RFK Jr.’s now infamous mandate to find a “cure” for autism and threat to create an autism registry in the US settled in me as a heaviness in my shoulders and my heart these last few weeks, an especially acute manifestation of the chronically familiar grief of feeling misunderstood and undervalued.

Since Covid, I’ve found the routine of hiking the same few trails several times per week in the forest deeply nourishing.

So naturally, as my body vibrated with the stress of being dehumanized, I turned my attention toward the trees as a balm for my malaise.

But when I pulled some yoga pants out of my drawer, my usual, heady anticipation of spaciousness among wild places was conspicuously absent. Instead, my body stopped, the way that growing up my family’s golden retriever would decide she didn’t want to walk anymore and would simply sit, unmovable, in the middle of the sidewalk.

My workout clothes seemed so…tight.

And upon clocking my resistance to hiking - the very thing that has reliably made me feel better for years - I felt absolute dismay along the lines of, if this thing so core to who I am doesn’t feel good right now, who even am I, anymore?

Luckily, I have a practice of checking in with my parts and making sure I listen to whatever feels activated.

So rather than jerk the yoga pants up my protesting legs, I sat on my bed and shut my eyes.

And I went inside, and asked what the part of me that felt resistance to hiking needed to share.

Here’s what it had to say:

· The sun feels too bright

· The clothes feel too tight

· The trail seems too dusty

· The smear of sunscreen I’ll have to apply to my hands and my face feels too greasy

· The sweat that’s going to drip down my back feels too slimy

· And also, there are too many transitions involved, from changing my clothes, to putting up my hair, to driving to the trailhead, to having to shower and hydrate and prepare food afterwards.

Quite a list!

Before my immersion in Internal Family Systems, and before I’d gotten to know my autistic needs through support from the autistic community, I would have dismissed these concerns, if I’d listened for them at all. I would have powered through, telling myself that I’d feel better if I just pushed myself out of the house and onto the trail.

And to some degree, that might have been true. If I’d plowed past my sensory overload and hiked, regardless of inner concerns, I probably would have experienced a momentary bump in my mood. Serotonin is serotonin, and trees really are magical mood boosters.

But if I’m honest with myself, I also have a track record of suffering migraines and irritability on the days after a hike, if I’ve not stopped to honor the overwhelm begging for my attention.

So this time, I made a different choice. I listened to my weary body, to the parts of me saying, “Please don’t further overstimulate yourself.”

And then I asked inside, what would really serve me right now, given the capacity I have in this moment, and not the capacity I wish I had?

The answer that emerged surprised me: Qigong.

I’d never done Qigong, but a memory flashed inside me, of a guy I used to pass when walking on the beach on Sunday mornings – his arms dancing in a graceful, slow-motion choreography while his legs stood firmly rooted like tree trunks in the sand.

As I imagined myself doing the same, I felt lighter.

I called up some videos on Youtube, just 10 or 15 minutes each, because being autistic and struggling with change, I knew I needed to ease my way in.

In short time, I forgot all my worries; I was caught up in the moment, embodying the motion of a tree branch dancing in a breeze.

I’m consoled by how much relief my fledgling Qigong routine has brought me, and how discernably my energy restores, with very little output from me.

And I’ve been able to do the practices in my living room, without having to change my clothes, or slather on sunscreen, or really any other added demand.

It’s what I would call a high return investment.

I’m intrigued to continue learning more about Qigong.

Moreover, I’m heartened by the experience of listening to what my whole self needed, giving myself that thing, and feeling better.

If ever I needed reminding – my Self KNOWS what I need.

Checking with my parts remains a daily thing, because nothing ever stays the same. Today, when I check inside for any parts that wish I were hiking right now, I don’t find any.

There is of course a part that wishes I had the energy and capacity for a hike, and I’m okay making room for that grief, too. The grieving parts of me also belong.

But what’s most present inside me is an awareness that these times are hard on a sensitive, autistic system like mine. RFK’s verbal assault on the worth and inherent dignity of autistic people, on our right to exist and be autistic, is not something that simply bounced off me.

It was a blow that caused real harm, to my spirit – and more precisely – to my energy levels.

So not having the motivation for more intense hiking lately makes a lot of sense to me.

What I needed a few months ago, or even a few days ago, is different now, because circumstances have changed, and so have I.

What feels most kind to me is to not just fall back on what’s worked before, but rather, to accept that change is happening, and tend to what is needed now.

Harsh times call for a gentle response.

And so, I invite you to think about if there are any areas where you’re pushing through – even areas in your life that you have loved to inhabit in the past. Are you interested in bringing some curiosity to what you might need now, even if what needs tending now might be different to how you’ve approached your life before?

TENDING TO, RATHER THAN PUSHING THROUGH