As you may (or may not) have already heard, I have opened a RedBubble shop where you can buy my photography printed on a variety of goods: t-shirts, phone cases, mugs, stickers, tumblers, framed art, and more! You can also buy the prints as is.
All of the pictures on my site (unless otherwise credited) are my own photography. If you’ve ever thought “Wow, what a beautiful flower” while reading one of my blog posts, now you can have that art in your own home. You can start thinking ahead for winter holiday presents as well. The sky’s the limit!
Please come check out my visual stims–photography from an Autistic’s point of view!
My main focuses are flowers, water, nature, and travel photos from Japan, Korea, Canada, and more!
Click the picture below or this link for my RedBubble shop (opens in new tab).
I’m really excited to start selling some of my work. I’ve started reaching out to local businesses where I may be able to display my work for sale! It’s been a dream of mine since I was a teenager to be a photographer, but I never had the guts. This is changing now!
I feel like this is a turning point in my life where I feel brave enough to share my work: writing and photography.
I recently had the opportunity to chat with Dr. James McGrath, senior lecturer at Leeds Beckett University and author of Naming Adult Autism: Culture, Science, Identity. James was kind enough to grant me an interview about his fabulous book.
SARA: Hello, James! Thank you for agreeing to do this interview about your book. For those readers who don’t know you, can you please tell us a little about yourself?
JAMES: I’m a senior lecturer in Literature and the Humanities at Leeds Beckett University. I was diagnosed autistic in my thirties. In some ways it was a shock, as well as a relief – but I’d always known there was something ‘different’ about most other people. They didn’t seem to need time being silent or being alone each day in the way I did, and their particular interests – sport, television and dating – usually seemed quite odd to me.
My first book has recently been published, and it’s called Naming Adult Autism: Culture, Science, Identity. It’s an academic study, but is also openly autobiographical at different intervals. As well as the scholarly side of things, I write poems. On and off, I’ve been getting poems published in journals since I was 19. One of the book’s chapters, called ‘Title’, is a three-line poem. The other four chapters are about 20,000 words each but divided into themed parts.
As well as looking at novels, poetry, films and songs involving autism, the book experiments with literary critical approaches to the science of autism, which I’ll say more about later.
SARA:It’s easy to see that Naming Adult Autism: Culture, Science, Identity is a truly throughly-researched and work-intensive labor of love. How long did it take to write from envisioning to publishing?
JAMES: It took me three years and three months from signing the publisher’s contract to delivering the manuscript. But many of these thoughts had been with me since childhood, before I knew the word ‘autism’. It’s not my first publication on the subject, but it is my first book. And Naming Adult Autism is the first time I’ve written ‘publicly’ about autism and my own life.
I love your expression ‘work-intensive labor of love’, by the way! It was certainly very intense. Writing the book became absolutely everything to me. So on good writing days, everything felt great – and on bad days, if I couldn’t properly focus, everything felt terrible.
When I held the first copies of the published book in my hand, I felt good but strange. The greatest highs in the whole experience – in my entire life, even – came in the writing process itself, and in the feeling of just breathing in at the end of a good day with the writing.
SARA: What was that process like for you and how did you handle any executive dysfunction challenges?
JAMES: Executive functioning – being able to do the things I need to (from major work tasks down to seemingly trivial things like shopping) has always depended on me having a kind of routine. Many autistic people frequently struggle with executive functioning. But if I can settle into a routine, these things become much easier. The problems come for me when routine gets thrown.
The writing took a year to get going, which scared me. The delay was largely because of my struggle with some large, unexpected circumstances. Two days after I signed the book contract, my then-landlord announced I had to leave the attic flat that had been my home within two months, so he could sell it. I was utterly lost, and it’s a painful time to remember. The practicalities of finding a new place to rent, of waiting to find out if I had got the place I wanted, and of packing the chaos of my life into box after box, were catatonically stressful. The most heartbreaking thing was having to say goodbye to a lovely cat called Mousey who lived in the house.
