"Are you living a lonely life in your own small world?" she whispered, "Are you living a powerless life in someone else's world?" - FG

"Are you living a lonely life in your own little world?"
She whispered, "Are you living a powerless life in someone else's world?"
- FG

Part 1

I'm sitting on the couch, watching Holly Madison's Instagram Reels. She's a former Playboy bunny, model, and actress. You might recognize her from the movie "The House Bunny." She's talking about her recent autism diagnosis at the age of 43.

In the interview, Holly revealed, "I had suspected it for a while. I always had social issues, didn't recognize social cues, and didn't pick up on things the same way as others. But I just made excuses for it. I wasn't really well-liked in all different situations."

She continues, "Wavelengths as other people. I always struggled to connect with others, so I wanted to be diagnosed."

As Holly continues the interview, revealing more about her internal and social struggles, I turn to my husband Tyler and say, "I do all of these."

He laughs and replies, "You're not autistic."

"Well, maybe," I say.

I text a close friend who works extensively with children (and adults) with disabilities, "You don't have autism, you're just introverted."

Still, I can't stop thinking about this video. There's a visceral gut feeling I get from this short clip. I don't often have these emotional reactions. I tend to live my life based on logic and reason. I think with my brain, not my heart. But there's something here. Her experience holds a truth that resonates with me. Naturally, I'm starting to get obsessed.

I get off the couch and grab my laptop. I research articles about women diagnosed with autism later in life, look for confirmation of symptoms on Reddit threads, watch videos, order books. I take online quizzes. Results: Strong signs of neurodiversity. High likelihood of being on the spectrum.

My worldview starts to blur. Everything suddenly makes sense, but at the same time, it's equally confusing. How did no one catch this? Why didn't my therapist know? After all these years, how did I not think of it myself? The two people who know me best shrugged it off immediately. Was I just good at hiding it? In the end, isn't it just autism? Still unsure, I keep this new information to myself.

I've always blamed myself for not fitting comfortably into the world. I've constantly criticized myself, felt constant anxiety in my mind and body. It seemed like there was an inherent flaw in me, as others seemed to pick up on it so easily.

I discovered that people with autism are adept at seeking out interaction patterns, analyzing them, mimicking them, and faking them. This would explain why social interactions often leave me feeling exhausted and drained. I felt overstimulated, adrift, further isolated, rejected. People often misunderstand my communication style - too blunt, too aggressive, too direct, too cold, or lacking in empathy. My embarrassment was seen as aloofness, and my constant overwhelming anxiety was seen as anger.

Autism is highly genetic and hereditary, with differences in brain structure and function appearing early in development. Research shows that autism actually runs in families. I have a cousin with autism. He's classified as Level 3, with very high support needs. Common behavioral challenges at Level 3 include self-injurious behavior, aggression, elopement or wandering, and extreme sensory processing issues. He cannot live independently and requires 24-hour care. I've seen how emotionally, physically, and financially challenging this is for their family.

Indeed, this was my only view of what autism is. And often, this is why women are misdiagnosed or not diagnosed at all. People associate disabilities with young boys and behavioral or developmental issues. Women and young girls are adept at hiding their disabilities and are left to navigate themselves in a world not designed for them, slipping through the cracks.

I keep telling myself that this probably isn't me. If I were autistic, surely someone, anyone, would have noticed, right? It's hard to believe this applies to me when I didn't exhibit severe symptoms, isn't it?

However, for the first time in my life, I have an answer to explain why I'm different, an actual scientific diagnosis. Why did I think it was just the way I am? Why did I struggle so much, sacrifice so much of my mental health, hide my stress for the benefit of others?

I mention my discovery to Tyler again. I choke up, emotions catching me off guard. I ask him to talk to me about this further.

"If it brings you clarity and relief about yourself, you should pursue it," he agrees.

I decide to schedule an evaluation.

"And I don't look like what I am,
I laugh and act like a clown,
But under this mask, I frown."
- The Beatles

Part 2

The autism evaluation process is lengthy and arduous. It's also expensive. I was looking at a bill of around $2,400 (the cheapest quote I received at the time, but it ranged up to $4K).

