Dove Orchids — A Personal Essay
Sharing My Private Autistic Struggle
This is the wrong essay, but it’ll have to do.
I was struggling generally, but especially with starting our new all autistic consulting company, Dove Orchids. So on January 20th, I called an emergency session with my new therapist, Kate. I was on the cusp of throwing in the towel before we even launched the business. I wanted to go through the proper steps before doing anything rash. Restraint of pen and tongue.
I am so grateful I met Kate. She was exactly the person I needed to speak to that day. I had been looking for an autistic therapist since receiving my own diagnosis, two years earlier. They are difficult to find. The fact that I’m in Los Angeles and she’s in England tells you all you need to know.
Despite speaking very quickly and efficiently, my preferred speed and style, our emergency session ran 30 minutes longer than usual. She listened to me talk about all the things: my anxiety, guilt, self-loathing. And of course, my personal favorite, imposter syndrome! I spent the entire session beating myself up. No mercy.
“Why couldn’t I just fight off the depression?” I asked “Didn’t I care about anyone else? How could I even consider quitting?” And, the one-size-fits-all, good for every occasion, “I just don’t understand what is wrong with me.”
Kate spent well over an hour trying to help me dodge my own punches. Towards the end, probably as exhausted as I was, she said to me very kindly, “It’s not lost on me that you want to start Dove Orchids to teach the rest of the world how to accommodate autistic people, but you don’t seem to be capable of accommodating yourself. I’m not sure how you can square that.”
Well then. Score that round for Kate. At least she validated my imposter syndrome.
Kate ended our session by saying, “You should give yourself the time and space to write a letter. It could be to your daughter Arden (who is also autistic) when she’s older, or a young Jeff, whoever, it doesn’t matter. Write out all your struggles, share them with that person. And be kind to yourself. It might help.”
With that phenomenal advice, I began writing. It worked, I felt better. I decided to continue preparing to launch the company.
After doing the work to clarify how I felt, it was time to move forward. I began writing an essay we planned to use to launch Dove Orchids. The essay would elevate the community, the company, the work. I wouldn’t mention myself, this wasn’t about me.
I wrote off and on for two and a half months. Over 20 pages, some of which were even good. I wrote about autism and also about how Dove Orchids would make things better for our clients and our community. But the closer I got to the deadline, the more I felt like something was off. It wasn’t coming together.
It didn’t help that I had spent months telling myself some terrifying stories. I was really in my head. Here are a few examples:
- My daughter Arden will read this someday and I *need* to make her proud.
- I want to sign at least a dozen business clients and 50 individual clients from this essay to ensure we’ll be successful.
- This might be the first time some of the people who read it ever hear from an autistic adult and I have to make sure I don’t reflect poorly on my community.
- I’m going to send this to a lot of friends, some of whom have large platforms. This might spread far and I don’t want to squander the opportunity to engage a lot of people.
- Autism can be a very sensitive topic; what if people on the internet are mean to me?
- What if I write something that I believe today, but that turns out to be harmful twenty years from now? What if Arden is tied to her dad who becomes forever despised by her own community?!
You get the idea and then some.
Something you should know: For me, one of the things about being autistic is that when I’m overwhelmed, I feel a lot of physical pain. Achy all over, like when you have the flu. But when I’m overwhelmed and the stakes are high, things get much worse.
Right now, my biggest problem is my fingertips. They hurt. Bad. It’s a sensation that is hard to describe. It feels like frostbite maybe? They are both numb and also screaming in pain at the same time, even when they aren’t touching anything. The absolute worst thing I can do when they are like that is to type.
So yesterday morning (Monday), when I was already really worried the essay was in shambles, I sat down to write. As soon as I started to type, the pain in my fingertips came hard and fast. And stayed. It was disabling.
I had less than three days until my deadline…and I couldn’t write. Just as I was feeling my most insecure and needed to make progress more than ever, my fingertips became increasingly sensitive. Knowing there was nothing I could do, I asked for help.
Our team is made up of me and three leaders within the autistic community: Cheyenne, Ira, and Morénike (you can find more information about who they are on our website). They have all been a tremendous help in all of this. I love working with you all!
I started with Ira, and separately, my friend Aimee Clemens. Both are great writers. They took several documents and tried to edit them together into something good. They did a great job, but what they started with wasn’t good enough.