The sheer – I mean sheer like a cliff – personal, practical and emotional upheaval for an autistic adult being forced to leave their home can be unspeakably distressing. And that was very much the situation for me. It took over a year for the disorientation to settle, because the aftermath of the move was almost equally difficult.
The problem I had was that having moved quite abruptly to a new living space, I just wasn’t settling in to any kind of routine. The light in the room felt wrong, and therefore everything felt wrong. I’d attempt new routines but they just weren’t working. My heart just wasn’t in them.
What I needed was a pattern, a template experience of a day – or even just of, say, a Friday or a Wednesday – which I could enjoy once and then repeat and vary as felt right. But I somehow couldn’t get that to happen. Not having a routine meant having nothing clear to look forward to. But amidst all that chaos, a quietly life-changing realisation occurred for me.
One older friend, a poet and academic who once had been my undergraduate tutor, asked if I would look after his house and cat for a series of weekends while he was away, which I did. With that experience of being in a different space for a clearly set time, routines became more possible – and that was key to how I properly got focused on the book. It was simply a matter of knowing: ‘I’m here for forty-eight hours, and all I’m going to do is write.’ I was thirty miles away from all the usual distractions and in this very atmospheric, sunlit old house with a long garden and a wood cabin at the end, beside the river Skell in North Yorkshire.
In spending weekends in that wood cabin I began to feel calm again. It was what gave me the template for a new routine I could enjoy and which I could – crucially – look forward to. I’m fortunate to have that experience, and I’ve since looked after the house and cat and cabin every summer. Most of the book was written there, as were many poems. It’s also a real delight to have friends come over to the house and cabin in some of the evenings.
I’m glad to say that I’m now much more contented in the space (another attic) where I live, in a shared house with two really good friends. But it did take a long time (and many repositionings of furniture in relation to light and shade) to reach this point.
During university semesters, I tend to get my writing done very, very early in the morning, usually starting at two. I can work that if I go to bed by about eight in the evening. It gives me about five hours of writing time before walking into work, though I can’t usually do the nightwork more than three mornings a week before tiredness catches up, and I start to turn off my alarm in my sleep.
SARA: You yourself are Autistic. How important do you think it is for Autistic people like you and me to be heard and seen, both by allistics and our fellow Autistics?
JAMES: Across psychiatry, society and culture, autistic people have had their critical perspectives and even just their voices ignored for way too long. Even now, although progress is visible, it’s still mostly neurotypicals (or allistics) who exercise almost all the power over whether, when and where autistic people are given a public voice.
Although Naming Adult Autism is frequently an angry book in critiquing the mainstream coverage of autism, the parts within each chapter move increasingly towards more progressive or often more radical texts. There are sequences on work by autistic poets (Les Murray and Joanne Limburg), on novels by Douglas Coupland (who in published interviews identifies as having Asperger Syndrome), as well as on some really valuable novels by authors who, so far as I’m aware, do not identify as autistic (Clare Morrall, Meg Wolitzer).
The most provocative novel dealt with was Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake. I’ve huge respect for Atwood as a writer, so those pages were hard to write. Seeing autism conflated with a pathological opposition to the arts and to fiction itself in a major literary novel was grim – though it did help to galvanize some of the book’s main standpoints.
I wanted to write about some less obvious texts in relation to autism, such as E. M. Forster’s novel Howards End, The Who’s 1969 album Tommy, Ricky Gervais’s The Office, and the Michael Andrews/Gary Jules song ‘Mad World’.
A most important thing, though, was to connect with and reflect on critical writings on autism by #ActuallyAutistic authors, such as Jim Sinclair, Damian Milton, Laurence Arnold, Sonya Freeman Loftis, Dinah Murray, Wen Lawson and Gillian Quinn Loomes.
