Artistic Autistic
“I was ashamed of myself when I realised life was a costume party and I attended with my real face” • Franz Kafka
As Dr. Stephen Shore said, “If you’ve met one person with autism, you’ve met one person with autism.”
I am not a scientist. This is not an academic research paper. I am an adult diagnosed autistic, and this is a personal essay. While I understand the diagnostic criteria that led to this, I don’t embrace the overbroad label. I relate more to the non-medical term “Neurodivergent“, and I prefer it to the alienating “Gifted and Talented” label I was stamped with in Kindergarten.
I’m shocked that folks are surprised when I explain my intricacy to them. It seems so obvious to me, but Neurodivergence, especially for women and girls, tends to be experienced internally rather than expressed overtly, due to societal pressures to conform that are not imposed on boys and men.
This contributes to late and under diagnosis in women, as well as the co-occurring symptoms between Neurodivergence and Trauma. Neurodivergence, in itself, can cause trauma, but, while girls are five times more likely to endure sexual abuse in childhood, Autistic women tend to experience abuse at an even higher rate than Neurotypical females, due to their…our…difficulty in picking up on social cues and non-verbal communication.
When the presence of neurodivergent content began increasing on social media, I found myself resonating with most of it. I felt seen, known, and described in ways I had never experienced. The more I learned, the more I felt at home in the community. After scoring very high on 6 diagnostic tests conducted by a Psychologist, it was confirmed that I am a High Masking Aspie.
So, how does this manifest for me? Neurodivergence is like an Indian Family’s Masala Recipe: The same ingredients, but different, proprietary ratios with some secret spice thrown in for fun. Most notable, in my case, is my mastery of masking. Like most Aspies, I get hyperfocused on my areas of interest. If I like something, or someone, I become an expert, effortlessly. My social discomfort and experiences being bullied from very early on encouraged me to embrace theater. I even studied at the best conservatories in the world. The ability to memorize lines, rehearse scenarios, explore the range of human emotion and expression helped me learn to impersonate Neurotypicals in real life…to a point.
Hypersensitivity is another main ingredient in my special sauce. On a physical level, I experience sound, light, smell, taste and touch to a greater degree than Neurotypicals…like, 50-100%. When I’m over stimulated, tired, hungry or otherwise uncomfortable, it’s harder for me to mask. This results in a dire need for organization and control over my circumstances. My Neurodivergence made me an Entrepreneur. I was a great manager for other businesses before I owned my own. It makes complete sense to me now that I experienced success in Hospitality and Public Relations, industries that depend on discipline and the and the ability to conceal one’s emotions.
Of course, my hypersensitivity extends to my emotions, as well. Managing them became my second career: Philosophy Student. Yoga & Buddhism are my survival skills. They are Cognitive Behavioral Therapies. Meditation, both in stillness and in movement, is my medicine. I practice discomfort. This is likely why I’ve thrived as a result of my Divergence, at least professionally. For better or for worse, my ability to mask makes most people completely unaware of my internal experience.
Personal relationships are my greatest challenge. I feel safer on stage performing a song for hundred of people, or info dumping about yoga or travel to an interested gathering, than I do one on one. My discomfort in conversation is not because of a lack of sensitivity, but, rather, my heightened sensitivity. I don’t know whether to believe the body or the words. So often, non verbal communication completely contradicts what’s being expressed verbally. I tend to address what feels most TRUE, which is, of course, what’s not said. In equal parts, this has proven to be both blessing and curse. People are either relieved to drop their mask, or resent feeling exposed. The former are usually other Divergents who become valued friends.
Like most autistic women, I am very direct with my language. I have no subtext. I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I’ve come to learn that this is not the case with Typicals. I take people seriously when they suggest we “get together soon.“ I make an effort to fulfill that request, and find myself feeling foolish when my efforts aren’t reciprocated, particularly when I wouldn’t have bothered in the first place. My tendency to mask compels me to confirm to the wishes of others. I’ve learned to doubt my own instincts in favor of “etiquette.“ Since diagnosis, I’ve, gratefully, embraced my boundaries when I’m not interested. I still find myself following up with folks who had no intention of further connection, much to my embarrassment, but I’m slowly learning to reassign the shame to them. Why I should I feel bad for being vulnerable? I feel bad for the Typicals trapped in their inauthenticity.
Dating is incredibly difficult for me. This is where the chicken / egg paradigm of CPTSD / ASD becomes relevant. My history of early childhood trauma, abusive relationships and sexual assaults are further complicated by my low self esteem. I struggle to see anything attractive about myself beyond my competencies. I understand my value is what I can do for others, but it’s difficult for me to understand that I have inherent value in simply “being myself”, whatever that means. Conversely, I expect nothing from others. I delight in the simple presence of people I find smart, funny, and interesting. I want nothing more than company. I’ve come to learn that it’s acceptable to acknowledge other needs that I wasn’t aware I had, until recently.
Because I’m completely oblivious to subtle expressions of interest, the relationships I’ve found myself in have almost always began with the explosion of a love bomb. Narcissists and I have a magnetic appeal that I’m still challenged to repel. Couple that with the patterns introduced by my Daddy’s issues, and I’m a goner. The more distant someone is, the more desirable they were. I’ve successfully cured myself of a romantic attraction to emotionally unavailable, inconsistent men, though I do still find myself in friendships with them out of sheer curiosity. I don’t want to date them so much as BE them. I wish I could be that removed from emotional attachment, so I find myself studying them up close.
Awareness has encouraged me to abandon that behavior in favor of simple solitude and self awareness. I feel safer physically, mentally and emotionally after almost 8 years single than I ever did before. The optimist in me still wants to believe that a partnership is possible, though. I know this will require both finding the right person and being the right person. I’ve mastered control, and now I’d like to surrender. I need to find a partner both willing and capable of providing an environment of safety and stability so that I can soften into a receptive role that I’ve genuinely craved for the longest time.
Simply writing this piece has left me with a sense of relief that makes a positive outcome feel possible. My diagnosis helped me understand my intricacies in a productive manner. Sharing it will help others to come to that same understanding and, hopefully, acceptance.