When I read their drafts, it really sunk in that I had missed my chance to write something great. I was bummed. But at least I finally felt like I had something workable, publishable.
When I woke up today (Tuesday), I felt good. The pain in my fingertips wasn’t terrible, at least to start the day. I wrote and edited. Things were coming together in the end like they always do. I opened things up in the early afternoon by asking Morénike and my wife Darlene to join Ira and Aimee as editors. I had a few meetings, so I’d return late afternoon, go through their notes, zhuzh things up, and we’d be done.
When I showed up at 4:30pm and started to go through the doc, things were fine until I got about three quarters of the way through. Morénike had some important feedback about some of the wording and transitions. I agreed. It didn’t work.
After all the editing, my 20 pages had turned into two and a half. Not a tight two and a half, either. The bad kind. They felt disconnected.
We were treading a fine line between trying to welcome non-autistic people, many of whom would be our potential clients, while also making sure our peers in the community felt seen. Autistic adults have been largely invisible in our society and need to be lifted up. We didn’t want to sugarcoat the problems we’re all up against. At the same time, we were careful not to have a negative tone, because we’re really excited and optimistic for the future. We believe in a clean slate.
I started to take yet another fresh look at the whole thing. I was lost. And tired. And my fingertips started to hurt badly again. I had to type upside down so I could use my fingernails. It was disabling.
By 6:00pm, I had to stop anyway. My friends Drew & Linda Scott invited me to be a guest on their podcast, At Home, to talk about Dove Orchids and Autism Awareness (and Acceptance) Month. They have been amazing allies. Besides being friends and having me on their podcast, they have hired us to speak to their company! One of our first clients! They are amazing.
The interview was great, I’m never too tired to enjoy those two. But when it was over, I was ready to crash. I went out to check on Darlene in the kitchen. I told her that while I wasn’t as sure about the essay as I was in the morning, I knew it would be fine. Right? Right Darlene?
“Well…”
Darlene is not only smarter than me, she also knows me better than I know myself. All couples say that, but for us, it really is true. We grew up across the street from each other, so she’s been one step ahead of my nonsense since Halloween Night, 1986, the night I fell in love with her.
Here is some proof: a month *before* my emergency therapy session with Kate, Darlene gently asked me: “Have you ever considered talking to Kate about *why* you feel the need to save the world, instead of obsessing about how you are failing to actually do it?”
Yep. I told you. None. Of. The. Nonsense. Obviously, I’m still wrestling with her question.
So when Darlene said, “Well…”, I knew two things were true: 1) I was in trouble, and 2) whatever she said would be right.
“Well, you’ve written so many things that I love, but this just isn’t one of them. It’s not you. It’s not doing what you want it to, I had to read it three times today to really even begin to understand it. You can tell it was stitched together. I’m sorry, but it’s not good. You should think about writing something new.”
“New!?!?! Throw away months of work? I just put in 14 hours, my fingertips have been completely shot for most of that time and I’m exhausted!” She gave me this, “I don’t know what you want me to say” look. It was equal parts pity, tough love and love love. I looked at her and brought my best impersonation of a petulant child, and said, “Fine. Have it your way. You ruined my night, happy? I’m going back to start over.”
I knew she was right. We both smiled, her more so, as I started back towards the bedroom to begin this essay you are now reading.
That was at 8:00pm. As I type this sentence, it’s now 2:38am. I’m finally starting to feel some peace, listening to some of my favorite autistic anthems (my personal classification) while I write. Liability by Lorde. Misunderstood by Wilco. Fetch the Bolt Cutters by Fiona Apple. I could write an entire essay just about how these songs move me.
I should explain why I’m pushing myself with this deadline. It’s not arbitrary. I have a great reason: my pals Brendan McDonald and Marc Maron at WTF with Marc Maron, one of the best podcasts ever, offered to talk about Dove Orchids on the show! We’re so grateful to you both. Since the episode comes out at midnight tonight, and because Marc is going to send people here to read this, I have to publish it! We can’t afford to miss out on all those listeners checking us out.
For those of you who haven’t listened to the episode, here’s the audio clip of Marc talking about us:
Okay. I should probably say *something* about the new business while we’re still here…
Dove Orchids, which is named after a rare and beautiful wildflower, is a 100% autistic owned and operated for-profit company that offers the insightful combination of both subject matter expertise and lived experience. Services range from recruitment and retention strategies for companies of all sizes to consulting on autistic character development and storylines for scriptwriters. We will also provide support for parents and training for medical staff, teachers, and autism professionals.