But despite the rapidly expanding wealth of art and scholarship from autistic people, how often are any of us are given space for expression in the wider media? It does sometimes happen, and I was delighted this spring to be interviewed for BBC Radio 3’s poetry programme The Verbwith the poet and academic Kate Fox. Thanks to a genuinely forward-thinking producer in Faith Lawrence, Kate and I were given a space to properly challenge some of the misconceptions around adult autism. But such opportunities are rare.
It’s as if the media prefers autistic adults to reinforce existing stereotypes, and that’s something I challenge at length in the book. Autistic adults who question (or even mention) the status quo of, say, Simon Baron-Cohen’s models of autism are actually seldom quoted in the media. Similarly, academic research on autism by actually autistic scholars – despite being peer-reviewed and published – is far too rarely cited in psychiatric publications by non-autistics.
So yes, it’s vital for autistic individuals to be given greater media access: as a human, social right (of course) but also in order to redress the ways in which we have been, and still are, publically misrepresented.
Cultural misrepresentation leads only to further difficulties for autistic people. That’s a main concern of the book. We are expected to be good at science, IT, or nothing. Professionals who influence our lives, and who influence the possibilities of an autism assessment, sometimes fall for these misrepresentations themselves. So I’d love it if some professionals could read the book.
SARA: You note that the “Adult Autism-Spectrum Quotient Test” is skewed (For example, Autistics are not supposed to “get” fiction, according to that test). Can you talk about that a bit?
JAMES: The Adult Autism Spectrum Quotient (AQ) questionnaire is the most widely-disseminated screening tool for adult autism. It consists of 50 statements, with which we’re asked to agree or disagree. The AQ test was launched in 2001 by the University of Cambridge Autism Research Centre (UCARC) after being piloted in the late 1990s.
The test’s principal author was Professor Simon Baron-Cohen: one of the world’s most influential but also most divisive autism researchers.
Anyone with passing interest in adult autism is likely to have seen Baron-Cohen’s questionnaire. It’s widely accessible online and is reproduced in many books, journals, newspapers and magazines. It’s worrying to consider that some people’s knowledge about adult autism probably stems only from reading that questionnaire.
Now, I must emphasise (as Baron-Cohen does) that a high score on this test alone does not warrant actual autism diagnosis.
Crucially though, the test canbe used by general practitioners – the gatekeepers of formal autism assessment for many people – in deciding whether or not to refer a patient on to an autism specialist. UCARC’s 2005 report on questionnaire’s validity concluded by advocating its value to general practitioners.
But what is less well-known is that in additionto being designed for a practical purpose within widespread medical procedures, the 2001 test was constructed according to a distinct research agenda. It is towards that agenda that certain statements on the questionnaire – and the scoring of their answers – are skewed. Scientifically unsound.
In the book, I go into very, very close detail on several problems with the questionnaire’s design and uses. But here, I’ll try and keep it brief:
Professor Baron-Cohen designed the test along with Dr Sally Wheelwright at UCARC. Preliminary tests of the questionnaire’s validity were conducted by the two authors, plus three undergraduates named as co-authors.
But as well as being created to ‘measure’ an adult’s autism ‘quotient’ numerically, the other purpose was to test, if not prove, Baron-Cohen’s headline-friendly theory (launched 1997) that scientists and mathematicians show more autistic traits than the general population.
The questionnaire is strewn with statements relating to aptitude for STEM subjects: science, technology, engineering, mathematics.
Each of the questionnaire’s answers that could suggest interest in numeracy are scored positively (raising the respondent’s autism quotient ‘score’). But each statement indicating engagement with the arts (especially reading fiction) is scored neutrally or negatively.
So, the AQ defines numeracy as an autistic trait in its own right. Interest in the arts, conversely, is assumed to be the exclusive province of neurotypicals!!Yet, a possible result is that some mathematicians may have higher AQ scores because they are mathematicians – but not necessarily because they are ‘more’ autistic.
