This 'Hugging Machine' Aims to Help People on the Autism Spectrum With Sensory Issues

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A Denmark-based company is bringing to market a This photo from Gloria Mundi Care shows a person lying in the OrbisBox. deep-pressure device aimed at soothing the sensory issues of those on the autism spectrum.

The so-called “hugging machine,” originally conceived by renowned autism advocate Temple Grandin, has been dubbed OrbisBox by manufacturer Gloria Mundi Care.

The device allows users to lie on their front, side or back while being squeezed by foam-covered panels inside the box. These panels gently close in on the user at adjustable pressure levels. The OrbisBox can also provide light and sound therapy via color-changing panels that make up its walls and wired-in Bose speakers.

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OrbisBox’s goal is to help a person who has difficulty processing sensory information. Those on the spectrum are often either hypersensitive to sensory stimuli or experience minimal responses to the same information. When someone on the spectrum is overwhelmed by too many senses, it can sometimes result in a sensory overload meltdown. A device like this may help in these situations.

The OrbisBox is on wheels and about the height and width of a refrigerator, with a depth of about 7 feet to accommodate a person lying down. It retails commercially for about $51,400 USD but can be purchased for personal use.

Mighty contributor Lamar Hardwick, who is on the autism spectrum, said the price of the machine would deter people from using it.

“The cost alone would limit the number of autistic people who may benefit from its use because it will alienate an entire economic class from having access to it,” Hardwick said.

He also expressed concern about the efficacy of the OrbisBox in actually comforting users.

“The ability to control the machine takes away one of the most important aspects of ‘stimming,'” Hardwick said. “In theory, self-stimulation by individuals with autism works because it is self-regulating. With little to no actual control over the function of the machine, I’m concerned that the results will fall short.”

The Mighty wants to know: Would you try the OrbisBox? Explain why or why not in the comment section below.

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When a Man at the Waterfront Stopped Me During My Children's Meltdowns

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I wish I could tell you it’s all wine and roses — that your kids are always going to be on their best behavior every time you go out and will be perfect little angels at home.

But oh, would I be a liar.

Meltdowns in our family can last anywhere from 20 minutes to two hours, and they are not always at home. They can happen anywhere, and in their wake I usually feel defeated. I feel like I’ve completely failed my kiddos because no matter what I did, it wasn’t good enough, even though I tried. I don’t like to talk much about these events, especially the public ones, because they are a stinging reminder of just how hard my kiddos really have it and just how cruel the scrutinizing world can be.

But some stories are worth repeating because some have a happy ending.

It was nearing the end of April vacation, and the kiddos were getting restless. I decided to take them for a walk on the waterfront one unusually warm day just to break up the monotony and get them out of the house. Naturally, the walk wasn’t without incident, but I had expected as much and soldiered on. Once we got to the main drag, they saw an ice cream restaurant and insisted we go over. The line was around the corner when they plunked themselves down at a table, and I knew then this wasn’t going to end well. There was no way they were going to be able to wait that long. I made the crucial mistake then of telling them the line was too long and we’d have to try again another time.

Both experienced a meltdown. We had reached a crosswalk and now that I had one child in my arms, the other was on the ground. Both were still wailing and I could feel myself losing it when I was approached.

A gentleman, probably not much older than me, stopped me before we crossed.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice you were struggling. Do you need help? I have a little guy of my own, but if there’s anything I can do…?”

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I was flabbergasted. Most people would scowl or scold me and tell me to get my kids under control, and here this man was, acknowledging the difficulty of my situation and still offering to help. I choked back the tears of gratitude and thanked him. I politely refused because we still had a long walk back to the car. That’s when he put his hand on my shoulder and said the best thing you can say to a mama of children on the autism spectrum. The one thing I needed to hear and will never forget:

“You’re doing a great job, Mom.”

I nearly burst into tears at his kindness. I nodded my thanks, and we parted ways. The meltdowns continued all the way back to the car and all the way home. Once we were home and both children had parted ways into their respective rooms to calm down, I made myself a cup of Earl Grey and reflected on what he said to me. It made me feel validated. It squashed those feelings of failure and defeat and restored my faith not only in myself but in the world again.

So to you, kind sir, I want to say thank you. Thank you for your understanding and your empathy. It means more than you’ll ever know!

The Mighty is asking the following: Share with us an unexpected act of kindness, big or small, that you’ve experienced or witnessed in an everyday place. Check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

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My Life as a Social Butterfly as a Person on the Autism Spectrum

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When people hear I am on the autism spectrum, a lot of them expect me to be socially withdrawn. After they connect with me further, they tell me my social skills are amazing. 

