Caged in Chaos: A Dyspraxic Guide to Breaking Free, by Victoria Biggs
Yes, I know, why am I reviewing a book that doesn't have autism in the name or apparent subject? Well, the author is autistic as well as dyspraxic, she's from the UK (and somewhat, from Saudi Arabia) and this particular book comes with a recommendation from a friend I'm rather fond of. Plus, this particular, conversational writing style is a nice change of pace from my usual fare.
So what is dyspraxia, and how is it related to autism? It's a disorder of the motor systems of the body, which can include speech. You know how some kids (and sometimes adults) on the autism spectrum in the US can be extra clumsy, seem to have trouble keeping their limbs organized, or have absolutely horrid handwriting (despite their and others' best efforts)? That's dyspraxia.
Basically, it's one of many words and concepts that comes with what we, in the US, call the autism spectrum. Not every autistic person has severe issues with balance and coordination, but many of us do, at least to a small extent. The author of this book has it to a much larger extent, which I presume is why the book focuses on the dyspraxia rather than the autism or any other labels she acquired in her lifetime.
As I read this book, I recognized several coping strategies for innate clumsiness that I used growing up. The author talks about holding a pen or pencil with more fingers than she was taught to, because it gave her greater control and stability whilst writing. To this day, I quite literally hold my pens and pencils with four fingers, which results in crabbed, heavy handwriting that is, I'm sorry to say, execrable. It's a kindness to eyes everywhere that computers came into fashion and became so prevalent, so I can type and text what I need to say rather than subjecting people to more of my atrocious handwriting.
I also made a point of watching where I walked very carefully, lest I trip over my own feet or on otherwise apparently flat surfaces. This meant my view, walking home from the bus stop after school, was almost invariably my own feet, and the sidewalk. Ms. Biggs speaks of similar precautions (often sadly insufficent) to guard against her clumsiness.
Actually, she has an absolutely dizzying range of suggestions for changing one's house, kitchen, commute, and life to be more dyspraxic-friendly. I do wince a bit at the scope and bluntness of her suggestions; in a group living situation, 2-4 other people might not be too keen on changing how everything is laid out and things are done, just for one member's comfort and safety. On the other hand, if the change would save them broken dishes, glasses, and other valuables.... perhaps they'd find it all worthwhile.
I wouldn't know, as I was fortunate enough to have enough sense of my limbs to only occasionally break things. I was also fortunate in that my parents paid for roller skating lessons in my teens, which made me learn balance... over time, anyway. Bruises were acquired in vast quantities before that happened, of course, and I have no doubts whatsoever that I was one of the more unpleasant, uncheerful students that teacher had ever had. But I did try (begrudgingly), and I did learn (slowly), and to this day I can do some very basic "fancy" skate tricks. Between that and the karate lessons, I was able to learn better gross (whole body, large muscle groups) motor control.
Fine motor control was another animal entirely... It's fine motor control that factors into speaking, and fine motor control that lets you write smoothly and clearly. I... eventually learned better fine motor skills via origami, and a semblance of readable writing via a calligraphy class... but to this day, I'm not sure I would call myself good at it.
By the sound of it, Ms. Biggs had many of the same difficulties, but moreso. She actually dedicates an entire chapter near the back to suggesting activities to help boost muscular control, focus, etc. Rather than roller skating and karate, for instance, she did Arabic dance. And she compiles suggestions from lots of other dyspraxic people.
The book, by the way, is stuffed full of other peoples' quotes and stories, in addition to Ms. Biggs' own. If I had to guess, this book was written shortly after the author received her diagnosis, after she'd reached out to organizations and people and found, to her joy, that she was not alone and was, in fact, now connected to dozens of people that could laugh with her about her trials in living, and often helpful suggestions from their own lives.
The tone of this book is almost unceasingly positive, even when relating the immense difficulties the author faced growing up without a diagnosis to light the way. It's actually a little too strongly positive to me, which makes me wonder if the author was purposely banishing any depressing, negative thoughts she has on the subject. That would be fair, I suppose, given how much she was told, growing up, that everything was her fault, and made to feel awful. It's not like she'd want, even accidentally, to risk depressing people with similar scarring.
A last note: the author's viewpoint here has moments of what I understand is the standard mistake of the extremist end of the neurodiversity movement. That is, insisting that our differences are never, ever disabilities, and always gifts. While dyspraxia, and indeed autism itself, come with some potentially amazing gifts and possibilities... they also come with a set of challenges and difficulties that... I don't think is accurate to call "gifts." If you literally can't focus in a classroom because there's a specific type of lightbulb that only you can see flicker, or the fan is on, or people are whispering... that's not a gift, it's a hindrance. You may be able to use that awareness for the betterment of yourself and others, but that doesn't make the fact that it's a hindrance go away. You do get extra awesomeness points for managing to channel the hindrance into something positive, though.
I may be reading the author wrong, but this is an easy mistake to fall into, when the entire world is telling you you're a failure, an awful mess of a person that isn't even human, and that everything is your fault forever. Because when you get the news that no, it's not your fault, that other people are like this too, and that they celebrate their differences and use them to enrich the lives of others, you really want to believe it. And you should, because that's true and fine. The problem is when that mentality is taken to the extreme, and the original impetus for the diagnosis, the problems in functioning that got you the diagnosis in the first place, is lost. You can get so busy embracing your new identity as someone different and special and blameless, that you start demanding the world revolve around you and your specialness rather than trying to accommodate them, and asking in return that they accommodate you.
We cannot make a better world unless we work together.