Meanwhile, an autistic person who happens to enjoy fiction but not mathematics will come out with a lower autism quotient. And there are potential ramifications of these results.
In 2001, Baron-Cohen et al reported on the trials of the test: ‘Scientists (including mathematicians) scored significantly higher than both humanities and social sciences students, confirming an earlier study that autistic conditions are associated with scientific skills. Within the sciences, mathematicians scored the highest.’ (Baron-Cohen et al, 2001, p.5)
Yet that just means that mathematicians score higher in a questionnaire that includes statements relating to numerical thinking. The earlier study apparently ‘confirmed’ here was a 1998 ‘Research in Brief’ publication led by Baron-Cohen and based on Cambridge University students, but that study itself was quite sketchy, as explained in the book.
In a 2012, in a TED talk proclaiming that autism may be linked to ‘minds wired for science’, Baron-Cohen implied that this idea was supported by the 1944 research of Hans Asperger. ‘He wrote’, states Baron-Cohen, that ‘for success in science, a dash of autism is essential’. In fact, Asperger said something significantly different. In 1977 – reporting on the adult lives of his former child patients – Asperger asserted: ‘it seems that for success in science or art a dash of autism is essential’ (emphasis added).
Asperger (1944) remarked on the flair some autistic children show towards maths and science, but in the same paper, described how others showed distinguished abilities in relating imaginatively to paintings and stories. One of Asperger’s most detailed profiles of an autistic person (ignored entirely by Baron-Cohen) describes a boy named Harro.
I wrote about Harro in the book. I think Asperger’s summary of Harro’s reading skills deserves the attention of anyone who believes that to be autistic is to be somehow indifferent to reading fiction:
‘one could notice clearly that he read for meaning and that the content of the story interested him … his reading comprehension was excellent. . . . he could say what the moral of a story was even though the moral was not explicitly presented’ (original emphasis).
As demonstrated from novels by Margaret Atwood to a sitcom such as Big Bang Theory – plus countless broadsheet articles citing Baron-Cohen – the association of autism with STEM has become not just a stereotype, but an expectation placed on many autistic people. Autistic scholars in the arts, humanities and social sciences may be a minority – it’s too early to say – but we are nonetheless here.
SARA: I absolutely love fiction; Fantasy and SciFi are my favorite genres! What are some of your favorite fiction titles and genres?
JAMES: I can’t imagine life without fiction. I’ve said it before, but for me, reading novels is a way into the world – a way of learning about people (including myself, when I identify with fictional characters). Reading a novel is far easier for me than watching a film. Unlike with films or TV, we can read at our own natural pace, and that for me makes all the difference.
Fiction has been deeply important to me since the age of hearing stories before I could read. One of the first stories I remember being delighted by was Ursula Moray Williams’ Gobbolino the Witch’s Cat. My sister and I had a tape of it, read by Sheila Hancock.
The novels I wrote about in the book were obviously there because autism itself occupies something like a ‘genre’ in fiction. Even so, in making notes on every page and just immersing myself in the reading, I absolutely fell in love with those novels – especially Clare Morrall’s The Language of Others and Meg Wolitzer’s The Interestings.
I don’t tend to seek novels by genres, so much as themes – and houses are major themes in many of my favourite books. I wish it was recognised more often in society, culture and medicine, this thing of how almost unfathomably hard it can be for an autistic person to have to leave what has become their own home. In the book, there’s a footnote called ‘World is Sudden’ (a paraphrase of Louis MacNeice) where I try and address it, but there’s much more to say.
One of the most memorable things I’ve read on this subject is from the children’s writer Philippa Pearce, author of one of my favourite books, Tom’s Midnight Garden (from 1958). Philippa Pearce was not, to my knowledge, autistic, but what she said really speaks to me.
In an interview she did with a publishing magazine, which I read in summer 2000, working in a bookshop, Philippa Pearce described how she felt when the mill house in which she had lived as a child was sold.She said something to the effect of: ‘I had what could be called a nervous breakdown.’
