As someone who has arguably slipped, tumbled and freely jumped headfirst into the proverbial over-sharing hole in the past, it’s come as a great surprise to me that I’ve kept this to myself for so long. It’s something that I’ve only really begun to explore within the safety of my journals in the last 6 months or so, and I’ve mentioned it to very few people ‘in real life’ so far. Even sitting down to write now I find myself falling over my words, because I don’t yet have as much knowledge and understanding as I’d like. The reality is that it might be a long time until I’m happy with my grasp of it, but this is who I have always been, underneath it all.
I have a strong feeling that it’s time I embraced my self fully, and for me that means being really open about things. In some ways it has felt like other people have been writing my story, and for the most part I’ve let them. This intrinsic part of my being has been ignored, pushed to the side, and altered to make other people more comfortable - all unconsciously, and oblivious to me and everyone around me, I should add - but this part has become a hell of a lot louder since my health deteriorated. So here I am stepping into this part of my identity, consciously, for the first time, and saying it loud and proud:
I am autistic.
It was important for me to wait until I had received an ‘official’ diagnosis before sharing it openly with people, although there have been moments in the last few weeks where it has felt too big to keep hidden. The reality is that after 34 years it was nice to have the reassurance of someone who’s job it is to see the subtle signs of autism in women, but also I think it took me until the end of my final assessment for it to really sink in as being real.
I first talked about it ‘out loud’ during my counselling sessions. I’ve been having sessions with her for many years now, and while long term counselling isn’t for everyone, it’s really helped me a lot, and continues to be a great source of support while I manage chronic health conditions. We have developed a safe space in which I can bounce ideas around in, and she always manages to ask the right questions to make me explore things further. Months passed since it was first mentioned, and every now and again something would happen and I’d ponder whether it was something to do with maybe being autistic, and we’d talk about it during our sessions together, and that’s where it stayed really.
For a long time I didn’t explore it any further because it felt like such a big thing to be facing. How do you even begin to accept that there’s this humungous part of you that you’ve denied, and has been denied, for your whole entire life? And how do you get to know this part of yourself?! It felt like I was being shoved into a locked room with no windows and a stranger and told to make friends. There was a feeling that it had the potential to snowball. Like if I opened the door to this, there was no closing it. Even after a decade of personal development and over two decades of keeping some type of journal, I still felt way out of my depth. It just felt mind-blowing that something so big could go completely unnoticed.
That was the problem though, it wasn’t going unnoticed anymore, and even though it was only my husband and I who had the joy of experiencing my extreme reactions, it filled me with anxiety that I was finally losing the plot completely. These extreme reactions are what I’ve come to learn are called shutdowns and meltdowns. As someone who had been pretty chill for her whole adult life, it was really fucking scary to be throwing stuff across the room and suddenly exploding into fits of body shaking crying, or sinking into a corner wrapped into a tight ball not being able to speak. That doesn’t really begin to explain the intensity of those two things and how out of control they make me feel. What’s worse than too much feeling? None at all. But experiencing such uncontrollable behaviours didn’t really make me feel very enthusiastic about getting to know this part of myself. And yet, I knew that there was a reason it was shouting and shutting down. She wasn’t well regulated, and she’d been ignored, neglected and forced into a box for too long. My illnesses meant that I no longer had the extra energy I needed to continue masking successfully, and that’s when my autism decided it was time to be heard. It’s worth noting, that all these behaviours I had experienced before, but I was much much younger, and back then everyone put it down to my age and hormones, or just a child playing up due to the stresses of having family members with disabilities. For many years I too thought my behaviour was due to these things, though it was more that I couldn’t understand what other reason could be associated with it. Autism was never ever brought into question. The reality was that I was an autistic girl who wasn’t showing stereotypical autistic behaviour, and alongside my brother I was considered ‘normal’. It’s no-one’s fault, and I don’t hold any anger towards anyone for not realising. The fact is that I was very good at masking, and quickly learned how to adapt my behaviour depending on the situation and people I was with.
I desire to bloom fully. To shine my authentic self Into the world. To unfurl the parts of me Long hidden and unknown. To hold the hand of autistic me Tightly, And step into our life, Whole once more.
The very thing that I was afraid of happening - that door being opened and everything pouring out - kind of has happened. I’ve been given this whole new level of understanding of myself and my past, and as a result I am constantly bombarded with realisations and the tremendous impact autism has on me. I am in constant shock and amazement that my brain has hidden this from me and those around me for such a long time. And of course it’s so obvious now I’ve said it, isn’t it? Of course I’m autistic.
