What is Face Blindness?

Face blindness, or prosopagnosia, is said to affect many with developmental disorders, such as autism spectrum disorder and non-verbal learning disability, as well as those who have suffered from some forms of brain damage. Again, in view of the fact that I have both a non-verbal learning disability and ASD, it would appear that I really am a textbook case for all things ASD related. So what is face blindness?
The simplest way for me to explain it is to blend a little of what the experts say with a little of how I perceive it to affect me. For me, face blindness means that I have extreme difficulty recognizing people. And it doesn’t matter if you are a co-worker, a friend, a family member, or even my husband Dale, I simply will not recognize you right away and certainly not from a distance, even a short one. I also will not recognize your voice over the phone, for what I believe carries the same explanation. This is one reason that I thank god for cell phones and caller ID, so I know who’s calling. That, however, doesn’t lend me a hand when I call others, which makes me anxious, and unfortunately prevents me from making many phone calls, unless I know for sure who’s going to answer the phone.
From what I understand, my differently wired brain remembers people through a combination of factors, such as mannerisms, voice, and the way they interact with their environment, instead of solely on the visual processing of a person’s face. So until these things are observable for me, I don’t recognize you. And I’m not kidding when I say I don’t recognize anyone, even family. It’s not until a person gets close enough for me to hear, see, and study that they begin to look familiar to me. This process can take several minutes of close up interaction.
For those of my friends who wonder why I often ask them to meet me outside of a restaurant, and for those who wonder why I prefer email and texting over actual phone calls, you now have an answer to that question. It’s because it makes it easier for me to find you, recognize you without wandering aimlessly through a crowded bar, peering into faces and disturbing people. And it makes it that much easier on my anxiety levels as well. If I do have to find you in a crowded place with my anxiety at a record high, it will then turn on the auditory processing disorder, which will have the undesirable effect of making it difficult for me to understand what you’re saying as well. And when it comes to phone calls, I have only a voice to go on. No mannerisms, no interaction with the environment, and no expressions. Although eventually, I will recognize your voice, it won’t be until long into the discussion, with laughter being the trigger for my recognition. My suspicion is that laughter is musical, which is like heaven to me, and has always served to calm and soothe all of my senses.
I find it interesting that face blindness is often seen concurrently with abnormalities in EEG measurements (what you might think of as a brain scan). I too have what are considered abnormal, unchanging EEG measurements, consistent it would seem, with face blindness and (I believe) 30% of those on the autism spectrum. What I also find fascinating is that I have no trouble recognizing people in photos. The research seems to support that there is indeed an emotional aspect to face blindness. In other words, your photo is just a picture of you, a simple object, it’s not a living, breathing being, interacting with anything.
Face blindness played a somewhat distinct part in the finding of the pieces to my personal autism puzzle. How many times, as a teenager, had I walked past someone I knew in the mall (for example, boyfriend mentioned in earlier post)? How many times had I been labeled a bitch, or stuck-up by those I wasn’t even aware of, when they were trying to catch my attention? I always wondered why I could never find anyone I was looking for, recognize my friends on the phone, or why I continuously piss people off by failing to acknowledge them in Home Depot when they were three feet away from me. I don’t know how many times I heard through a third party that so and so said I was a cold, unfeeling bitch. And for the longest time, I thought I must be. I know better now, and I’m not afraid to tell others about any of it. And that’s why I’m here, writing. So that maybe, the next time you meet someone you know (from work maybe) and they walk right past you in the grocery store without saying hi, just maybe you’ll remember my story. Just maybe, instead of thinking, “What a royal asshole!,” you’ll give that person the benefit of a doubt. Instead, hopefully, you’ll cut her a break and think, “Hmmm…maybe she’s on the autism spectrum.” At which point you’ll walk up to her, and say, “Hi. I don’t think you saw me back there.” It would mean so much to me, and all of us spectrumites, if you did that!

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