Getting an official diagnosis is a double-edged sword. Firstly, I could have completed the process just for them to push me away and tell me it's all in my head. I've had this experience with doctors in the past. One doctor labeled me as "depressed," gave me antidepressants, and sent me on my way. I argued that I wasn't actually depressed. However, this medication helps with my severe PMS symptoms (fun fact, PMDD disproportionately affects people with autism/ADHD).

The second doctor I saw completely dismissed me. "You seem perfectly fine to me." At the time, I didn't know what I was dealing with, so I thought my issues were related to anxiety. I needed help but didn't know what to ask for, so I never received it. My feelings and experiences were so invalidated by these doctors that I didn't care to go back. This is a common occurrence for autistic women. Close to 80% of us are misdiagnosed and often have conditions like borderline personality disorder, eating disorders, bipolar disorder, or even narcissistic personality disorder.

When women reveal they have autism, the response is often "But you don't look autistic," or even a straight denial, "No."

I intend for this to be a compめ言葉 - it's not. It's like telling someone, "You don't look gay." You don't fit my preconceived or stereotypical views of how a gay person should be, so you probably can't be gay. It's a bitter compめ言葉 to swallow. I can pretend to be normal for short periods, so it's like saying I can't be counted as autistic.

My life may seem well put together, so people often fail to recognize the challenges and inner turmoil I face. Even trained medical professionals, looking from the outside in, have dismissed my struggles.

From a young age, I was taught that busyness is equivalent to worth, but tying inherent value solely to productivity and activity is problematic. Society often places higher value on individuals who appear independent and productive, but this mindset is particularly harmful to those quietly struggling with social expectations and pressures.

Individuals with disabilities are often seen as charity cases - is this person disabled enough to deserve sympathy and charity? For some, it's seen as a personal flaw, while for others, their disabilities are seen as more severe, and people need to hold more compassion for them, as they tend to gauge the severity of the disability based on how much it affects them. I've seen how challenging this can be emotionally, physically, and financially for their families.

The early days after my diagnosis were a rollercoaster of clarity, anger, and sadness, but ultimately, I've come to accept it. I feel overwhelmed, anxious, and aware of how this diagnosis will impact my future. I now carry a label forever - one that points to me and says, "She's different." It was a mix of complex emotions as I tried to process what it meant and how it would affect my place in the world.

This also has very real implications. It could affect my health insurance, potential job opportunities, and career advancement. If I ever decide to have children and get divorced, my disability could be used against me in court.

I'm considered Level 1 autism. \nOn the surface, I manage very effectively, maintain a job, take care of the house, and look after pets. However, like every individual on the autism spectrum, I encounter significant challenges, especially related to sensory sensitivity and social interactions.

With the recent trend of considering autism as just a quirky personality type rather than a developmental disorder, there's a potential to impose real disabilities in terms of quality of life. Disabilities like low-support autism, which are difficult to understand and manage for individuals like me, are very challenging, so I'm trying to learn more about myself from the age of 18.

Looking around, I'm struck by how few resources exist for women like me who were diagnosed late in life. When most people imagine autism, they probably think of young boys with hyperactivity issues. As for Asperger's (reclassified as autism due to its association with Nazism), people often think of individuals like Mark Zuckerberg, a savant lacking in social skills. I don't fit into either category. Much of the "support" for autism relies on outdated stereotypes that no longer benefit us.

After my diagnosis, I wondered how people would perceive or treat me differently. Some may not believe me, others may think I want special treatment or attention, or use it as an excuse to infantilize me. We're making progress, but there's still a lot of stigma and discrimination surrounding mental illness and disabilities. I'm included in that. I knew very little about autism itself and had to be harshly critical of my own ableism throughout this process. Ultimately, my hope is that when mental health professionals validate them, others will take my issues more seriously.

And potentially for the first time, I can seek out appropriate support tailored to help me thrive in various aspects of daily life.

"The cold hand of the past emerges from our ancestors' graves, grabs us by the neck, and directs our gaze to a single future. We feel the grip from the moment we're born, so we think it's an inevitable part of us. We rarely try to shake ourselves free."

