Autism is not my Superpower
There are a handful of common phrases that people on the autism spectrum are used to. Stop me if you’ve heard this one, “oh, you don’t seem autistic”, or “you must be really smart”. Ring any bells? Of course they do, those are two examples of the stock responses from our neurotypical peers.
There’s nothing outwardly hostile or antagonistic about what’s being said. The truth is that a lot of people, no matter how much they try, have no idea what autism is or the breadth of its spectrum. The fanciful A-word often conjures up images of brilliant savants. The autistic character profile is informed by such towering pop culture pieces as Rain Man and I Am Sam, it seems. We’re either secret geniuses or in need of constant 24/7 care to function.
Everyone has a different relationship with autism. On a personal level, I’m possessive of mine and take fierce ownership over its hindrances. I am quick to inform people I’m an autistic man and that any time I’m being “weird”, they just need to let me know so I can adjust appropriately. It’s not a burden in those moments, just a clear identifier.
Despite this ownership, there are still times where I long for an average brain. This is where I contend a popular catchphrase that many of us like to quip. I’m sure you’re familiar with autism being described as a superpower. It’s something you see on t-shirts, pencil cases, social media banners and anything else you can fit on Redbubble.
The intent is admirable and something I can support. I know I’m not just speaking for myself when I say that we’ve all been made to feel ashamed of how we’re wired. It can be an outward exclamation or a microaggression, but it’s still a reality. Even something as flippant as “just try being normal” can knock our confidence down to rock bottom. Years of coping mechanisms and social practice is thrown out of the window.
I suppose in this sense, autism is our superpower, and much like the great superheroes of our time, we have our weaknesses. Lex Luthor needs Kryptonite to harm Superman, all it takes for us is the reminder that we don’t quite fit in like everyone else.
Being autistic has afforded me skills that my peers have expressed envy over, I will not deny that. I have an exceptional long-term memory, soak up information like a sponge, and have an innate ability to throw myself into a new hobby so fiercely, that I can become adept in a short time.
Does this make me a stereotype? Am I falling into the category of every autistic person being smart? Possibly, but I don’t consider myself a genius. I’ve always had a knack for knowledge, but there are some things that I cannot be taught. This is not an exaggeration, I have read countless articles to try and crack codes that don’t compute with my brain.
Reading social cues is impossible for me. If you’re not spelling things out, I will continue in ignorant bliss to what’s going on around me. My anxiety is so severe, I often have to spend 15 minutes to build up the courage to enter a room if I know people are inside it. On more than one occasion, I’ve sat down in an unfamiliar setting for two hours straight, only to get up and leave. Nothing accomplished, no new people met and no tasks dealt with. These are the problems I face every day.
Call me naive, but this isn’t sounding like a superpower anymore. It sounds more like a monkey paw. A sorcerer rolled through town and offered me a rich knowledge of Oscar-winning films, the only catch was I could never make eye contact with people or open my email inbox out of pure fear.
I have long since come to terms with who I am and how I will always be limited as an autistic person. You learn to take the good with the bad, put your head down and get through it. I know plenty of people on the spectrum who don’t see themselves as burdened and I wish them well. When it comes to me and my brain, I don’t have the luxury.
I am no superpowered mega genius, I can’t even count cards. What a crap aspie I turned out to be. Just do me a favour and try not to think about autistics as superheroes, because a lot of us are struggling. Minor issues in life can be amplified for no reason other than our brains being a tad different. There is a profound discomfort that never leaves me, and I can’t even begin to break it down in a way that makes sense.
Autistic people are just that, people. We have to worry about all the same things as everyone else, with a dollop of confusing social impairments and a heap of weird anxiety mixed in. So for the love of God, try to treat us like humans and not robots, at worst we’ll make awkward jokes that don’t land.