Yes, I know, why am I reviewing a book that doesn't have autism in the name or apparent subject? Well, the author is autistic as well as dyspraxic, she's from the UK (and somewhat, from Saudi Arabia) and this particular book comes with a recommendation from a friend I'm rather fond of. Plus, this particular, conversational writing style is a nice change of pace from my usual fare.
So what is dyspraxia, and how is it related to autism? It's a disorder of the motor systems of the body, which can include speech. You know how some kids (and sometimes adults) on the autism spectrum in the US can be extra clumsy, seem to have trouble keeping their limbs organized, or have absolutely horrid handwriting (despite their and others' best efforts)? That's dyspraxia.
Basically, it's one of many words and concepts that comes with what we, in the US, call the autism spectrum. Not every autistic person has severe issues with balance and coordination, but many of us do, at least to a small extent. The author of this book has it to a much larger extent, which I presume is why the book focuses on the dyspraxia rather than the autism or any other labels she acquired in her lifetime.
As I read this book, I recognized several coping strategies for innate clumsiness that I used growing up. The author talks about holding a pen or pencil with more fingers than she was taught to, because it gave her greater control and stability whilst writing. To this day, I quite literally hold my pens and pencils with four fingers, which results in crabbed, heavy handwriting that is, I'm sorry to say, execrable. It's a kindness to eyes everywhere that computers came into fashion and became so prevalent, so I can type and text what I need to say rather than subjecting people to more of my atrocious handwriting.
I also made a point of watching where I walked very carefully, lest I trip over my own feet or on otherwise apparently flat surfaces. This meant my view, walking home from the bus stop after school, was almost invariably my own feet, and the sidewalk. Ms. Biggs speaks of similar precautions (often sadly insufficent) to guard against her clumsiness.
Actually, she has an absolutely dizzying range of suggestions for changing one's house, kitchen, commute, and life to be more dyspraxic-friendly. I do wince a bit at the scope and bluntness of her suggestions; in a group living situation, 2-4 other people might not be too keen on changing how everything is laid out and things are done, just for one member's comfort and safety. On the other hand, if the change would save them broken dishes, glasses, and other valuables.... perhaps they'd find it all worthwhile.
I wouldn't know, as I was fortunate enough to have enough sense of my limbs to only occasionally break things. I was also fortunate in that my parents paid for roller skating lessons in my teens, which made me learn balance... over time, anyway. Bruises were acquired in vast quantities before that happened, of course, and I have no doubts whatsoever that I was one of the more unpleasant, uncheerful students that teacher had ever had. But I did try (begrudgingly), and I did learn (slowly), and to this day I can do some very basic "fancy" skate tricks. Between that and the karate lessons, I was able to learn better gross (whole body, large muscle groups) motor control.
Fine motor control was another animal entirely... It's fine motor control that factors into speaking, and fine motor control that lets you write smoothly and clearly. I... eventually learned better fine motor skills via origami, and a semblance of readable writing via a calligraphy class... but to this day, I'm not sure I would call myself good at it.
By the sound of it, Ms. Biggs had many of the same difficulties, but moreso. She actually dedicates an entire chapter near the back to suggesting activities to help boost muscular control, focus, etc. Rather than roller skating and karate, for instance, she did Arabic dance. And she compiles suggestions from lots of other dyspraxic people.
The book, by the way, is stuffed full of other peoples' quotes and stories, in addition to Ms. Biggs' own. If I had to guess, this book was written shortly after the author received her diagnosis, after she'd reached out to organizations and people and found, to her joy, that she was not alone and was, in fact, now connected to dozens of people that could laugh with her about her trials in living, and often helpful suggestions from their own lives.
The tone of this book is almost unceasingly positive, even when relating the immense difficulties the author faced growing up without a diagnosis to light the way. It's actually a little too strongly positive to me, which makes me wonder if the author was purposely banishing any depressing, negative thoughts she has on the subject. That would be fair, I suppose, given how much she was told, growing up, that everything was her fault, and made to feel awful. It's not like she'd want, even accidentally, to risk depressing people with similar scarring.
A last note: the author's viewpoint here has moments of what I understand is the standard mistake of the extremist end of the neurodiversity movement. That is, insisting that our differences are never, ever disabilities, and always gifts. While dyspraxia, and indeed autism itself, come with some potentially amazing gifts and possibilities... they also come with a set of challenges and difficulties that... I don't think is accurate to call "gifts." If you literally can't focus in a classroom because there's a specific type of lightbulb that only you can see flicker, or the fan is on, or people are whispering... that's not a gift, it's a hindrance. You may be able to use that awareness for the betterment of yourself and others, but that doesn't make the fact that it's a hindrance go away. You do get extra awesomeness points for managing to channel the hindrance into something positive, though.
I may be reading the author wrong, but this is an easy mistake to fall into, when the entire world is telling you you're a failure, an awful mess of a person that isn't even human, and that everything is your fault forever. Because when you get the news that no, it's not your fault, that other people are like this too, and that they celebrate their differences and use them to enrich the lives of others, you really want to believe it. And you should, because that's true and fine. The problem is when that mentality is taken to the extreme, and the original impetus for the diagnosis, the problems in functioning that got you the diagnosis in the first place, is lost. You can get so busy embracing your new identity as someone different and special and blameless, that you start demanding the world revolve around you and your specialness rather than trying to accommodate them, and asking in return that they accommodate you.
We cannot make a better world unless we work together.
Read This Book If
You, or someone you know/love suffers from motor difficulties, or you want a more international look at a life with autism and dyspraxia. It's an entertaining read, and stuffed with suggestions to make your life less painful and disorienting. Parents could especially do with reading this book, if their kids have similar symptoms. The sooner issues like this are addressed, the less potential permanent damage there is-- both to your belongings, and to your kid.
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