An Autistic Misfit’s Guide to Failing School: An AuDHD Origin Story
Hi, my name is Shawn, I’m a 47-year-old late-diagnosed Autistic. I was diagnosed in January of 2024, so I’m still a freshy. The diagnosis joined my lifelong diagnosis of ADHD, making me what some refer to colloquially as AuDHD. I had a lot of trouble first identifying with Autism as I could never find a story that was quite like mine.
I am not an expert in Autism or ADHD, nor am I a master documenter. However, as an Autistic, I communicate through sharing stories. So, I’m sharing mine here to help someone else find the validation they need. Also, maybe I can make you smile.
Not Exactly Typical
Things went wrong when I was young; so many things. Yet I came from a loving home and was generally a happy(ish) kid, though maybe not the happiest teenager. My parents did the best they could, if not all they could.
Back then, a kid like me wouldn’t have been diagnosed as Autistic/Asperger based on the DSM III guidelines; it was still so uncommon that one would likely have to have shown signs of what we now consider “Level 3 support needs” to even be tested, let alone diagnosed. ADHD was starting to be more widely diagnosed, but it was still very uncommon and carried a lot of stigma.
Without a diagnosis, for all intents and purposes, I was simply a clever and outwardly shy kid who consistently fell well short of my potential and who was generally a pain in my parents’ asses.
Some common themes from my childhood are now clear signs that I was not exactly typical. Are the following all signs of Autism or ADHD? I don’t know, but I know I’m Autistic, so I want to share some stories of what my life was like, and who knows, maybe you’ll identify with some of these.
- School, you name it, I struggled with it.
- Trouble with making and keeping friends.
- Rules, the ones I didn’t make.
- Toys and TV, happy to go to my room.
- Sensory: I will not eat a raw tomato but pass the ketchup.
I will get to all the things in due time; however, in this story, as the title suggests, I’m going to stick with the shit show that was my school career.
Before I get into that, though, please permit me to start with a not-so-humble brag. I love to learn and can do so at a considerable pace. I’ve also taken an IQ test and well, I passed. I tell you this only to eliminate my ability, or lack thereof, as a reason for my troubles in school.
Just Try Harder, Duh
I’ve read that many Autistic people can really excel in school, particularly in the earlier years before things get too overwhelming. That was not me; I did not excel. I struggled in every aspect of school. I didn’t usually have any issue learning what we were being taught, but I had trouble with everything else.
Teachers seemed like they had a stamp made for my report cards and just passed it along from year to year; the two most common comments:
“Shawn is a bright kid; if only he tried harder and applied himself.”
“Shawn could pay more attention in class; I have to call his name multiple times to get his attention.”
The most common struggle throughout school was managing, organizing, scheduling, and completing homework, or, to put it plainly, I just didn’t do it. That was for several reasons, from not seeing the point to not being able to physically make myself (Executive Dysfunction®). That and my ability to learn and take tests well confounded my teachers and parents.
There were numerous classes in which I got all As on the tests and yet walked away with Cs and Ds. Strangely, no one asked why the system works that way; I guess it was just easier to label me an underachiever or lazy and move on.
The idea that I just needed to try harder, or rather, that I wasn’t trying hard enough, was a central theme throughout school, but it surfaced in various ways at various times. Let’s start at the beginning with elementary school.
Shades Of Trouble To Come — Elementary School
I don’t have many memories from elementary school. I think I actually have more memories from before I started school than grades K-3 combined. Most of my memories from that time were of learning to read and my second-grade teacher.
Learning to read took a little longer than I would have liked—it wasn’t until the start of first grade. That was incredibly frustrating. Luckily, though, by the beginning of second grade, I tested at a fifth-grade level, and that disparity continued throughout school. I struggled with handwriting; I could write just fine, but my spelling and legibility were awful.
On the other hand, I loved and excelled in math, particularly arithmetic. I loved the timed tests we took, where we got through a set of simple math problems as fast as possible and then wrote our times on the poster. We did these grades 3–5, and I always got second to a girl named Catherine. While frustrating at the time, she later went on to score perfectly on the SAT and ACT, so whatever, smarty pants.