But being a social butterfly as someone on the autism spectrum isn’t nearly as easy for me as it looks. I have a strong desire to be around others. Yet if I spend too much time with people, I get to a point where I’m so exhausted from constantly thinking about my social skills that I can’t function. And if there are too many people (three is a crowd for me), I will get overwhelmed.

It’s also difficult when I slip up and don’t realize I’ve been rude. People either need to tell me I’ve been rude (and I’ll feel bad about it, but at least I can apologize), or they will get upset with me and not say a word, and I’ll figure it out weeks, months or even years later.

I love to talk with people. But unless I know someone very well, I avoid using the phone to speak with them. I can’t see them, so the few skills I have in reading facial expressions are useless. I definitely struggle with hearing differences in tone of voice or recognizing what they mean. And sometimes, I can’t understand or process what the person has said fast enough to respond. In fact, I have found that if I’m going to speak on the phone with someone, I usually need to write out a script for myself. Overall, it’s much easier for me to text, chat or email. This way, I have more time to process what has been said and think of how to respond.

It’s taken a lot of time and energy to understand social skills. It’s not always easy for me to be around others as someone on the autism spectrum. It’s certainly frustrating at times. And yet, I’m a total social butterfly. There’s no doubt about that!

Imagine someone Googling how to help you cope with your (or a loved one’s) diagnosis. Write the article you’d want them to find. If you’d like to participate, please check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images

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How Cats Helped Me as a Person on the Autism Spectrum

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Last October, my family had to make the heartbreaking decision to put down one of our cats. He was 15, and his health had taken a sudden and dramatic decline, but it was still extremely hard. If you’ve ever lost a pet, you know the pain. But it’s impossible to explain to someone who hasn’t experienced it. This cat in particular, Charlie Brown, had been with me since I was 8 years old. And he’d helped me through a lot in those years.

You see, when we adopted him, I was going through what would turn out to be probably the hardest period of my life. I was struggling in school, somewhat academically, but mainly socially. I had very few friends and plenty of people who disliked me.

I hate to use the word “bully,” but I was bullied during this point. I hated going to school more than anything. While I never lied, I’d use any excuse to avoid school. A tiny sore throat? I need to stay home. What if it’s strep? Stubbed my toe? Well, it may be broken, and I should stay home. It felt like whatever I did would make someone upset. I got into trouble constantly, but I’d often have a meltdown when disciplined. I wasn’t diagnosed with Asperger’s at the time, so this just made me look more rebellious. It was a very painful time.

But Charlie helped me in a way humans couldn’t. Just like me, he wasn’t aware of those subtle social cues. He wasn’t aware of the nuances that were so foreign to me. He, and the other cats we had at the time, didn’t understand any of that. They just knew that I loved them. And because of that, they loved me. 

When I was upset, they provided me the support I desperately needed but couldn’t get anywhere else. Charlie, in particular, was a very sensitive cat. He always knew when you were upset, and he’d do whatever it took to make you feel better. Your frustration became his, and he would do everything in his fluffy power to fix it.

I think cats helped me socially as well. From a young age (I’ve had cats in my life since I was born), I understood how important body language is in cats. Cats couldn’t say when they were upset, so I became very good at reading them. I ended up understanding a cat’s body language long before human body language. In fact, I still think of myself as a bit of an expert on a cat’s body language. It took a lot longer to understand human body language, and, at times, I’m still learning. But knowing how important body language is to cats helped me apply it to people.

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I think I just relate to cats for a lot of reasons. One being that cats are often misunderstood. They’re not as openly affectionate as dogs, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love you. They just show it in their own time.

They also like the security of a schedule, much like myself. They’re sensitive to loud noises and can get overwhelmed easily. When they do get overstimulated, they can lash out. It’s a familiar scenario to most cat owners: You’re petting your cat, they’re all purry and lovely — and then bam. Your cat clamps down hard on your hand with their teeth. It may seem like they’re simply being mean, but that’s not it. They, like me, get overwhelmed and overstimulated. It’s almost like a kitty meltdown. They can’t tell you to stop, so they react in a way to make sure you do, which is something I did as a child.

I spent a great deal of my childhood pretending to be a cat. There were plenty of times my parents would take me to the mall or the movies and suddenly lose sight of me, only to find me crawling around the floor and meowing. It was so calming to pretend to be a cat. It brought me into a world I understood and felt safe in.