Many of my favourite writers deal with ideas and experiences of home and houses. As a child, the ‘Green Knowe’ series by Lucy M. Boston (based on her own house) really enchanted me. The Green Knowe stories involve magic and ghosts, but it was really the sense of the house as a place and time that I read them for.
Also on themes and genres, my PhD thesis (completed some years before my formal autism diagnosis) was called ‘Ideas of Belonging in the Work of John Lennon and Paul McCartney’. Again, I focused closely on themes of ‘home’ – usually as something that has been left or lost. I also researched and wrote a lot from a social history perspective about the two main houses in Liverpool where Lennon and McCartney grew up. An important philosophical book for me at the time was Gaston Bachelard’s The Poetics of Space.
In research and writing at length about autism science in the book, being able to quote from literary authors – mostly poets – was like an intake of oxygen. Percy Bysshe Shelley, Oscar Wilde, Aldous Huxley and most of all William Blake were vital to me there. But the most empowering literary and philosophical influence was Simone de Beauvoir’s chapter ‘The Data of Biology’, at the start of The Second Sex. (Before beginning writing this book, I published a playful poem imagining a conversation between Beauvoir and Baron-Cohen called ‘Ventriloquy Soliloquy’, written on my first Christmas day alone in Leeds).
SARA: Chapter 3 of Naming Adult Autism considers the obstacles created recognizing Autistic girls and women. Can you please talk about some of these obstacles?
JAMES: One reason why I’m so glad you’ve asked me to do this interview Sara is because (like many people, clearly) I really admire – and have learned from – your blogging on this topic.
Another author on this who I highly recommend is Lesley Bonneville. A novel I read recently that deals with autism and gender brilliantly is Ta-Ra, Alice: Odyssey on a Shrinking Raftby A. Robertson.Ta-Ra Alice was published too late for me to write about, but I’ve posted a 5-star review of it on Amazon.
Chapter 3 of Naming Adult Autism is called ‘The New Classic Autism’. Obviously, for something to be both ‘new’ and ‘classic’ is oxymoronic, and I use the term ‘new classic autism’ to underline both the superficiality and, I hope, the transience of a dominant pattern in early 21st-century autism narratives.
Basically, Chapter 3 confronts (and sometimes rages at) how certain wider power structures are shaping both cultural and scientific notions of autism. In most – and certainly the most lucrative – ‘portrayals’ of adult autism, science and culture present us with a white, professional-class, able-bodiedmale.
In terms of autism and gender, one of the most dubious but still influential models is Baron-Cohen’s much-publicized theory of the ‘extreme male brain’.
There numerous scientific inadequacies to Baron-Cohen’s extreme male brain theory. It’s important to unpack these because, although it’s great that Baron-Cohen and the UCARC are now at last placing more focus on women and autism, the ‘extreme male brain’ idea remains an all-too-familiar cultural and even medical reference point.
UCARC’s equation of autism with ‘maleness’ leans very heavily on the idea that autism is fundamentally characterized by lack of empathy. And according to Baron-Cohen, empathy is a female trait while systemizing is a male trait. That’s the crux of how the theory of autism as the ‘extreme male brain’ begins. The assumption being: autistic people lack empathy, and empathy – according to Baron-Cohen – is a female trait. Hence, the extreme male brain terminology. But for now, ‘extreme male brain’ is not a theory: it’s a metaphor. And metaphors, as discussed elsewhere, tend to be what we use when actually there is no clear or affirmative answer.
Baron-Cohen is a key researcher in the Cambridge-based Fetal Steroid Hormones project, publications on which announce links with prenatal testosterone levels and ‘autistic traits’. But actually, none of the people in the research sample were themselves autistic. The autistic ‘traits’ reported in those articles (reviewed in the book) are therefore tenuous.
