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November 13 - November 14, 2023
No matter how I appear on the outside, I will always be autistic on the inside. However, that’s a relatively new way to think about autism. Historically, in the DSM, autism has been defined by a list of behaviors. On closer examination, most of those are traits that a certain kind of mind exhibits under distress.
When I’m writing, I often ramble a bit before stumbling on the main idea. I might delete the first half of a draft, move the last sentence to the beginning, and make other adjustments before finally sharing it. Now, imagine what that sounds like when I try to do it verbally, in real time.
What stim suppression does to the body, communication control does to the mind—and “masking” is a word that I’ve heard autistics use for both.
It becomes more of a problem when the effort is one-sided. Communicating across neurotypes is like communicating across cultures—one side shouldn’t have to constantly adapt everything about how they communicate just to be understood.
wasn’t until my thirties that I learned some people correct factual errors as a power move. That explains why teachers rarely appreciated it when I pointed out their mistakes—they saw it as an attempt to usurp their authority. I also got similar reactions from classmates, colleagues, and others whose authority was equal to mine, because they assumed I was flexing on them. Nothing could be further from the truth. For me, showing someone where they’re wrong feels like keeping them safe from the consequences of their mistake. It’s a collaborative pursuit of truth, not a power move.
Which is why I always welcomed and encouraged my students to point out mistakes and celebrated with them when they were able to correct me (nicely).
When autistic people ignore the power games that others play, we sometimes unintentionally threaten their power structures. This explains why bullies of all ages tend to pick on autistic people of all ages. It isn’t just that they perceive us as weird enough to make an easy target, but also that we don’t pay them the deference they expect.
Making suggestions can imply that a person was doing something wrong. Requesting something can imply that a person neglected to provide that thing already. Offering to help can imply that I don’t trust a person’s ability. Sometimes, those implications are true. More often, though, it never crosses my mind that someone might read into it that way, until I get a snide reaction.
A big reaction to a big feeling isn’t an overreaction—it’s an accurate reaction.
I’ve heard that you can’t control what happens to you, but you can control how you react. That isn’t always true for me. Often, I have more control over what happens to me than how I react to it.
I have less control when I’m reactive, and more control when I’m proactive.
If I look and listen but don’t plan , then I’ll hear what you’re saying, but won’t have a response ready when you stop talking. • If I listen and plan but don’t look , then I can carry on a conversation, but may appear distracted. • If I plan and look but don’t listen , then I feel like I'm being rude. I prefer to pause either my planning or my looking to make sure that I can listen.
In my own space, you may see me adjusting a chair’s position, or pushing a book’s spine until it’s flush with the others. This clears cobwebs of connection, reducing my visual clutter. In someone else’s home, I can easily resist, because such adjustments aren’t compulsive, only calming.
Seeing things out of place is like constant background noise of “things that need to be done”. I can better relax and concentrate on other things when the visual or physical “mess” is minimized. Which isn’t to say, knickknacks or bookcases cause me to stress, but rather when there’s something obviously out of place that needs to be taken care of.
To honestly describe how I’m doing, I have to list each fact that’s hovering in my thoughts, and then say how that fact makes me feel. Essentially, I’m pretending that the question isn’t, “How are you?” but rather, “What’s taking up space in your brain?” A few friends have even started phrasing the question that way, which helps me to know when they want a thorough answer.
I’m terrified of improvisation, so I often spend more time preparing for things than actually doing them.
Personally, my biggest energy drains are sensory overload, socializing, decisions, and ambiguity.
“Autism awareness” campaigns usually focus on spreading reminders that autism exists, but I wish there was more focus on how autistic people think, act, and feel.
My parents did a lot of things right.
They remember how obedient I was most of the time, and how helpless they felt when occasionally I wasn’t. If I couldn’t behave, and I couldn’t explain why, they didn’t know what to do. Now, they wish they had helped me get away to a quiet place, given me time to gather my thoughts, listened to how I felt, and calmly discussed the problem.
It took until my mid-twenties to learn that likability is a question of compatibility, not a question of identity.
