Have I No Mouth: on talking, speaking, spluttering, anxieties, and those uncomfortable silences

Yesterday was not one of the good days. Not to go into detail, but it was one of those days where everything seems to be constantly falling away at the seams: things fall apart, or they feel too massive for your very small self, or even the smallest gesture can send you into a panic or slip you into a spiral. Horrible, really.

And if I tried to communicate this verbally, how would it come across? I would say not very well.

Being autistic means that anxiety is my constant bedfellow. Most especially, anxiety is there every single time I open my mouth to speak, and when that mouth opens I quickly lose faith in everything that tumbles out of it. My sentences stop and start. I mumble and I run through words like they were water. I start waving my hands around because any words I have left will be terribly forced, uninteresting ones. The whole process is as if English is actually my second language, second only to flailing and spluttering and excruciating long pauses, searching for lost words. I’m very good at making eye contact with someone who is talking TO me, but if I’m the one who’s talking my eyes dart towards the left or right of the person I’m talking to and now I’ve become super self-conscious about it and I’ve started thinking that that might be too rude and that they must think I’m looking for better people to talk to than them and that’s not true because all it really is that I’m so unsure of what I’m saying and I sound terribly stupid when I say it and they probably are getting very bored of me right now and I’ve probably offended them in some way and they don’t REALLY want to talk to me anyway.

And this is coming from someone who says that she wants to embark on an academic career? Hahahahahaha.

I’ve talked about how I’m more self-conscious about my articulation and self-expression than I am about my weight, my hair, my face, or whatever part of me. People have pointed out that I am much more articulate and eloquent online than I am in person, and it actually cuts to the bone. I love writing and I loved acting because there were words on the page and I could prepare them or rehearse them. And they were THERE, they were RIGHT THERE, and only I could control or shape them. But the fact that I can never match up to the person I am in writing hurts. There’s only so much that scripting can do: meeting new people almost feels like being confronted with some new blank slates. What is it that you do with them? How do you approach them? What the hell do you say to them? What can you do when your internal script just fails you, or actually just sounds so ridiculous that you don’t use it anyway?

And then, there are the days where verbal expression just absolutely fails me. Even when I’m with people I trust and love. There are days where I’ll lose the run of myself, and feel so anxious or so pressurised that I cannot actually get the words out at all. And it’s the most embarrassing thing in the world when it happens in front of your peers, your colleagues, and people you respect: they have to watch while I try to put sentences and words together, very very slowly and painfully. I fear that to them it looks like I haven’t thought things through or that I haven’t even tried. But I have: it’s just the sense of what I want to say never translates into the right-sounding words in my head, and my brain takes slower than most to formulate a response or argument. And then I beat myself up because I start to wonder: why can’t I be as quick-witted or as sharp to respond as everyone else? Why does it take several minutes when it could take a minute for someone else? Why can’t I just be normal like everyone else is?

I guess it feeds into my own feelings about myself as an autistic woman: feeling so out of place, feeling that I don’t match up, feeling that I have much more work to do in order to fit in or to make people like me. Allistic people, I wish you knew how lucky you actually have it. I wish you knew how lucky you are, because you can actually remember to do the simple things in life like laundry and shopping, because loud noises in nightclubs or elsewhere may be bothersome but not TOO bothersome, because you’re never constantly fearing that people will hate you over a single turn of phrase, because people will never think you’re stupid or lazy or making excuses for yourself when you find yourself unable to explain why it is that you are feeling so anxious right now or why you can’t get out of bed today or something as simple as, I don’t know, early modern theatre practice.

It’s hard. But this is normal for me. It always has been. And I really don’t think it’s going to change any time soon.


So, You Want To Do A PhD [And Get Money While You’re At It]

I have a strange kind of nostalgia for this time last year. I remember how I had arrived back in Galway for a few days to meet with a potential supervisor to discuss PhD ideas and funding, whilst also keeping my visit very low-key because I was a little bit worried about everything falling through (I’m cautious to the point of Let’s Not Do It At All, sometimes). Otherwise, I was spending my last few months in Stratford reading, researching, writing, thinking, putting together That Proposal. It’s amazing how much has changed in the last twelve months. When I think about it, those few months were fun, exciting, and full of possibility: now that I’ve started my PhD with full funding, I consider myself very lucky to be able to do what I want to do, to be able to do what I love with financial backing. It’s difficult at times, but there is nothing else I would prefer to do right now — which can only be a good thing.

Now, it’s that time of year where research councils such as the AHRC and IRC are rolling out their call for applications, and where people are putting together their proposals, and are sending tentative ideas to academics they’d like to be supervised by. I’m not saying I’m an expert on all that there is to know about applying for a PhD and getting funding (every situation is different), but this is all I can offer.