Part 3

In my early twenties, I was diagnosed with C-PTSD (Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder).

C-PTSD is caused by prolonged exposure to repeated trauma. Unlike PTSD caused by specific traumatic events, complex trauma is difficult to identify the contributing circumstances to the trauma, making processing and healing challenging, and treatment may be difficult. Childhood abuse is the most common cause of complex trauma.

I grew up in a very abusive and tumultuous household. I was emotionally, verbally, and physically abused by my mother throughout my childhood. My upbringing was a battlefield of manipulation, conditional love, and neglect. Constant criticism, unrealistic expectations, and fear of violence deeply eroded my self-esteem and confidence.

Every day was plagued by uncertainty. I tiptoed around to avoid triggering her volatile moods and unpredictable reactions. I would step into the kitchen and throw a spoon at my head for no reason. Or I would be accused of being hungry despite not being given food all day.

During my teens, school and sports served as sanctuaries from the chaos of my home life. My fondest memories revolve around participating in team sports. There, I found solace and friendship. I experienced a sense of belonging, was accepted by teammates, and was entrusted with leadership roles at times. These moments were characterized by newfound acceptance and validation, starkly contrasting the struggles I endured at home.

As a result of my upbringing, I spent most of my early twenties grappling with debilitating anxiety and bouts of depression, escalating to panic attacks. I would regularly have breakdowns, hyperventilating in the bathroom. At this point, therapy was essential. My anxiety had escalated to an extreme level, and if I didn't intervene, I would have ended up in a psychiatric ward.

This is a common experience for many autistic adults. They report feeling "more autistic" as they mature and age. This isn't true. Autistic individuals are born that way, but at some point, the weight of societal expectations, overwhelming demands, and layers of trauma become too much, and we reach our breaking point.

Research is being conducted on the relationship between PTSD and autism. It's common to have a lot of gray areas between the two diagnoses, as both are diagnosed, and there's often a lot of overlap between the two conditions. Neurodivergence is genetic, and trauma can be generational, so there tends to be a hand-in-hand relationship. Due to various factors like low social status, vulnerability to rejection by family, mental illness, and social isolation, our vulnerability to trauma is much higher, making it difficult to separate.

I've experienced a lot of terrible things that no one, especially children, should have to go through. The silver lining is that I'm grateful to still be here. The downside is experiencing the world and processing it in a way that's vastly different from most people. I'm tired and cynical. I don't see the world through rose-colored glasses, but what do I do? My own mother didn't love me - I hardly have faith in finding anyone else who will.

The impact of my childhood will stay with me for a lifetime. Therapy, positive thinking, or the amount of meditation can't replace what should have been a loving mother. There's a void in my heart, a hole in my existence. All my spirits that should have belonged to unconditional love and support from my mother can't be filled.

Overcoming the narcissistic upbringing often requires a journey of significant introspection, therapy, and reclaiming autonomy and self-awareness. I'm truly proud to have embarked on that journey.

I haven't seen my mother in 7 years. Many people probably can't wrap their heads around having to estrange themselves from a parent (hence, why I rarely talk about it). However, others don't have the context of unbearable history that led to that decision. Even if you can't understand it, you can respect it and not add further pain.

The trauma and wounds that poisoned generations of my family end with me.

"I have never really lived before. I always lived in my head, and sometimes it was easy, half dead with a hangover."
- Florence Welch

Part 4

For me, experiencing autism often makes me feel like I naturally understand how others act and behave.

Social situations felt confusing and I felt like I had to struggle or tell fake little stories until others understood what I liked. I was mistaken to be overly harsh or rude, but in reality, I was trying to start a genuine conversation. "Oh, I like your top!" And others would misunderstand it as a mocking laugh.

So, I learned how to blend in. I learned how to melt into the wallpaper, disappear into the sofa. The less noticeable I was, the more easily I was accepted. Despite occasional invitations, I always found myself on the periphery of the social world. I observed from afar. I existed as an afterthought, drifting in and out of relevance. I wasn't actively disliked, but I couldn't inspire true affection either.

