Frank Sterle

I psychologically/emotionally toil daily with a formidable combination of Autism Spectrum Disorder, High Sensitivity and Adverse Childhood Experience trauma, the latter which is in large part due to the ASD and High Sensitivity. Therefore, it would be quite helpful to have a book(s) written about such or similar conditions involving a tumultuous combination of ASD and/or ACE trauma and/or high sensitivity, the latter which seems to have a couple characteristics similar to ASD traits. I read The Autistic Brain, but it fails to even once mention the real potential for additional challenges created by a reader’s ASD coexisting with thus exacerbated by high sensitivity and/or ACE trauma. I then read a book on adverse childhood experience trauma that totally fails to even once mention high sensitivity and/or autism spectrum disorder. This was followed by a book about highly sensitive men, with no mention whatsoever of autism spectrum disorder or adverse childhood experience trauma. I therefore don't know whether my additional, coexisting conditions will render the information and/or assigned exercises from such books useless, or close to it, in my efforts to live much less miserably. While many/most people in my shoes could/would work with such texts nonetheless, I cannot; I need to know if I'm wasting my time and, most importantly, mental efforts. It’s no secret that ACE abuse/trauma is often inflicted on autistic and/or highly sensitive children/teens by their neurotypical peers, so why not at least acknowledge it in some meaningful, constructive way? The Autistic Brain fails to even hint at this very plausible potential.

I struggle with a formidable perfect-storm-like combination of high sensitivity, adverse childhood experience trauma and autism spectrum disorder, the ACE trauma in large part being due to my ASD and high sensitivity. Thus it would be quite helpful to have books written about such or similar conditions involving a coexistence of high sensitivity and/or ACE trauma and/or ASD, the latter which seems to have a couple characteristics similar to those of high sensitivity. The Highly Sensitive Man fails to even once mention ACE trauma or autism spectrum disorder. [As it were, I also read a book on ASD that fails to mention high sensitivity or ACE trauma. That was followed by a book about ACE trauma, with no mention whatsoever of autism spectrum disorder or high sensitivity.] I therefore don't know whether my additional, coexisting conditions will render the information and/or assigned exercises from such not-cheap books useless, or close to it, in my efforts to live much less miserably. While many/most people in my shoes would work with the books nonetheless, I cannot; I simply need to know if I'm wasting my time and, most importantly, mental efforts. Really, it’s no secret that ACE abuse/trauma is often inflicted on highly sensitive and/or autistic children and teens by their ‘neurotypical’ peers, so why not at least acknowledge it in some meaningful, constructive way?

I struggle with a formidable perfect-storm-like combination of adverse childhood experience trauma, autism spectrum disorder and high sensitivity, the ACE trauma in large part being due to my ASD and high sensitivity. Thus, it would be quite helpful to have books written about such or similar conditions involving a coexistence of ACE trauma and/or ASD and/or high sensitivity, the latter which seems to have a couple characteristics similar to ASD traits. Childhood Disrupted fails to even once mention high sensitivity or autism spectrum disorder. [As it were, I also read a book on ASD that fails to even mention high sensitivity or ACE trauma. That was followed by a book about highly sensitive men, with no mention whatsoever of autism spectrum disorder or adverse childhood experience trauma.] Really, it’s no secret that ACE abuse/trauma is often inflicted on autistic and/or highly sensitive children and teens by their ‘neurotypical’ peers, so why not at least acknowledge it in some meaningful, constructive way? I therefore don't know whether my additional, coexisting conditions will render the information and/or assigned exercises from such not-cheap books useless, or close to it, in my efforts to live much less miserably. While many/most people in my shoes would work with the books nonetheless, I cannot; I simply need to know if I'm wasting my time and, most importantly, mental efforts. ... An additional unaddressed 'elephant in the room' throughout the book is: Why does/can the author only include one male among its six interviewed ACE-traumatized adult subjects? Was there such a small pool of ACE-traumatized men willing to formally tell his own story of life-changing childhood abuse? Could it be yet more evidence of a continuing subtle societal take-it-like-a-man mindset; one in which so many men, even in these modern times and with anonymity, still would prefer not to ‘complain’ to some stranger/author about his torturous youth, as that is what ‘real men’ do? That relatively so few men (a ratio of 5:1 female to male) suffered high-scoring ACE trauma is not a plausible conclusion, however low in formally recorded number such unfortunate male victims may be. Perhaps, even in this day and age, there remains a mentality out there, albeit perhaps subconscious: Men can take care of themselves, and boys are basically little men.

I would have preferred that the book had included a chapter or two about children who are also enduring ACE (adverse childhood experience) trauma and/or struggling with autism spectrum disorder. (I’m one of those who have for decades suffered this perfect-storm combination of misfortune.) Perhaps the author could also have strongly advocated for high school curriculum that teaches the science of the basics of young children’s developing brains and therefore healthy/unhealthy methods of parental/guardian child rearing. In 2017, when I asked a teachers federation official over the phone whether there is any such curriculum taught in any of B.C.’s school districts, he immediately replied there is not. When I asked the reason for its absence and whether it may be due to the subject matter being too controversial, he replied with a simple “Yes”. This strongly suggests there are philosophical thus political obstacles to teaching students such crucial life skills as nourishingly parenting one’s children. Put plainly, people generally do not want some stranger—and especially a government-arm entity, which includes school teachers—directly or indirectly telling them how to raise their children. (Albeit, a knowledgeable person offered me her observation on perhaps why there are no mandatory childrearing courses in high school: People with a dysfunctional family background do not particularly desire scholastically analyzing its intricacies; i.e. they simply don’t want to go there—even if it’s not being openly discussed.)