It’s also noticeable that UCARC’s publications on autism, fetal hormones and biological sex are – like the earlier studies they cite – oddly less interested in the ‘female’ half of the human brain. The research is both quantitatively and qualitatively imbalanced.
SARA: You make a big push for “[…] promoting deeper, greater dialogue between the humanities and the sciences regarding the meanings of autism.” What are some ways we can foster and encourage discourse, mutual respect, and cooperation between the two regarding Autism and Autistic people?
JAMES: It sounds an ambitious aim, I know. But historically, the division between the study of ‘the sciences’ and ‘the arts’ is actually quite recent. I think the obstacles towards such greater dialogue are not intellectual, but merely practical. But they can certainly be overcome. Things like conference panels that welcome research both from the sciences and from the humanities (and social sciences) on autism are very slowly starting to happen, but they need to be much more frequent – and more accessible to the autistic population.
And also, simpler still – just reading work on autism from other disciplines. So I think this further dialogue is most definitely achievable – provided we’re all willing to take a few risks in reassessing our own disciplinary vantage points. And what’s the point in being an academic, if it isn’t to keep on questioning our own ideas in search of new knowledge?
If you haven’t already, please read my blog post “13: Women and Girls” to better understand this post!
Welp, here it is!
Today is the day that I share my news with friends and family via Facebook. I was originally going to share my blog with everyone on Friday, but I’m too anxious to wait another day. *tries not to vomit*
One major reason I started this blog was to have a vehicle to come out to people about being diagnosed as Autistic. Masking my Autism has become so incredibly tiring and I’m really burnt out. I also feel like I’m hiding such a huge part of myself from the people I care about! (See: 6: Why I’m Writing This Blog for more on that.) I’ve been feeling pretty lonely and isolated lately and I want that to end.
So here we are. The story of how I got diagnosed.
Evaluation in Japan
I started my journey by accident in 2015.
I was working in Japan and seeing a Japanese psychologist (who’s fluent in English) for help with the grieving process after losing several people close to me. I’ll call my therapist “S” here for the sake of privacy.
Throughout the years I had sometimes wondered if I might be on the Spectrum, but would pretty quickly decide that it must be impossible–I didn’t fulfill this criteria or exhibit that trait, etc. But I eventually stumbled upon some resources about how women on the Spectrum often present very differently than men. (See 13: Women and Girls for more info on that.)
After delving into research about Autistic women, I tentatively started to let myself consider that I might really be on the Spectrum. I began to take some notes about my life and the way I experience the world as I continued to research about Autistic women. (The baby drafts of this blog!!)
I figured that someday–if I decided to be formally assessed back in the US–I would have all that stuff written down already.
But I didn’t bring it up to my therapist. I was too afraid that she wouldn’t know about women presenting differently and about masking. I was terrified she would immediately shoot me down without assessing me. (It’s not that I was set on being diagnosed as Autistic. I was set on being assessed accurately and thoroughly–whatever the result.)
So I continued to quietly gather information and write down my self-reflections without telling anyone. It was an isolating, but adrenaline-filled time.
It wasn’t until 2016 when I had been seeing S for a full year that things changed. My family had come to visit me in Japan and I showed them around several cities throughout the country, acting as both guide and interpreter. When we were in Tokyo, I experienced an intense bout of sensory overload that led to a subsequent meltdown. (You can read about it in 5: Sensory Overload & Control.)
When I returned from the trip and S asked how it had been, I finally told her. I told her about the sensory issues I’d been having more and more difficulty with, the meltdown in Tokyo, the social fatigue, the wondering, the doubting, the researching–everything. Our session ran over time as she patiently listened to everything spill out. Then I waited as she thought and chose her words carefully.
To my surprise, S had been wondering if I was on the Spectrum as well.
I was really taken aback. I sort of sat there in shock for a moment before a huge smile crept over my face. “Really??” I exclaimed, euphoria rushing over me. Iwas just so relieved that she was taking me seriously.