This is all to say I could have done well in school. The building blocks were there, or at least they seemed to be. However, the school system had a different plan for me. Rather than working with the way I learned, the school system insisted I conform and gave me horrible grades when I didn’t.
It wasn’t so much a case of trying to fit a square peg in a round hole as it was trying to fit a “camel through the eye of a needle,” to quote the bible (my religious upbringing is a story for another day).
The Demon In Teacher’s Clothing
I didn’t just struggle academically; I had numerous other issues, including teachers. The worst of which was my second-grade teacher. Mrs Armstrong was her name, and she was terrifying. She had an intimidating appearance and a loud voice, with no qualms with using either; in fact, she often used both to magnificent effect.
Mrs Armstrong ruled her class like the brutal dictator of a corrupt banana republic: with an iron fist and without mercy. She often yelled at us, scolded us, and belittled us.
One day, I was doing my thing in my own world, oblivious to the happenings around me (Day Dreaming®). She had apparently called my name several times before coming to my desk. I was looking out the window when she abruptly got my attention.
I looked up at her in abject terror. Meeting her piercing gaze felt like I had been grabbed by the gravity of a black hole (Eye Contact®), and despite the intense discomfort, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look away.
Maybe I was imagining it, but I’m pretty sure her eyes were glowing red, and smoke was coming from her ears. She commanded me to “Grab your pencil and paper and lay down under your desk, right.NOW.” Demons don’t need to repeat themselves, so I did as I was told. “Now write ‘I will answer when Mrs Armstrong calls my name’ 100 times.”
I began frantically writing the passage over and over. The other students would have laughed at me in a typical class, but they were all silent. Demon sightings must have that effect on kids.
Mrs Armstrong returned to teaching her lesson as if there wasn’t a child under a desk. I can only imagine what that scene would have looked like if only the Principal had walked by and checked on the class. Speaking of the Principal, Mrs. Armstrong once dragged me to their office literally by my ear.
I crossed Mrs Armstrong’s fury on many occasions despite my best efforts. The most common transgressions were not paying attention and forgetting tasks/homework (Executive Dysfunction®).
The impact she had on me was likely profound, and I’d like to have some fantastic insight into what that impact was, but I don’t know. Perhaps she laid some of the first bricks that would become a wall between my senses/emotions and my conscious mind (already working on this story!).
It Didn’t All Suck
Elementary School had some good moments, too. In fourth grade, I was able to join the strings ensemble, and I played the viola. The viola was an odd choice; most kids wanted the violin or the cello, but I was not most kids.
I chose the viola because I didn’t want to compete with the other kids. I was afraid of not being good enough, of making mistakes in front of everyone, of being afraid, afraid, afraid. Turns out that was all for nothing. I was actually pretty good at playing the Viola and other instruments later on.
In fifth grade, the city held an event where all the elementary school kids could come and play their stringed instrument of choice. There were twelve songs, each one more difficult. We had to practice and memorize as many as we could. We would play each one-on-one with the teacher, and they would sign off. There were twelve songs; I was signed off on eleven.
Once at the concert, all the kids played song one, then those who hadn’t done song two sat down, and the rest played. I was one of eight kids out of a couple hundred still standing at song eleven, and only two managed the twelfth song. It was a banner day, and I felt so proud.
The Gathering Storm
Generally, aside from Mrs. Armstrong, elementary school went by with few troubles overall, at least a few of which I was aware of. I was smart enough to mostly overcome my shortcomings (Spiky Profile®).
Middle school is where things got darker. Homework and projects increased in size and frequency, social interactions got more challenging, people tried to bully me, and my already low self-esteem tanked.
I regularly came home from school exhausted (Overwhelm®). I’d put on my favorite cartoons and watch them until my mom came home a couple of hours later.
At the time, I didn’t know why I couldn’t do my homework, but the more tired, the worse it was (Executive Dysfunction®). It’s not like I just happily blew it off, I always felt guilty and ashamed for not doing it.
Sadly, many of my teachers had no mercy.
Can’t Get Started
It’s hard to explain the feeling. Sometimes, it feels like a choice; other times, it doesn’t. Either way, I simply cannot get started on a task.