Together with our team and clients, our work will reduce stigma and increase opportunities while creating a world where autistic people are the authorities of their own lives; are understood, accepted, and valued for who they truly are.
There is so much more to say about us, our work, and our value. About the team. Exciting and important things. In fact, you should check out our Twitter threads. Ira, Morénike & Cheyenne, and me. And follow Dove Orchids on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook.
Unfortunately, this isn’t going to be the essay I hoped it would be, one that motivates all the Fortune 500 companies to hire us, or for every parent to trust us to help them guide them in support of their children. Writing that out now sounds ridiculous, that was never realistic. Maybe the next essay, which just needs a little TLC before we can publish, should be the one where we outline our business case for investing in autistic people, which is airtight and will blow your mind!
I’ve started businesses before. It’s *always* hard. There are no exceptions. This is perhaps the hardest, because we’re so misunderstood and we care so much. But for that reason, it’s also the most special.
Remembering back to when I was growing up, even then, I heard, “You are so smart; if only you would apply yourself and stay out of trouble, you would do great things.” I heard this from a lot of people. I was also told, by fewer people, but enough to hurt, that I was weird and difficult and different.
When it came to work specifically, I had a lot of jobs that didn’t last very long. I always impressed others with my brain and disappointed them with my working style and uneven output. I would at times have some success, but always fleeting, and never enough to save my job. I was often passed from boss to boss because no one knew how to manage me. I tried to employ myself three different times during those 15 years, hoping to avoid my continued corporate failure. It wasn’t until my fourth try at entrepreneurship that I had any success.
I was able to endure and eventually pioneer what is now a multi-billion dollar podcasting industry. I have no idea how I did it. I sold my businesses and retired at 40 years old. I had to struggle in work environments for years, and had to create that opportunity for myself. Two things can be true at once; I had (and have) a lot of luck and privilege to succeed as I did, and I also had to do it the hard way, likely taking years off of my life.
I don’t want other autistic people to have to go through what I have to be “successful” both in the workplace and in their lives.
All of this is reminding me of some of the best advice I’ve ever received, courtesy of my favorite Great Aunt, the late Sister Agnus Theresa, RIP. She was a nun who lived in London, and I visited her at the convent several times. The first time I think I was 7 or 9 years old, so the early 1980’s.
She took us sightseeing, and we were approaching the McDonald’s by Westminster Abbey. I believe it was the first McDonald’s in London. We were on the opposite side of the street, but I was so excited, I just took off. I crossed something like eight lanes of traffic, going all kinds of directions, in central London.
I survived getting hit by a car, and waited while it took a minute or two for Sister to cross the street and meet me. She was both harrowed and calm at the same time, however that is possible. When she finally caught up, she said to me: “Now Jeffrey, never forget, it’s always better to be late and alive than dead and on-time.” I feel like this essay is late and alive. And that’s okay. She’d be proud of me.
I know this has been all about me, the opposite of my plan. But it sort of wasn’t about me, either. It’s a few days in the life of *one* autistic person. Just happened to be me this time. I hope you’ll hear from more people like me. While I don’t claim to be representative of our community, I’d love for other autistic people to read this and see at least some of themselves here and feel less alone if they are struggling. It’ll probably be both foreign and familiar, because we’re all united as autistic while also being unique individuals.
Thank you Darlene, for being real real, I love you. I’m glad I did this. I was able to drop my mask. I think when you read this, you’ll think it sounds like me.
It’s 4:06am and my fingertips are burning. I have to sleep now. I accept that this is not the great essay I dreamed of writing, but I feel good because I was true to myself.
A few hours of sleep later, I asked Darlene what she thought:
“I re-read your essay just now. I think it’s great. It’s personal, and engaging. I don’t think it’s the right essay to launch with but at the same time you acknowledge that. And I think the main theme here is accommodation. You are allowing yourself accommodations. You’re allowing yourself to publish what you can, rather than focusing on what you can’t. Which is what Dove Orchids is all about.”
As always, she’s right.
In the end, this is exactly what Dove Orchids is about; cultivating environments where autistic people feel safe. Safe to ask for accommodations. Safe to do what they can, rather than what they can’t. Because what we can do, and who we are, both personally and professionally, is amazing, and benefits everyone, even if it’s not the greatest essay ever written.