I think to truly understand the impact that this has on me, you have to understand the importance of identity first language. I know there may be some people out there who don’t agree with this, but I think everyone should be free to talk about their own experiences in the way that feels right to them, and personally for me, identity first makes sense. An example of identity first language is saying that “I am autistic”, rather than that “I have autism.” “I am an autistic female”, rather than “I am a female with autism.” It is a piece of the puzzle that makes me who I am; an unchangeable part that has remained quite well hidden up until this point, but is a huge part of my identity all the same. It affects the way I experience everything, by literally making me experience everything. I am very sensitive to sounds and hear everything going on around me in layers; it can be really hard to zone into one particular sound, like someone talking to me, if we’re in a busy place with lots of different types of noise. Sounds can also become painful to me, and this is usually the higher pitched sounds when it does happen. On the flip side, there are some sounds that I really love, and I often sit outside and listen to all the different layers of sound, finding the natural ones that make me feel content.
When I’m writing and talking to people I tend to have to explain everything - you might have notice. I have a great desire to be understood and to understand other people, and it has shaped many of the decisions I’ve made over the years. Personal development has become a lifelong pursuit, far more than just a hobby. Since talking more with a Clinical Psychologist during my assessment, I understand now that unconsciously I made it a special interest of sorts, because it was my greatest weakness. I struggle with social interactions, understanding and communicating emotions, and because of that I completed a course in counselling skills, I took online courses in personal development and shadow work, and I’ve read so many self-help, psychology, counselling and spiritual books it would probably make your eyes water. Even fiction books and TV had their place in teaching me things about myself and other people; it was all learning, and I’ve eagerly consumed everything that felt ‘right’. They say your body craves the foods it’s deficient in, and this example feels very much like my brain was doing the same. I suppose in its simplest form it just comes down to survival.
Special interests was something that made a lot of sense to me when I first read about it. Those of you reading this who know me can probably list at least two things I’m doing regularly in quite possibly an unnatural capacity. Journaling, and writing in general connects beautifully to the pursuit of personal development and understanding what the fuck my brain is doing, and why no-one else does what I expect them to. I really want to go off on a full tangent about journaling and it’s role in my life, but it really does need its own space. Let’s just say that journaling is a love affair that will last forever. Truly.
Creative interests in general make up a huge part of who I am as a person, and are the undercurrent to all the things that I love to spend my time doing. My love of Blythe very much constitutes a special interest for me, but Crochet has become as second-nature to me as breathing. Back when I had my Screening Assessment for ASD, I realised that crafts like crochet are a type of stimming behaviour for me. They help me to self-regulate and calm me. A lot of the times stimming is rhythmic and repetitive - just like crochet. In my personal experience, crochet helps me to turn off some of my processing thoughts, and I almost can go into a sort of trance. Stimming in general was a hard thing for me to identify in myself. I certainly didn’t have any real noticeable behaviours, but the more I thought about it, the more it became obvious that I did have subtle stimming behaviours. It’s interesting to see the ways in which I’ve learned behaviours that help me to self-regulate, but that seem more socially acceptable. But also to become aware of things that I tend to do when I’m by myself a lot more than when I’m around other people. It’s all part of the fascinating way my brain has helped me to mask my autistic behaviour for so long.
It seems so apt that the tarot card for my 34th year on this earth is the Death card: the card of rebirth and transformation. It truly encapsulates exactly what I’m going through during this time of transition. I have stepped out of the skin of my old self, and I am met face-to-face with my true self. There from the very beginning, and yet completely new to me. And somewhere in among the uncertainty that always comes with change, there is a truth held within me that this part of myself is special. It was so special, and so fragile, that it was protected with all the energy that I could muster, until it grew roots and began to reach for the stars.
In this place that I now find myself, I hold inside me the opportunity to get to know my self from the very beginning. I have been trapped in a room with a stranger, but that stranger is my souls home, and I already feel the deep peace that it holds.
I’m Ruth, and I’m autistic.
Thank you for sharing.
So glad you have a diagnosis and that it is helping you to understand and appreciate yourself. It is a long hard path to get recognised as an autistic female.
I have wondered if knitting and crochet are a form of stimming for me too. As a child I was always assembling things (rubber bands, paper clips, safety pins, string, ribbons, even old toothbrushes) into long chains, with hindsight I was stimming. I also liked knotting and unknotting strings and rope. Maybe I should do macrame🤣
Oh, to recognise oneself, to remember one's self, what a wonderful journey. Thank you for sharing yours. ❤️