From Misfit To Almost Diagnosed — An Autism Journey
When you hear the word “autism”, what’s the first thing that comes to your mind?
Do you see a boy, non-verbal, with delayed mental development?
Do you see an awkward teenager, who doesn’t understand or meet social cues? A person who doesn’t really say much until they can start talking about something specific — and then they’ll start telling you *all* the facts in an obsessive, unstoppable manner?
Or maybe you picture someone who is incredibly bright at one thing, a sort of Einstein, who’s also incredibly weird in so many ways.
This is what many people think autism is. And they’re not entirely wrong.
But what if I told you autism can look very different?
It can be that shy, introverted girl, who sits in the corner at a party. That person you deem as timid because they never make eye contact.
That person who it seems doesn’t know what they want. Who’s constantly “going with the flow” and letting others choose for them.
That person who just refuses to eat certain foods and has the most “childish” reactions when faced with them.
The one who’s bothered by the noise at the office, when you can barely hear it because truly, everyone is so respectful and quiet.
All these people *could* be autistic. Does that shock you? I remember a while ago when I first started reading up on the topic it did shock me. I was used to the strict view of autism — a disability that affects mostly boys.
Being the nerd I am, I quickly read enough articles to learn I was wrong. For a moment, I even thought I might be autistic…I identified with so many of those traits. But I quickly dismissed the thought.
I was in my mid-20s. I was starting to feel tired of all those times when I just couldn’t fit in. YouTube videos and self-help stuff were starting to grow so of course I jumped the wagon and started watching self-help videos.
Be yourself. Just be unapologetically you. Great, I should try more of this, less people-pleasing. Except…I realized I had no idea what that meant. Or how to do that.
Years later, I’d find out that not understanding the concept of being yourself is extremely common in…you guessed it, autism.
At the time, however, I just kept trying. I thought there must be something wrong with me. I’m attracting the wrong people, I’m not attracting people who are like me, that’s why I must find it hard to be me, to be liked, and to…well, truly like them.
So, I changed friends, and jobs, and places, and cities, and my problem stayed the same.
It wasn’t until 2020 that I finally decided to try therapy. The pandemic had royally messed up my plans — this, at least, was something I felt I had in common with many, many people.
But in doing so, it had also thrown me into the land of depression and anxiety. So on to therapy I went.
Was it all I’d hoped for? Not really. I didn’t quite click with my therapist. Not at first anyway. I felt incredibly frustrated with her.
The advice she was giving me made just as much sense as those self-help videos I’d watched almost 10 years ago. In other words: it made no sense. It felt like I couldn’t apply any of it to my life.
I wanted to quit but I decided to share my frustration with her. She listened and after a bit of silence asked me the question that would finally make my life make sense: “has anyone considered autism as a diagnosis for you until now?”
I’d like to say I was shocked. But I wasn’t. It was like an a-ha moment. No, nobody’s ever considered it. Because where I grew up autism was the equivalent of being mentally retarded.
She gave me some tests (unofficial, the formal diagnosis requires a bit more) and I scored high enough on all of them.
Even though I don’t have a formal diagnosis, and I probably will not be pursuing one, knowing feels extremely good.
It didn’t make the weirdness go away. My first instinct is still to mask, and I’m still not quite certain what “being myself” means. I still hate making eye contact, I’m bothered by noises that don’t give others much trouble, and…well, I have many other perks.
But they all make sense. I’m not just…weird, misplaced. There’s a reason for all this. And I finally know where my efforts need to go so that I can make my life easier.
My informal diagnosis wasn’t the solution to my problems. And at the same time, it was the solution to everything. It brought a sort of peace, a sense of belonging, purpose, and hope.