Some people think animals, especially cats, are so complicated and “unpredictable.” I can’t even begin to comprehend that. Cats are so much simpler, and they’re very predictable if you take the time to get to know them. They’re a welcome relief to the confusion and frustration of people. They don’t have ulterior motives, they won’t talk behind your back and they won’t care if you have no human friends.

They also don’t blindly love you like dogs. You need to earn a cat’s love. And when you do, it’s a love like nothing else.

Imagine someone Googling how to help you cope with your (or a loved one’s) diagnosis. Write the article you’d want them to find. If you’d like to participate, please check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

Sarah Bartkowski’s cat, Charlie Brown, is pictured at the top.

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When My 9-Year-Old Daughter Told Her Classmates About Her Asperger's

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I’m always proud of my daughter no matter what, but what words can you use when she does something you consider so brave that “proud” just doesn’t cut it? I wracked my brain and looked in a thesaurus. I considered using “magnificent,” “dignified,” “impressive,” “glorious” and even “heroic,” but nope, they didn’t come close.

You see, my girl decided to tell her class all about her Asperger’s.

We gave her the option of the teacher doing the presentation. “Nope,” she said. We gave her the option of me doing the presentation. “Nope,” she said, “It’s my Asperger’s. I’m doing it myself.”

So on Friday, I dropped her off at school after the presentation had been emailed to her teacher. I had to wait 30 minutes before going back to the class to support her, and, my goodness me, that was a very long 30 minutes.

How would the class react? Could she cope with the presentation? Would she cry? Would I cry? Would the teacher cry? The time came. I crept into the classroom and sat at the back. My darling girl stood up at the front of the class, and her wonderful teacher (who is akin to Roald Dahl’s Miss Honey) introduced her presentation by saying, “We are all individuals. We are all wonderful. E wants to talk to you about what makes her so special.”

I could tell she was nervous — the hair fiddling and finger clicking gave it away. Her voice trembled slightly, but she did it. The class was silent; their attention rapt. The teacher reiterated certain points, and E held her nerve and spoke clearly with great conviction. My heart swelled with each passing second. And I was determined to not let my tears fall because if she could do it without crying, I could certainly listen without crying.

When the time for questions came, she was on a roll:

“Can you catch it?”

“No, silly, you can’t catch it,” my daughter replied.

“How did you get it?”

“I’ve always had it; we just didn’t know until recently,” she said.

“Will it get worse as you get older?”

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“Nah, hopefully I will learn things to help me,” she said.

Standing there in front of a room of her peers must have been terrifying for her. She bared her soul, told them something personal and showed that she was “different.” But she didn’t bat an eye.

Follow this journey on Coloring Outside the Lines.

Imagine someone Googling how to help you cope with your (or a loved one’s) diagnosis. Write the article you’d want them to find. If you’d like to participate, please check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images

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What 'Finding Dory' Taught Me as Someone on the Autism Spectrum

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I’m a huge fan of Ellen DeGeneres, so I was more than excited to see her new movie “Finding Dory” on opening night. I arrived so early that I waited in my car for an extra hour (OK, maybe two hours) before I even entered the theater! I got my snacks and picked my seat, ready to watch. But I had no idea the movie I was about to see would hit me so close to home.

As someone on the autism spectrum, I found I could really relate to Dory. Not because of her notoriously poor memory; in fact, my memory is incredible. No, I could relate to her because of how she felt about herself.

Throughout the movie, Dory is constantly apologizing for being forgetful. Constantly. And I could truly feel for her. She just wishes she could remember things, but she can’t.

So yes, I have an amazing memory. Yet, I still have major deficits. I struggle to understand things socially. Or I need extra help with things that come very easily to others. And I feel so bad about it at times, especially when it affects other people. I’m constantly apologizing, too. There are honestly moments I wish I wasn’t on the autism spectrum.

But I am.

“Finding Dory” teaches people that it’s good to be different. It’s OK to struggle sometimes. And for that reason, I could truly relate to Dory. I often feel like I’m not capable of doing things. But when I saw this movie, I cried. I cried because I realized I wasn’t alone. I cried because I finally realized many people feel like they aren’t good enough. But this movie reminds us that we are.

We just have to remember to keep swimming.

The Mighty is asking the following: Describe a scene or line from a movie, show, or song that’s stuck with you through your experience with disability, disease or mental illness. Check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

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