1. Initially, the process of choosing a supervisor should go like this: Topic, Supervisor, Institution. Which is a contradiction, but this was advice given to me by a PhD student at the Institute and he was damn right. I remember my MA supervisor telling me that I should do the project I’m doing *in* Ireland — because that’s where all the resources and archives and performances are. In that case, choosing my supervisor, and to that extent my institution as well, was a no-brainer (again, have you SEEN our archives?). As much as we all want to work with Tiffany Stern because she’s Tiffany Stern and pretty bloody amazing at what she does, do your research interests align with hers? No? Then don’t approach Tiffany Stern.

2. Make enquiries to intended supervisors. Who is the most enthusiastic about your work? Who makes time to answer your email in a detailed and timely fashion? Who shows interest? What is their attitude towards you? They could be a Big Shot in your field, but if they’re dismissive towards you… do you really want to work with them? This may not be feasible or maybe too expensive, but also try and meet with them in person. That will also give you some indication of how you might get on with them, and how excited they are about your project. I don’t have any advice on contacting supervisors you might not know (I was lucky in that I knew mine from my undergraduate days), but when initially emailing them, don’t send them A Huge Chunk Of Text. Especially if you’re prone to rambling about the stuff you love, like me. I remember redrafting my initial draft of the ‘so hey I’m interested in working with you’ email to my supervisor twice: partially out of fear, partially because it was too damn long. Save the rambling for when you meet them (but please don’t scare them off either).

3. Get reading! Get writing! Don’t be afraid to show drafts of applications to your intended supervisors. Contrary to popular belief, they will not think you are wholly incapable of doing research because of a rough draft you send to them. Remember, they were at that stage you’re at right now too, and they genuinely want to help you succeed and GET MONEY.

4. Enjoy doing the funding applications. I’m serious. They help you clarify and think about your research in ways you can’t imagine. You also need to be super specific in them too, especially when it comes to money and justifying your project’s financial needs. Go onto British Airways or Ryanair or Aer Lingus and see how much it would cost to attend the main conferences in your field. Include details of conference fees, bursaries (if they are awarded, that is — you don’t know if you’ll get them, but it will show that you have actually thought this through), living expenses, and accommodation. This also goes for research trips, but you need to make sure you’re thinking about them sensibly (I wanted to go to the Guthrie Theatre initially, in my first year. Ha ha, good one).

5. Further on from writing and reading and editing, use your supervisors, but ask friends, former tutors, and people whose opinions you actually trust to read over your drafts too. Listen to them. Sometimes you will agree with them, sometimes you won’t, but it is very valuable to discuss your ideas with other people who may offer different perspectives on your work. (If your supervisor is anything like mine, they will encourage this.) For example, my undergraduate Shakespeare tutor [who, in my mind, is equally as brilliant as Tiffany Stern] doesn’t work on performance, but his suggestion to be conscientious of plays with an Irish presence in the text was something I needed to be aware of. My best friend reads everything I send to her, and she is the queen of detecting clunky expressions and has the innate ability to make sentences sound beautiful and clear. And where your supervisors are concerned, they can help in making very valuable changes: suggesting a line of enquiry to take, or a place to go on a research trip to, or particular authors to include in your critical context section.

6. If the scholarship you are applying for requires an interview, bring a thesis outline and a plan for the duration of your studies. Draw on it during the interview (maybe bring another copy for yourself to keep), but leave it with your interviewers. Also, you might be asked to think about how your work so far has brought you to this stage, and how your work can make an impact beyond your immediate field. This is important: what are the wider implications of the work that you want to do? Again, what your assessors want to see is that you have actually made an effort, and that you have thought this through, and that you’re not flying by the seat of your pants (well, we all are flying by the seat of our pants, we all just need to learn how to hide it. I’m still learning myself. Also, isn’t ‘flying by the seat of your pants’ a FABULOUS expression?).

8. Acknowledge that your research is going to change and develop over this period, and that this is okay. In fact, it’s fun. As I’ve already said, funding applications are invaluable for helping you to clarify your research question, and to reshape it into something more exciting than you previously thought. If you don’t get funding, that doesn’t mean that you’re incapable of doing research, or that your idea isn’t great — research councils are unpredictable and often very fickle. Someone will get funding from one awarding body, and will be turned down by another. It’s very, very weird, and very saddening considering the amount of funding that is out there for the humanities (i.e., dwindling, dwindling quite fast). I wish you all the best of luck, and enjoy the ride.