You can make a mess, but you've got to clean it up
Or the unspoken indignity of being the eldest
“Would you just make some more bloody noise Jack the lad – we can hear you being quiet!”
Doug, then 74, somewhere south of Manchester
It wasn’t until I heard the boom from the living room below me that I realised just how noise sensitive I was/am – and how much I'd been assuming everyone else was too.
Doug and Jane, my then 74-year old housemates, were an absolute treat to live with.
They were family friends’ family when I met them, shook their hands and moved in with them while I found my feet at my first corporate job.
We had dinner together every night, I helped with whatever little bits I could, and then I paid rent when they went traveling, moved out when they got back, and was lucky enough to spend a fortnight with them again before my second stint in Sheffield.
But if you’re new to a place, as I am again in Nottingham, you might find, as I did in 2016, that you don’t always have things to do when Saturday rolls around. And so, not wanting to be in the way but also having nowhere to go (having already been to the gym and done my food shop), I just let the Autumnal sun wash over me as I half-heartedly read.
That’s when Doug shouted.
I sheepishly went downstairs to see what I’d done, to find a space on the sofa and the offer of a tea, and, well, whenever Doug’s beloved Aston Villa were on, we’d watch his team together. And when my Manchester United were on, we’d watch Liverpool re-runs.
“You’re allowed to be here Jack the lad! Make some noise when you have to”
I thought I was being considerate. Quiet. Not in the way. Turns out I was making them uncomfortable in trying not to disturb them.
If you make a mess, you clean it up
I didn’t want for anything as a kid. I hope I’ve made that clear in these newsletters and in podcast episodes like last week’s.
The one major rule was, though, if I got my toys out, I had to put them back.
Now, as a kid with suspected autism, having a five foot tall K’NEX set to build and take apart was at least a year of laughs, and, given it wasn’t messy per se I could even leave it up and add to it. As I got older, PlayStation became far easier to play with and put away. I liked what I liked, and I didn’t have to share – my sister liked what she liked, and we just did our own things.
I don’t think my teachers in nursery and primary school necessarily knew what to do with that energy, one going so far as to say she thought I was autistic because I didn’t rush to share things. I laughed, I was serious, but, hey, I liked what I liked and when I found it, I didn’t need anyone else around.
Given that could apply to me now, I’m not in a rush to label that as anything other than “Jack”.
When my much younger brothers came into the mix, though, and Amelia asked me to help me tidy their toys away between dinner and bath-time, well, I’d not made the mess, why should I clean it up? You clean your own mess up, that’s what I was taught…
Theory of Mind can be hard
Theory of Mind – the ability to recognise that other people experience the world differently than you do – is something I’ve assumed I had. And maybe in many contexts I do. But a recent ADHD diagnosis has helped me to realise that I’ve spent most of my life assuming more people experience the world like I do.
And, well, they patently don’t.
Whether he was autistic or just a man-child, I couldn’t say…
Last night, I was on my first gym-close in a while.
And gyms on Monday nights look like playrooms. Weights all over the floor, or put back in the wrong place, benches askew, machines hanging on for dear life, and, given I’m the new guy, it seems, I was the only one trying to put things back.
You see, PTs don’t love it, but they are paid to help keep their gyms ticking over. Except, after a solid hour of tidying up 20kg and 25kg plates, and then rearranging the 30+ kilogram dumbbells by myself, I wasn’t as fresh as I could be for my own training today.
Nonetheless, when I spot people leave weights out, whether I’m on shift or not, I know if I catch them fairly, they’ll not only put their stuff back but maybe leave it better than they might otherwise have on the next machine. In 10 minutes, this happened: a group of three lads to my left, apologised, said, yeh, of course mate, took their plates off, found another machine, took their plates off that and nodded at me on the way out.
To my right, two much older men behaved slightly differently. I explained how I stripped all the machines last night, and it’d be great if they could just put what they used back – save a PT a job later! The smaller stuttered looking at the larger, while the larger laughed and said, “yeah, well, it’s annoying isn’t, because all those plates were on when we got here.”
And, well, dear reader, I was clean out of [ducks/spoons to give] when it came to people throwing their weight/s around.
“You see, it’s that kind of attitude that stinks. You’ve just told me it was annoying, but you’re doing the same thing. You have an opportunity to make it better. We’re all lifting to be bigger, aren’t we?”
“I’m not.”
He took one plate off, and walked away. Making sure to let me know I was in his way before accepting my help on a machine next to mine five minutes later.
And he was me!
I don’t think he was 13 years old, in fairness, but I obviously recognised in that moment something that I didn’t when Amelia asked me for my help. The gym guy didn’t see why he should tidy up someone else’s mess. Neither did I when my brothers’ toys needed putting away.
Theory of Mind failure: not recognising that sometimes the ask isn’t about fairness – it’s about help.
But what about the noise, Jack?
Whether it’s a diagnosable trait, idiopathic, idiosyncratic or something you notice too, I can’t say. My Theory of Mind, however, maybe erroneously thought it was something we all felt…
After a couple of weeks in a houseshare, I asked my housemates if they could be quieter after 2am. I asked them this in part because I was at work at 8am. I also likely asked them this in part because I was the only one never out at 2am before an 8am shift.
Every week, around the same time I was woken up, and not only did no one apologise, but, worse, as far as I could see it, only one person said they would try to be quieter.
I wasn’t going out so I knew I wasn’t waking them up, but I was getting up at 5am for some shifts, and no one had complained about me – how could they not recognise my effort and then apply their own?