The social currency of many women is based on how well they fit in with a group. Unfortunately, autism is known for not wanting to conform or fit in. Due to social expectations and gender roles, I often feel pressured to conform to specific behavioral norms that don't align with my natural tendencies or communication style. Many autistic women struggle with a sense of longing for understanding and acceptance.

Girls are often raised to be affectionate, obedient, emotionally expressive, and socially engaged. We emphasize qualities in women that demonstrate empathy and nurturing. There is an assumed role for us to embody warmth, care, and a comforting presence. However, I don't fit these expectations.

It's a strange juxtaposition between wanting desperately to belong to a group, actually being in one, and realizing the need to maintain a facade to keep membership. It's something I want to be included in, but would rather hate the dynamics once included.

This is when I discovered that I had been masking for most of my life. Masking is a coping mechanism, but also a survival technique. Masking in autism involves hiding and suppressing the signature characteristics of the disability, camouflaging autistic traits to fit social norms and expectations.

I noticed that most people don't expend as much mental energy monitoring speech, posture, gestures, and expressions in social situations as I do. Many social cues and body language clues that come naturally to most individuals were not programmed in me. To appear more "approachable," I have to consciously adjust my tone, body language, and expressions.

You can catch a glimpse of my mind during conversations:

STEP 1. Cue smile
STEP 2. Raise eyebrows to show interest
STEP 3. Make eye contact
STEP 4. What was I talking about again?
STEP 5. Lack of eye contact, you're a freak
STEP 6. It's hot in here, why is it so hot?
STEP 7. Stop fidgeting
STEP 8. Ask how their weekend was, such people
STEP 9. Do they hate me? They seem to hate me
STEP 10. Emphasize points with hand gestures
STEP 11. Laugh at someone's lame attempt at a joke
STEP 12. Why are you wearing those pants? They're so uncomfortable
STEP 13. WTF do I do with my hands now? In my pockets, on my hips?
STEP 14. Look relaxed. OMG, relax!

Masking exhausts us. It's not the kind of exhaustion where you can sleep it off on the weekend. It's the type of fatigue that stems from not being able to be yourself for 32 years.

Neurotypical individuals (comprising 85% of the world's population) often engage in an indirect communication style, relying on subtle cues, implicit meanings, and context to convey messages. This may pose challenges for autistic individuals who may prefer clear and direct communication. Furthermore, as autistic people are a minority, we do not think, perceive, and behave in ways considered "normative" by the general population.

I often feel a tendency to perceive many relationships as confusing and contradictory. When someone says they're fine through gritted teeth, clearly when they're not, I don't know what to say or do. "You're clearly not okay" - people say one thing and mean another. The mismatch between facial expressions and intended meanings throws me off every time. "We should get together soon!" I never hear from you again. Prioritizing conformity and social hierarchy has always felt arbitrary and intentional to me. I never understood why others prioritized surface-level interactions over genuine emotional sincerity.

I often receive "kindness" but receive such stunning remarks.\n"You seem unhappy, you should smile more!"\nDespite my reluctance, I find myself revealing what feels like a forced, joker-like smile. I'm actually content. This is simply my default expression. I often marvel at how women can escape by saying the most passive-aggressive things as long as they maintain a soft tone of voice. It's like we're all playing a game. A game where we never say what we truly mean, and I'm left trying to decode meanings in the dark.

Every time I meet new people, I tell myself, \n"I'll get it right this time." Unfortunately, the effort to maintain a facade exhausts me, and my mask begins to slip. I feel overwhelmed and bewildered by the expectations others have in relationships. I often crave solitude more than some, while others thrive in constant company. Our needs often contradict each other, ultimately leading to one of us pulling away.

"Why are you so quiet? What's your problem? You're weird, aren't you? Are you angry? You're a real mystery. You should open up more. Wow, when I first met you, I thought you were a complete bitch. You're different. What's wrong?"

I've lost count of the number of people who have said these things directly to my face over the years. People often don't understand the extent to which I internalize these comments, and the pain I feel from these words runs deep. For a long time, shame and social judgment shaped me. It turned me into someone who rejected others before they had the chance to reject me. It was easier and less complicated that way. I felt more in control of keeping my life at arm's length.