Imagine the feeling you would get when about to bungee jump off a bridge. Every fiber in your body screams not to jump, and your brain finds 1000 excuses not to do it. When you finally do jump, you can’t stop. You must go until the jump ends; there is no turning back. That is what it can feel like for me to start a task and to try and stop one once it’s begun, particularly if that task is my Special Interest (Inertia®).
Happy Crucification
One of the more merciless teachers, who really stands out in my mind was Mr Sapietza. We unaffectionately nick-named him Mr Spaz-ietza because he would regularly lose his temper and scream at the misfits like me.
The worst part of his class for me was the poster he kept on the wall. It showed everyone’s homework completion for the semester. When homework was due, he would stand at that poster and call us up one by one to hand him our assignment.
Every time an assignment was due, I waited in dread for Mr Sapienza to go to the poster.
When he got to ‘S,’ he would glare at me knowingly and say something like
“Shawn, have you actually done your homework assignment today? Obviously not. Why don’t you tell the class why you, yet again, did not complete your assignment?”
I never had a good reason, so I sat silently, petrified, starting at my desk; the other kids often snickered. It was a brutal time for me. Middle school is hard enough as it is, but living through this nonsense every day increased the pain exponentially.
On the upside, the constant belittling prepared me for what was likely a terrifying moment for the other kids.
Towards the end of the year, most of the class did really poorly on a test; Mr Sapienza was livid; he screamed loud enough the whole school probably heard him: “They are going to CRUCIFY you when you get to High School!!!!”. Who says something like that to a bunch of kids?! Anyway, it was satisfying to see the other kids squirm for a change.
I See Your Bully-shit and Raise You Autistic Rage
Middle school is also where I met my first would-be bullies. Luckily for me and unfortunately for them, I have a temper, a hot one (Emotional Dysregulation®).
One day, a kid cornered me in the boy’s locker room. I tried to escape, knowing he was trouble, but I failed. He hit me in the face, which then bounced my head off the tile wall, and I crumbled. He didn’t even take anything; he just walked away laughing. No doubt convinced he’d found another victim.
I could think of nothing else all morning; I replayed the incident over and over and was totally overwhelmed by it. I replayed all the ways I could have escaped, the things I could have said, what the bully would have said in return, and how things would then play out in the various scenarios. I thought of what I would do the next time I saw him and the multiple ways that could play out (Rumination®). But really, I didn’t know what I was going to do; I was scared, angry, embarrassed, and anxious.
Later that day, we were outside for lunch break; he was with a couple of friends, his back facing me. He was standing there laughing with his friends like he hadn’t just assaulted me that morning, or perhaps because he had.
The bruise on the back of my head throbbed as if on cue. That was it; it was all too much, I snapped, and the Monster emerged. I ran full speed at him, tackled him hard, and swung at him repeatedly in a blind rage (Meltdown®).
While I did end up “losing” the fight with his friends around to help, no further bullying attempts were made; they seemed to have made the decision, “Shawn is nuts; best leave him alone.”
This scenario played out a few more times in middle and high school. My temper has caused me so many issues, from fights with friends and family to snapping at strangers, but at least there is this one silver lining.
Sadly, most Autistic kids are not this lucky. Autistics stand out as atypical and, as a result, are often bullied heavily. This can have a huge impact on any kid, but bullying an Autistic kid who is already socially awkward can set them up for a life of insurmountable social difficulties.
Blind Dumb Luck
In my previous article, I introduced the concept of how luck helped me find my career and avoid adversity. This situation is another example. The whole thing could have gone very differently. I was a small kid with few friends. The bully and his friends could have really hurt me after I attacked them, and they could have stepped up the bullying, but luckily, they didn’t.
House Of Horrors
If Middle School was dark, High School was a pitch-black house of horrors. It turns out Mr. Sapienza was right. I struggled so much with school that by my Junior year of High School, I was missing over half my classes and had a measly 1.6 GPA.
Much of what I struggled with in school was unclear to me as I was going through it, but looking back, it’s clear how many things made it difficult.
- The lighting/noise in classes (Sensory Sensitivities®).