Nobody said that my request was unreasonable. But nobody told me that me asking multiple times in the group chat was turning them off.
Theory of Mind failure again: assuming that because I’d be mortified if I woke someone up, they would be too. They just weren’t.
I’m really noise sensitive; when I’m stressed, it can feel like an attack
Most women I’ve co-worked with have had audible notifications on on their laptops and phones. Most men haven’t.
Guys tend to stick their headphones in, send memes over WhatsApp, and then chat at the end; gals tend to chatter throughout, ask me what I’m working on, show me their project, and then we’ll have blocks of not talking. I actually prefer the latter, but it benefits from having your headphones out.
Something that came to a head recently though was that people who don’t know me don’t necessarily see me as someone who loves company.
And they certainly don’t appreciate me asking them directly after what feels like an eternity to me (what is usually around 15 minutes of constant beeps) to turn the sound off on notifications.
They don’t see the issue. Or, to the point, they don’t hear it or feel it.
But it goes through me. It shakes me.
I’m working too and the experience is of overwhelm, like: I’m not doing your job, I don’t know your colleagues, so I don’t want to hear them when it’s just us in the room.
It’s really intense. And with every beep, I feel more frustrated, like: we’re friends, why are you doing this?
But here’s the thing you might know but took me a while to grasp: they’re not doing it to anyone. They’re just not experiencing the world the same way as I am.
I’ve not been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder but…
equal parts irked by people using labels as excuses for tardiness or incomplete work (nearly always when they don’t have a diagnosis), through the NHS’ Right to Choose, I was able to get an ADHD assessment, and, within 30 minutes the doctor seemed dumbfounded as to why I hadn’t been given a diagnosis before.
Look, it might take six months from here to even begin any meds to help with my focus, and from there it could take six months to titrate the most efficacious amount. So the diagnosis is interesting but it’s not life-changing.
It does, however, like the house calling me out for calling them out for something none of them recognised as an issue, alert me to the notion that my Theory of Mind isn’t as sound or as righteous as I believe it to be (regardless of if I’m right or tired or not).
When it comes to noise and ADHD symptoms though, the first thing that comes up is this experience of enjoying constant background noise to concentrate but really struggling with random sounds – I find flow really easily working in cafés but, as above, really struggle to sit comfortably in silence when audible notifications are on (whether mine or someone else’s).
The diagnosis hasn't changed who I am. But it's helped me realise that I've been assuming more people are wired like me. And when they're not, I've been treating their behaviour as a personal slight rather than just... a different way of existing.
My clients often ask me how I “mask” so well
It’s not my experience to “be autistic” or “be ADHD”.
As we’ve discussed before, I think labels are often really helpful for people finding their tribe/s. When I was a backpacker in Australia in 2014 and a Manchester United fan – I renounced them in 2022 but I recognise the work Carrick’s doing at the moment – I could walk into a sports bar and sit with strangers, and often make friends, and often more easily than I could without the label.
I’m not renouncing my behaviours nor am I asking for sympathy. What I am saying is that I don’t necessarily empathise with the notion of “masking”.
Conversations and people are interesting or they aren’t; we don’t have to like everyone or their chat, sometimes dull people say interesting things and interesting people say dull things; you’re not friends with everyone you’ve spoken to, nor am I.
I have a knack for talking to people I find fascinating on the podcast – there’s no performing there. My friends are my friends because I think or maybe sometimes feel there’s something about them that’s extraordinary – whether it’s their enthusiasm or empathy or ethics – that I think I’m lucky to get to experience.
I have had friends who have let go of me or me of them. I’ve had clients I’ve just not understood at all. You give people a chance and then things get better, they just work, or you leave, or they do.
I don’t believe this is a unique take! Does it align with yours or not? Let me know!
Tidiness was drilled into me at home and at work
If I can dictate the space, I prefer things put away at the end of the day; “Minimalist” is how some have described my aesthetic.
“If you’ve got time to lean, you’ve got time to clean”
Dan, then 30-something manager at my first cocktail bar. I thought he was class.
When I’m in a shared space, I can’t expect that doing more than my “fair” share will matter to people.
If it makes me feel better, great. If other people don’t notice, well, great.
I know there are people who feel similarly to me and, maybe, between us, we are the yin to the yang, the frustrated orderers to the unaware disorderers – we might not feel we need each other but in its way it works.
If you come into my flat, I’ll ask you to take your shoes off. If we work out in the same place, I’ll ask you to put your plates away. You can always say no. You can always do whatever it is you want to do.
In my flat, I’d have more of a right to be annoyed. If I owned the gym and in the contract it was written and you signed “I will put what I use back”, similarly, I could be annoyed.
But, once I’ve stated something and you’ve acknowledged it, I can do better at accepting what you do next as a you thing, and how I respond to that as a me thing.
Doug was right. You're allowed to be here. To make some noise. To exist in the space without apologising.
But also: other people are allowed to be here too. Their mess isn't a personal attack. Their noise isn't by default intended to overwhelm you. We don’t all experience the world in the same way.
And that’s okay.
I can better recognise when I’m asking people to behave the way I would behave because it makes sense for me.
And maybe letting go of my need to respond at all. Conversations in person rather than double-messaging group chats. Stating a preference once rather than repeating it until people are turned off.
That’s some of the work for me this week and beyond.
If you enjoyed this newsletter, I think you’ll like last week’s too:
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And that’s it from me!
Much love and I’ll see yas in the next one
J x