It's mind-boggling for me when others point out how quiet I am, but if I were to ask them, \n"Why are you so loud?" - I'm the odd one out. This is just one example of the double standards in social interactions filled with subtle rules that I don't understand.

We are not the blank automatons often depicted in the media (think of Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory or Lisbeth Salander from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo). Autism is so widely associated with challenges that we try to compensate by pleasing people and avoiding conflict. I know I can come across as cold as a stone - as if no one can touch or be touched by me. I actually feel things very deeply, but sometimes what's happening inside doesn't match my outward expression.

I consistently feel a sense of being unseen, unforgettable, disposable - a recurring theme in my life. We often meet multiple times, or I've reached out to help them, yet I've had to reintroduce myself to them, despite extending a hand when they needed something from me. I never felt like anyone's first choice, and my true self never felt fully realized. I was summoned as a friend only as a last resort, simply to fill an empty space, and I never truly felt valued or wanted for who I really am. I've experienced deeper emotional investment in relationships than some, and due to the lack of reciprocity, it led to many disappointments and disconnections in relationships over the years, which I believe developed as a defense mechanism.

A few years ago, I caused a misunderstanding with a friend. My mistake was entirely inadvertent. I didn't realize my error until I discovered I had been intentionally excluded from a social event my husband and I were supposed to attend.

It really shook me - I remember sitting in my car, crying about it in the Home Depot parking lot. I felt terrible for causing someone pain, but I was disappointed to be recognized as the type of person who could engage in such behavior in the first place. Our relationship was never the same after that. Subsequently, whenever I met them, their demeanor seemed distant and cold, as if they didn't want any connection with me. They said everything was fine to my face, so it was perplexing, but their actions and body language conveyed otherwise.

These situations are challenging for autism. We tend to fixate on what we did wrong and replay it over and over. Rejection triggers intense sadness, guilt, and anxiety (actually discomfort associated with autism).

I care - I find it difficult to translate how I feel in a way that makes sense to others. I've agreed that closure may never be achieved about what happened. I still feel sadness about it, but I've learned that resorting to quiet treatments or indirect forms of exile when dealing with conflicts is neither effective nor healthy. True love creates space for freedom, expansion, open communication, and forgiveness.

Misunderstanding is essentially a rite of passage for autism. Direct communication can be intimidating for most people, but because I'm autistic, I inevitably misunderstand something due to the challenge of "reading between the lines." It's painful to hear that I did something wrong, but I want to hash it out and offer an apology. After all, I can't read minds, and ambiguity and unpredictability are my brain's enemies.

As I continue to learn more about myself and boundaries, I make mistakes, frustrate people, and unsettle them. Our actions can sometimes be okay with making others unhappy, and it may even mean distancing ourselves from people who aren't worth the effort.

These are moments in my life where I'm different from the people around me. My life is scattered with broken relationships.

There are many things I can convince myself to do to adapt, such as doing a good job without causing trouble, being social without being a burden, and learning more socially acceptable ways to retreat. This is what I did after graduating from university and moving to Toronto. I was working a regular 9-5 job. I would come home from work, have dinner, and then work until almost 10 or 11 pm most nights. It was a distraction from my brain's constant anxiety and misfires.

However, it's not all bad. Generally, autism comes with sharp attention to detail and a knack for logic. We are creative, scientific, musical, analytical, and artistic. We have a low tolerance for nonsense and inefficiency. I feel like I have finely tuned abilities to detect tone and hypocrisy when others can't see it. We can experience intense emotions and strong judgments, often disregarding social norms.

We can be fascinating, affectionate, and passionate individuals when our brains happen to function a little differently.

"Sometimes, labels are the only way to extend a certain amount of compassion from the world." - Catherine May

Part 5

In hindsight, what I thought was a panic attack was actually an autism meltdown. Autism burnout is the result of chronic life stress without appropriate support. It is characterized by widespread, long-term fatigue, loss of function, and decreased tolerance to stimuli.

