I have an admission. Now, this may seem like an odd admission for me to make, but I still get nervous about disclosing my autism diagnosis to people. After all, since being diagnosed a few years ago I have written a great deal about my experiences of being autistic. My articles on the subject are published regularly and I have shared my diagnosis with various friends, family, employers and work colleagues. So, in that sense, my autism is well-advertised. I am a relatively open book, so to speak.
Much of what I have shared is deeply personal too. I’ve shared many of the struggles I’ve faced – from sensory overwhelm to full-blown meltdowns and deep-seated burnout. I’ve also been blunt in my assessment of how autistic people are treated in this country and beyond.
I’m proud of being autistic. Sure, it’s a challenging existence and at times it can even be profoundly disabling. But it has also endowed me with certain abilities, and hell, I wouldn’t be me without it. For me to hate autism would be to hate myself.
Writing about autism has allowed me to connect with others who have had similar experiences, some of whom have reached out after reading my articles. This has been gratifying on a personal level, but more important than that, it has made me feel a little less alone in this world. Life on the spectrum can be an awfully lonely existence and it’s nice to know that there are at least some people out there who have an understanding of what I’ve gone through. The process of writing about autism acts as a kind of catharsis. It aids me in working through my own thoughts and feelings.
Because of all this, it might be assumed that I am entirely comfortable with revealing my autism to new people by now. But the truth is that very often I’m not. Doing so can still trigger anxiety. It can still fill me with unease. But this isn’t an irrational fear. The fact of the matter is that, despite the successes of the nascent neurodiversity movement, autistic people are still horrifically discriminated against in society.
Each time I reveal my autism to someone new, be it through the publication of an article or telling someone in person, is a moment of vulnerability. It exposes a potential target for people to aim at. I know I am running the risk of being thought of as less than I am.
Nevertheless, I continue to write about autism. All the good that comes from it, thus far at least, outweighs the fear and the doubt. And besides, ultimately, the only way to deal with the discrimination that exists towards my kind, is to tackle it head on.