I printed out the notes I had been writing on my life and handed them over to her during our next session with an anxious excitement. When she returned the pages the following meeting, we talked them over in more detail and she agreed again that she suspected I was on the Spectrum. She asked me to continue writing and agreed that it would be useful if I chose to seek formal diagnosis someday back in the US.
Over the course of the next year, I wrote feverishly. I couldn’t stop. I literally couldn’t stop scribbling insights and realizations onto whatever surface was available. So many things started to make sense about my life and I felt such a sense of relief come over me.
But I still wondered. I went back and forth between good days when I felt more “normal” and questioned myself, and bad days when the truth was presented and reaffirmed right before my eyes through a meltdown or extreme social misstep. I bounced back and forth between denial and acceptance.
Finally, as my time in Japan came to an end, S presented me with a referral letter. At this point, she had seen me in regular sessions for two years, read up on recent research about Autistic women published in psychology journals, and read all of my writing.
On July 10, 2017, she handed me a letter which contained the lines:
“While I have seen Sara, she has shown similar characteristics to Asperger Syndrome and Autism, such as sensitivities to various stimuli, panic attack due to sensory overload, fatigue after social interaction, and need to follow schedule rigidly.”
She went on to write that she believed me to be on the Spectrum and was referring me for formal assessment and diagnosis.
That letter was such a gift. I knew that with it, I wouldn’t have to start over completely when seeking diagnosis. I knew I’d have someone in my court (so to speak) and wouldn’t feel like I was going into an assessment completely un-supported.
Assessment and Diagnosis in the US
I began seeing my psychotherapist, M, soon after I returned to the US to get some help adjusting to life back in the US and to address a possible eating disorder. (I will address my eating disorder in a future post.)
After a few sessions, I felt comfortable enough with M to bring up Autism and I gave her the letter from S. She said that she would evaluate me over time as she got to know me, so we continued our sessions and left Autism on the back burner.
By late November of 2017, I wasn’t writing my book anymore. Not for months. I felt like I had stagnated in my self-exploration and realization. After digging deeper, I realized that I was once again doubting if I was actually on the Spectrum.
I brought it up to M and we explored why I was feeling this way. During that session, we realized that–after the initial deluge of self-realization and discovery–I had adapted and started doing things in ways that minimized meltdowns and sensory overload. I wasn’t “less Autistic,” just coping with things better and going through a time when my traits weren’t as noticeable–even to myself.
Next session, she brought in the DM-5 (The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition) and we sat down and went over the diagnosis criteria.
By the end of the session, I had my final, irrefutable proof. I am Autistic.
I was expecting my road to diagnosis to be an excessively difficult, expensive, humiliating, and stressful process. I know that for many woman, it can be.
I’ve been very lucky. This has instead been a journey of good luck, strange happenstance, and unexpectedly compassionate therapists.
After diagnosis, I’ve been hit with so many unexpected emotions: fear, sadness, excitement, regret, doubt, rage, determination, grief, elation… It’s been an ongoing, never-ending process as I come to terms with who I am.
I feel a sense of grief and loss that I wasn’t diagnosed sooner, but also an odd and bizarre relief that I wasn’t. I feel excited that I finally understand myself. I feel fear for the future and uncertainty as I wonder what the future holds. I feel an internal struggle as I decide what my new boundaries and limits are, and how many of those are worth pushing and how often.
Recently, my overwhelming feelings are isolation and insincerity. More than any of the other emotions, these are ones I can’t bear anymore.
As I share this blog, I feel utterly vulnerable and more than a little terrified. But I also feel excited. I feel free. There’s a freedom that comes with realizing that I can’t control how people react to my coming out. I can’t control it, so why worry about it?
No matter the reactions of those I care about, this is a truth that needs to be shared. It’s time for me to come forward and say, “I am Sara. I am Autistic. I am me.”