My meltdowns generally manifest as shutdowns. My body undergoes dysregulation often triggered by sensory overload, social interactions, or stress. I realize I need to disconnect from the outside world for days, sometimes even weeks, as my body goes into a state of rebellion. I describe it as more explosions internally. I may not have many outward reactions, but internally, I feel like a bubbling cauldron of intense headaches.

I wish others could understand how intense psychological pain can be. Expressing this to neurotypical individuals is challenging as it can seem absurd and I often encounter melodrama or irrationality. I consistently experience persistent fatigue.

I quickly adapted and learned more socially acceptable ways to retreat, such as getting "sick" or drudging through work to hide meltdowns. This is what I did after I graduated and moved to Toronto. I was working a regular 9-5 job. I would come home from work, have dinner, and then work until almost 10 or 11 pm most nights. It was a distraction from my brain's constant anxiety and misfires.

While working in Toronto, I vividly remember feeling very uncomfortable in the office environment. The fluorescent lighting, background noise, and the bustling nature of the office with constant decline of people overwhelmed my senses. At the end of each day, I often arrived home on the brink of a fatigue crisis.

During performance reviews, I regularly received feedback. I tend to evaluate direct communication highly and assume others also value simplicity. I only speak up when I believe it's necessary.

I worked with a male colleague who received promotions while being labeled as disruptive or hostile for swearing freely, interrupting others, and being perceived as aggressive. This was notable in the tech industry, where there's a common notion that men can embody the archetype of a "grumpy" genius. However, if women don't conform to certain submissive types, they are often perceived as disruptive or responsible. Navigating office politics often proves confusing (and unimportant) for me.

I just wanted to do a good job without causing trouble. I was serious, quiet, and straightforward. Unfortunately, because I didn't fit into the hierarchy, people thought I didn't want to be frozen out. I was labeled as "other" in the workplace and quickly judged in social circles.

The pressures from work and the challenges I faced began to take a toll on me again. I started breaking out in hives. I had huge, itchy, burning welts all over my skin. This issue had been pervasive for years. I visited one of the top allergists in Toronto. He basically told me there was nothing I could do except take a concoction of steroids to reduce my breakouts (I gained weight like crazy). As the hives worsened, and I worried about my itchy mouth and closing throat, one night, I ended up in the ER.

Hives serve as indicators of potential autoimmune conditions. Despite this possibility, my blood tests consistently returned nothing, and my body fell within normal ranges. I now believe it's my body's way of telling me that it's overwhelmed. My mind and body were enveloped, submerged, and flooded by stress.

I started seeing another therapist to address the reason why I struggled so much with dealing with seemingly ordinary everyday things, but I hit a plateau in therapy. My sessions with the therapist felt directionless and endless. She was too passive for my inflexible brain. I didn't want to ventilate, I needed answers.

She would advise me to "ask people if they want to connect over coffee this weekend." While I think this might be helpful advice for non-autistic people, social aliens like me couldn't address the underlying issues that make it difficult for me to maintain relationships.

Here, it is worth highlighting the limitations of traditional treatments for individuals with autism. Because our fears and stresses, often dismissed as "irrational," are actually undeniably effective. My last therapist would say to me, "You are more than your appearance, stop getting so anxious." Sorry, but my appearance is a crucial factor in whether I am accepted or excluded from society, as it ensures that my personality is not playing tricks. Unless you live inside my body, I appear very functional and successful. Then you know it's a dog's breakfast.

I continued to make decisions that did not align with my desires. I ignored warning signs, reinforced them, and conditioned myself to stay at social gatherings longer than I wanted, mainly out of concern that leaving early might be perceived as rude - I know I will feel miserable until I get home.

Individuals with autism often have heightened sensitivity to sound and light, affecting everything from social interactions to work and school environments. The autistic brain processes an average of 42% more information at rest than a neurotypical brain.

This would explain why mundane tasks for neurotypical individuals, such as getting a haircut, are challenging for me. The assault of smells I feel obligated to maintain pleasant chitchat with the stylist, the roar of the hairdryer, the spotlight-style lighting, and the feeling like bacon under a heat lamp. Slowly sizzling, my energy hot and bothered. Or trying to talk to others in loud bars and restaurants is impossible because I can't drown out background noise and focus on the person in front of me. It all murmurs statically.