Can you think of anything worse in class than the fluorescent bulb that is just starting to go out? The subtle blinking, the buzzing, and the “tink-tink-tink” sound, UGH. - Note-taking/terrible handwriting (Dysgraphia? / Proprioception®).
I changed my handwriting to all capitals in High School just so I could read my writing. I also greatly struggled with taking notes and paying attention at the same time, I could do one or the other, not both. - Inability to organize, track, and complete tasks big and small (Executive Dysfunction®).
If I had to pick one thing that has been the worst in my life, it would be this, right here, a constant bane of my existence.
If the noise is too loud or the lights are too bright, paying attention is a constant struggle, taking meaningful notes is almost impossible, tracking tasks is a Herculean effort, and the only assistance you get is punishment. What are you supposed to do? How are you expected to succeed?
My answer was simple: I stopped going to class.
Truancy Gave Me ADHD
So, if I wasn’t going to class, where was I going? Obviously, I couldn’t go home, and missing several hours a day is quite a bit of time to fill.
Well, I was at the mall across the street from my High School. However, I did not go hang out in the mall proper; in fact, the employees there wouldn’t let me. Instead, there was a food court where I worked. The boss let me hang out in the back of the Arby’s anytime I wanted, which I wanted to do a lot.
In other words, I hated school so much that I hung out at work rather than go to school (School Avoidance®).
I skipped class so frequently that it was enough to eventually find myself in Truancy Court, a real treat. I was found guilty, which went on my parent’s record. They were in attendance. I was ordered to do several things, one of which was to see a therapist, the first time this was ever suggested.
I saw the therapist once; he talked to me for 20 minutes and, after a few questions, diagnosed me with ADHD. It was still not a common diagnosis in the early 90s, so despite the apparent lack of thoroughness, I can only assume it was written all over me.
As a “dumb” kid who was struggling at everything, I didn’t really know what to think of it. All I really knew was that another adult was trying to tell me what to do, and now they were giving me meds in an attempt to beat the non-conformity out of me.
The Door Left Locked
The drug I was prescribed was Ritalin. I took it for a week and hated it and hated the adults for forcing it on me, so I stopped. My parents didn’t follow up on it, in fact, we never spoke of it again.
Tragically, my parents were given a key that could have saved me…well, perhaps that’s wishful thinking…but it could have at least made things a little less miserable. Did they use that key? No, they didn’t follow up, didn’t research, didn’t make sure I was taking the Ritalin, and they couldn’t tell you a damn thing about ADHD to save their son’s life.
I don’t know if it was because they didn’t believe it or simply couldn’t be bothered. Or perhaps they couldn’t handle me anymore. To be fair, at that point, they had little say over anything me related. I had my own set of rules and beliefs, and no one was going to tell me any different, especially my parents (Rigid Thinking®), but……it sure would have been nice if they had tried.
Later, in my 20s, I discovered just how much of a tragedy that was. I sought out another therapist, and this time, after a complete workup, I was again diagnosed with ADHD and was prescribed Adderall. I took it for a year, and it changed my life.
I was able to focus, I could start and finish assignments. I scheduled and completed everything on time. Craziest of all, I could just decide it was time to do a task and just do it. As a result, I actually made the Dean’s list for a semester in College, my first and only time.
Sadly, I wasn’t able to continue taking it because I developed anxiety that led to panic attacks. Looking back, I think this was likely an uncovering of Autism. Often, you remove the ADHD, and the Autism becomes more visible. In fact, many folks with ADHD are diagnosed with Autism after treating the ADHD!
In Spite Of It All, I Learned
I finally closed out my High School career when I was 21. Five years after my last year in school. I took the HSED and not only passed but scored in the 99th percentile.
That came with a sense of validation. By the end of my sophomore year, I had basically learned everything I needed to. But it also came with a potent mix of grief and anger over all that had transpired.
I had learned everything I needed to, yet by all formal measures, I was a high school dropout, a loser, a failure, destined to be nothing. However, due to Blind Dumb Luck®, my life since that point has been a big middle finger to my school’s failings. You can read about that here.
It’s Not Me, It’s You.
