorder but is a trait that can be co-occurring with other conditions like autism, PTSD, and depression.

In our family, we have felt our way to the proposition that when children say they are "bored", sometimes they mean what it is supposed to mean (like A.S.Neill meant it), but sometimes it is the nearest familiar expression they can reach, for something they —as yet — have no vocabulary to describe; burnout, exhaustion, too much demanded of them, the flatness felt when life is altogether too much. This is familiar territory to those on the autistic spectrum.

This is how the Google bots describe autistic burnout:

Autistic burnout is a state of severe physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion resulting from chronic stress, often caused by masking and trying to meet neurotypical expectations. It is characterised by an extreme lack of energy, loss of skills, and reduced tolerance for sensory input, which can lead to an inability to manage daily tasks, more frequent meltdowns or shutdowns, and a need to withdraw socially. Recovery involves rest, reducing demands, and adjusting environmental factors, but it can be a long process.  

Do you see how, if you were a child experiencing this, you might describe yourself as "bored"?

The problem is that boredom never elicits sympathy. When people say they are bored, those on the receiving end of this observation typically respond with impatience and recommend more action, more engagement, more stimulus. But what if, when the person says they are "bored", it is an example of alexithymia, of someone who finds it hard to identify, distinguish between, and categorise, their feelings, reaching for the word they know that best fits what they are experiencing — a state of prostration that is beyond exhaustion.

I might be wrong, but I think when our family member — having gone through the hoarder's nightmare of a house move — said they were bored, they may actually have meant "overwhelmed".

Neurodivergent people sometimes need those who are close to them to be skilled enough to read between the lines.