There are very strong sensory issues with hair. The sensation of hair touching my neck feels like it's rawing my skin, so I hardly ever wear my hair down. If a single hair falls out of place, I immediately notice it and my skin starts itching. I actually believed that this was a common experience everyone had, and I struggled to deal with it more effectively, feeling like a failure.

Autism consumes daily mental energy dealing with socialization, change, and sensitivity. Think of it as an energy bank. Our brains are so hyperactive and globally overwhelmed that more energy is withdrawn throughout the day to survive.

When individuals with autism are overwhelmed, we stim. I had never heard this term before, but I realized I had been doing it all my life. Stimming serves various purposes, such as self-regulation. It can take various forms, including hand flapping, rocking, spinning, tapping, vocalizing, and more.

My stimming is more visible - swaying, not exposing my hands, meaning "acceptable." I do many things in social situations, bouncing my legs up and down, twirling my hair, touching my face, and often biting my cuticles or the inside of my mouth. I thought these were just bad habits, but in reality, I was trying to regulate myself under emotional stress.

I am very grateful that I no longer have to suffer in an office. Most days, I have the freedom to be myself. Now, I work remotely, providing a balance of social interaction and flexibility. I am slowly learning to listen to my brain's voice, free from guilt over others' expectations of what I should be doing.

Naturally, I have conducted more research on how the perspective of autism differs based on cultural norms and social viewpoints. As an autistic person in the Netherlands, I wonder if the Dutch are known for direct communication. No cushioning, no sugar-coating. Or in Japan, avoiding eye contact is customary and considered a sign of respect.

To be fair, the paradigm of "normal" may be quite narrow...

"Guilt stops growth. Grace unlocks growth."
- Jay Shetty

Part 6

My life before diagnosis was a whirlwind of mental health, social struggles, and being overwhelmed by this comprehensive sense.

Realizing and accepting myself as a person with disabilities involves a significant and profound reshaping of my entire life.

I have come to accept that I may never have lasting friendships or know how to maintain them properly. And I may never catch up with everyone else at the same pace in life. All instances where I was overly critical of myself were not because I was ignorant, lazy, or uninformed, but rather because I lacked the necessary tools and support.

In the course of this article's research, I read studies on how individuals with autism are quickly judged by complete strangers. The same study found that when others were informed about autism beforehand, they engaged in better conversations with fewer judgments.

If individuals with autism can benefit from more flexibility and social patience, why not extend those same benefits to everyone? For all individuals in social situations striving to do their best, despite being unstable and imperfect, I believe we should hold more compassion. We all operate on different levels mentally and socially, and having patience with others can greatly help them feel more included. It's perfectly fine to be wired differently. Intolerance of differences is not okay.

So, why am I sharing this? I'm not sure. I'm a very private person - it's no accident. I have been misunderstood all my life. Writing out my feelings has been primarily therapeutic for me. I discovered that I can express myself much more eloquently through written words than verbally. I hope it provides you with some perspectives and insights into my inner world.

I can come out as a pretty stark autistic landscape. Others may actually believe in me and not discriminate against me.

It might be heartening to know that the person reading this may decide to recognize similarities in their behavior (or their child's behavior) and seek testing. Looking back on my life, I understand how much I could have shown myself if I had known earlier. On the flip side, I potentially think about living my entire life without knowing I am autistic, and it's anxiety-inducing.

Disapproval has been very painful for me in the past. My childhood disapproval has transformed into external social disapproval as an adult. I have spent most of my life waiting to fit in. Waiting for my life to start. Waiting for the right me. The truth is, I will never fit in. What stops at one end and starts at the other?

Building a lifestyle centered around my strengths rather than pushing to overcome my weaknesses is my goal for this year. Embracing and having compassion for my limitations can help create an intentional, slower, and more comfortable life.

For too long, I have felt fragmented in my existence. Autism may serve as the glue to reunite some of those scattered fragments.

It is an existence where people like me can still be valued and recognized as a whole.