I’ve always had a lens I’ve looked through when thinking of my struggles as a youngster in school; I see them as the things I did wrong, couldn’t figure out, and wasn’t capable of. But what if none of that is true? Sure, I was a kid who did boneheaded things that kids do, but what about all the things that I really struggled with that other kids didn’t, like taking notes? How much of it was due to being wired differently? Did I fail at school, or did school fail at me? Was I a lazy, worthless kid who skipped school all the time, or was I a sensory assaulted, executive dysfunctional kid who just tried to make it through the days?
It’s tough to pull it all apart.
What I do know is that if I were able to talk to all the adults back then, what if I could tell them how to do things differently with me? What would I tell them? Should we…go to a list?
Teachers
- I have trouble keeping up with note-taking. I can’t summarize fast enough, remember what I’m writing while listening, write fast enough, or read my handwriting when I do. I need help taking notes.
- Doing homework is incredibly difficult for me. The school day is overwhelming enough, so the more homework there is, the more deadlines there are, and the more overwhelmed I become. I don’t learn well this way, either. What doesn’t overwhelm me is working on things I’m interested in. I need to focus more on my interests, and everything I learn should be rooted in them in some way.
- Publicly collecting homework or, worse, calling out or shaming me for not doing my homework does not increase my motivation to do it; in fact, quite the opposite.
- Lectures are challenging to stay focused on. An outline of the lecture ahead of time would allow me to follow along while still letting my mind wander, or if it does, still know what we learned.
- Dreaded “find a partner” moments are a blow to my self-esteem every time. I’m sure I’m not the only one who struggles to have friends. Instead, assign partners. Sure, some of the kids may gripe because they get stuck with a misfit, but at least it doesn’t crash their self-esteem.
Parents
- Threatening me with punishment, not allowing me to do anything else until a task is done, willful ignorance until things are out of control, or any other reactionary “with a stick” type approach do not work for me. I think this is rooted in my extreme need for autonomy, so find ways to empower me to do my tasks.
- Take a more regular interest in my school work. I am unable to plan and execute myself. Making it through my homework on my own is almost impossible.
- Help me establish healthy routines that make me feel refreshed and able to initiate and accomplish my tasks more consistently.
- Stand up for me in school. I’m continually struggling. You know I’m smart, but something isn’t working. Maybe instead of assuming it’s my fault, I should push back on the teachers.
- When you are handed a key to the puzzle, don’t throw it away. Do anything and everything you can to help me get through school successfully. When a doctor or therapist diagnoses me with something, be curious, learn about it, and help me manage it. I shouldn’t be expected to handle this on my own, I’m just a kid!
Everyone Else
- Autism and ADHD are both considered disabilities and are protected by law. My disabilities make it very difficult for me to complete tasks like homework. However, instead of receiving accommodation, I was ridiculed, belittled, neglected, and punished. Perhaps instead of making me conform, you can be the adult and conform to me.
- The way I’ve been treated on so many occasions is not any different than insisting someone with one leg play soccer and then ridiculing them for struggling to kick the ball. Does treating someone like this make you a bad person? Yes, it absolutely does. Be better, do better.
- Don’t blame the kid. Schools, Teachers, and Parents are there to teach and support; it is your responsibility to do so for all kids regardless of disability or learning status.
Holy Hell, That Was A Lot
If you made it this far, you must be a glutton for punishment, but I appreciate you taking the time to read my silly stories.
I hope these stories gave you a good feel for what it was like for me going through school as an undiagnosed AuDHDer. I struggled a lot, mostly unnecessarily. I was treated as a lazy, under-achieving kid not worth helping by most of the adults in my life.
It’s taken 47 years and an Autism diagnosis for me to finally be able to say this with authority:
My failure in school was not my fault, I was not lazy, I was forced to conform to a way of learning in which I had no chance of succeeding.
I am left with a feeling of loss. I will never get that time back, and I’ll never know what could have been. Luckily, I don’t believe in regret if you are happy with your current life. I’m quite happy with mine, but that's in no thanks to the School System that did its best to ruin my chances.
(Registered Trademark®): This is my silly way of calling out potential Autistic traits in my stories. As I’m no expert in Autism, or myself for that matter, I’m highlighting them in this way so that you can more easily dig into those aspects yourself.
