MELTEM ARIKAN

  Türkçesi Aşağıda 👇 "One minute." In preschool: "Son, you need to put your shoes on." One minute. In secondary school: "Hurry up, the bus is here, you need to leave!" One minute. In sixth form: "Dinner is ready, we're waiting for you." One minute. As a thirty-year-old man: "Your coffee is getting cold." One minute. In our house, a "minute" is not a unit of time. It is certainly not sixty seconds. It is a concept. A vibe. It's a vague, flickering promise sent from another galaxy, much like a train cancelled due to a "signalling failure", that never actually arrives. I used to go into full "Come on, come on, for heaven's sake, HURRY UP!" mode. My AuDHD (Autism + ADHD) brain and my son's PDA brain are essentially two different types of chaos trying to occupy the same hallway. During these "one-minute" standoffs, my patience would melt faster than a dropped ice cream in the summer su...

Türkçesi Aşağıda 👇 For those unfamiliar with the term, PDA stands for Public Display of Affection. To most, it is simply a romantic choice, a matter of personal style or a way to show the world they are happy. However, for a neurodivergent person, it is often far more than a stylistic choice; it is a complex matter of sensory regulation. There is a rather tiresome stereotype that autistic people simply "dislike being touched." This is a lazy assumption that misses the nuance of our experience. In reality, our nervous systems often process the external world like a blender, mixing every sound, light, and texture into an overwhelming slurry. Because of this, my "touch dial" is never static. At times, a simple touch acts as an anchor, tethering me to the world when everything else feels too fast. At other times, however, it can be the "final tab" that causes the entire system to crash. When I find myself in a crowded, noisy, or unpredictable environment, hol...