Autism in Heels: The Untold Story of a Female Life on the Spectrum

by Jennifer O'Toole

When I’m asked, “How does all of this feel?” I know I have to have an answer that is at once both sincere and prepared. No gratitude clumsily balanced by some shy list of accomplishments. I’m a person for whom social nuance is absent. That’s key. That’s autism. Yet publicly and privately, I’m still expected to navigate the minefields deftly—called out when I don’t. It’s ironic, really. A bit like chiding a blind person who trips over your foot … while she’s competing in the Special Olympics … where you are part of the cheering crowd. Not quite fair.

“Autistic” is a neurological, not pathological, profile—a constellation of highly attuned cognitive and sensory skills that happens to come packaged along with some equally exquisitely particular challenges.

Upon review, results indicated that synesthesia is nearly three times as common in adults with autism spectrum disorder than in the general population—and, according to the American Psychological Association, it is between three and six times more common in women.

“You’re autistic? Well, you must be very high-functioning.” Sigh. I understand what they’re trying to say. Really, I do. They mean to be kind. The implication is “I don’t see many—if any—of the clearly debilitating characteristics I associate with autism when I talk to you. So, good on you. You’re not bad off!” Only that’s not a compliment at all. It’s a comparison based on the premise that “autistic” is an insult. A stigma. Or at least a bad thing. Because the only reason someone thinks of me as “high-functioning” is by holding me up to someone who is no more or less autistic—just more obviously challenged—and deciding that they are “lower-functioning.” Really, it’s no different than saying, “Oh! Well, good for you. You’re not too ugly. That gal over there? She’s royally ugly.” Lack of understanding tied up with a bow of condescension.

“It’s wondering … always wondering and never understanding: how can I be so smart and still feel so stupid?”

autism is a condition of neurological distinctions that are based in the brain. We don’t actually have different brains. We have differently wired, equally human brains. Human functions—like feeling—aren’t missing, for crying out loud. They’re just different in brains that are neurologically different, regardless of which way the comparison is made.

Not only did tests show equal levels of emotional empathy between groups; in a second, more specific measurement, autistic individuals scored higher than their neurotypical counterparts. “Although this finding is at variance with … [twenty-year-old] reports of deficits in empathy in individuals with AS,” wrote Dr. Kimberley Rogers, “it is in keeping with anecdotal reports from parents and clinicians that suggest that autistic individuals can be very caring … our data would suggest that when individuals with AS are given the information that allows them to understand the point of view of others, they have as much concern and compassion as unaffected individuals.”

The adults sure liked me for it! Why, then, didn’t the kids? It never occurred to me—not for a moment—that in trying to sound confident, I sounded horribly arrogant. In trying to be helpful, I sounded parental. In trying to make friends, I made a fool of myself. Over and over again. To be truthful, a lifetime of comments between then and now in which people I loved harshly criticized my social skills (with good intentions) has often brought that sense of rejection to bear.