[image description: An image of a delicate bright pink rose that’s covered in raindrops.]
No, I don’t. I was officially diagnosed in 2017 with the DSM-5 (the 5th edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) which was released in May of 2013. In this revised edition, “Asperger Syndrome” is now recognized as falling more clearly under the umbrella of Autism Spectrum Disorders. Asperger’s is Autism. So per this new criteria, my diagnosis was one of ASD. Thus, I am Autistic.
[Side note: Please don’t “correct” an Autistic person about how they identify themselves; it’s up to the individual. Many people will use Asperger’s, and that’s ok!]
Check out Amythest Schaber’s “Ask an Autistic #12: What Shouldn’t I Say to Autistic People” video. At about the 5:30 mark, they respond to the comments: “I think that you mean Aspergers.” followed by “Don’t you mean you’re a person with autism?” The whole video is great if you have time to watch it all.
2) Why do you use “Autistic person,” “Autistics,” and sometimes “Autists”? (Isn’t it “person with autism”?)
You can’t separate me from my Autism. It’s who I am! I am not a “person who suffers from/with autism” or even just a “person with autism.” Nor do I “have autism.”
I am Autistic. Period. It’s the way my brain is wired and the way I function. If I wasn’t Autistic, I would be a completely different person. I would have gravitated toward different friends, hobbies, interests, and studies. I would think, act, experience, talk, and function completely differently. I am proud of who I am, and I just happen to be an Autistic person!
“[W]hen we say “Autistic person,” we recognize, affirm, and validate an individual’s identity as an Autistic person. We recognize the value and worth of that individual as an Autistic person — that being Autistic is not a condition absolutely irreconcilable with regarding people as inherently valuable and worth something. We affirm the individual’s potential to grow and mature, to overcome challenges and disability, and to live a meaningful life as an Autistic. Ultimately, we are accepting that the individual is different from non-Autistic people–and that that’s not a tragedy, and we are showing that we are not afraid or ashamed to recognize that difference.”
Find Lydia’s full article here, and her personal blog here.
There are a tonof materials on this subject (person-first vs identity-first language) written by Autistics. It’s essential to respect every individual’s wishes on how they wish to be referred to.
There’s lots more out there with just a quick Google search! Please listen to what actual Autistics are saying.
3) Why do you capitalize “autism” and “autistic”?
Again, I am an Autistic person and that is part of my identity. Many Autistic self-advocates choose to capitalize “Autism” and “Autistic” and note that it’s similar to the Blind and Deaf communities who generally prefer capitalized identifiers.
[image description: A picture of an interesting tree. It is bent and gnarled, twisting this way and that. The woods around it is a lush green. In the distance, a red bridge can just barely be seen.]
So I’ll admit, I haven’t had a ton of experience in this yet because I haven’t told many people about my diagnosis (and therefore haven’t gotten bad responses!). Never mind. That ship has sailed.
But I know what I fear people will say. I’d love it if everyone could take a quick look at these things and try to avoid them. But I also don’t want people feeling like they can’t talk to me and if they make a mistake, it’s game over! I understand that you might feel put on the spot. I understand that you might mean well with a comment. It’s ok to make a mistake and say something wrong as long as you’re open to learning why it’s hurtful and changing what you say.
I’m not going to go into much about why I don’t want people saying these things to me (or any other Autistic person) because it’s already been done before!! These blogs, articles, and videos are done by Autistic people who have gone through this, so I want to feature their experiences and advice.
Here’s some other Autistic peoples’ lists and explanations:
Amythest Schaber- Ask an Autistic #12: What Shouldn’t I Say to Autistic People? video
No need to read and watch all of these links above (unless you want to, in which case ALL THE BROWNIE POINTS!), but at least checking out some of these resources would mean a lot to any Autistic person you interact with.
[image description: A closeup of a green succulent plant. The leaves looks smooth, but have pointy thorns at the end.]