It’s a whole month since I last wrote a blog post, which seems an awfully long time. A couple of weeks ago, I celebrated one year since it was formally confirmed to me that I’m autistic. I’d been intending to write about it around the date of my “autiversary”, but I’ve been pretty short on time recently. And now it’s a while after the fact, and whilst I’d like to write some kind of lovely creative piece, the truth is, I need to get myself back into swing of things by doing a bit of self-reflection. This post is probably going to be more for my benefit than for anyone else’s, therefore.
A year since diagnosis seems a far more apt time to reflect than the arbitrary calendar shift that occurs from December to January. An autism diagnosis, for an adult-diagnosed autistic person who’s spent most of her lifetime not knowing such a fundamental fact about herself, is a pretty bloody significant milestone to mark.
A lot has happened to me in recent months, autism-wise. Back in May, I had an article published in the Times Higher Education Magazine about my experiences as an autistic student (albeit undiagnosed at the time), and education developer. It was a re-working of a post on here, and the response to it was pretty overwhelmingly positive. I’m now in touch with a fellow late-diagnosed autistic woman in my institution, and we’re looking into setting up some kind of peer support group for autistic staff. Before that actually happens, I’m just looking forward to having coffee with her, and just “being autistic” with someone else who understands.
Last month, I took part in an awareness event organised by our Medical School, featuring a performance of an original play on autism and being different by Spectrum Theatre Sheffield. I took part in the question-and-answer/panel discussion that followed the performance, alongside members of the cast and a (neurotypical) representative of a local charity (who I won’t exactly say hogged the discussion, but, well, never mind. On the whole, it was all bloody fantastic).
In September, I’m running a workshop with a bipolar colleague on neurodiversity and enterprise education at my field’s biggest annual international conference.
I’m open about being autistic. I’m out there. I’ve added the #ActuallyAutistic hashtag to my work-focused twitter profile. It’s a risky business, but to me it makes complete sense. I can’t be other than who I am – and once you realise who you truly are, after not understanding for so long, how can you ignore it or turn back?
And I’m lucky to say that only very rarely has anyone looked down on me or patronised me (I might write something about this at some stage, but I’m staying upbeat for now). Most people seem to be politely interested. Perhaps that’s simply a reflection of the circles I move within.
I’ve experienced nearly a lifetime (so far) of self-doubt, faltering and dissolving confidence, impostor syndrome, and inferiority complexes. I’ve never been “good enough”. And even though my diagnosis has been liberating, it’s also made me put myself under the microscope once again, scrutinising my past experiences, behaviours and reactions anew. I sometimes find I question my actions in a far more extreme way than ever before, despite my determination just to relax and be myself more than ever before. But this has also been one of the most God-damned life-affirming, validating years I’ve ever had, from a professional and personal perspective (let’s just ignore world events for now, yeah?).
I’ll probably reflect separately on positive work stuff and the cool things I’ve learned recently about how my autistic brain works, but for now, it’s enough to say that I’m not special. No-one is. But for all the challenges I’ve faced, the traumas and indignities I’ve suffered, and the pain I’ve endured, I wouldn’t change who I am. I actually like who I am, right now. It’s taken a long time to get to that point, but I’m here now.
And I can keep moving forward, whilst valuing the world I’m in right now.
[Featured image description: park on a bright sunny day, with blue sky, people playing, sitting, or lying on the grass, colourful flowerbeds and lots of trees.]