Ladybird2013
New Member
Hello!
This is my first post on this forum, so I am a bit nervous, and I’m sorry if I don’t do this “right.”
I recently watched a video by a woman with Asperger’s syndrome, and all of a sudden, it was like a shroud was lifted from my head. She talked about masking, and how pervasive it is particularly for autistic girls and women. This sparked a fever in me to research autism and Asperger’s in adult women.
After hours of reading, suddenly my need to recoil in a dark room in the fetal position for hours (oftentimes, days) at a time after going to the grocery store, meeting up with family or friends, or going to a doctor appointment made sense. My penchant for having all the curtains drawn in my house and my adoration of cloudy, rainy days made sense. My need to prepare scripts and visualize my posturing prior to virtually any social interaction made sense. I’m pretty darn sure I’m on the autism spectrum.
The completely ironic thing is that I’m professionally trained as a speech-language pathologist; I’m an expert in communication and autism spectrum disorders. Why did it take 30 years for it to occur to me that maybe I am on the spectrum?! Well now that I think about it, it didn’t. Growing up, particularly in high school and college, I would “joke” to my mom that maybe I was autistic. But I was “very good” socially! I was extremely empathetic! I couldn’t be autistic! (Insert eye roll here ). I now realize I had very gender biased, stereotypical ideas of what autism looks like.
I was a very high achieving student. I graduated at the top of my class in high school, undergrad, and graduate school. But after 3 attempts over the course of 4 years to work as a speech-language pathologist, I finally acknowledged that working in the environments available to me was not an option. I attributed this to my diagnosis of treatment resistant depression. Now I strongly believe it is because I am on the spectrum.
I absolutely love speech and language. I love studying people’s speech and language patterns, diagnosing their difficulties, writing evaluation reports, creatively problem solving and generating individualized goals and treatment protocols. What was extremely difficult was actually interacting with clients and their parents. I did it, and I did it well. But I would come home from work, crash into bed, and be asleep by 5:30 PM. Sleep and work. That’s all I did for 4 years.
It’s been a year since I’ve stopped working, and my depression is in remission. But if I’m not depressed, why are socializing, running errands, doing chores, and doing other “normal” daily things still so darn exhausting? Maybe it’s because I’m autistic.
I can’t count the amount of times this past week I’ve cried because I’ve read another woman’s account of discovering she’s autistic and or/ receiving a diagnosis. I’ve cried because, for the first time in my life, I see people who experience the world like I do. I’ve cried because suddenly I see myself for who I really am. I’ve cried because I realize that maybe I haven’t failed at life, but maybe I’m actually an incredible miracle for surviving this long in a society that wasn’t designed for people like me. My mask has cracked and now it is crumbling in my hands.
I am currently trying to get an evaluation for ASD. I am nervous and excited to see where this leads.
Can anyone relate to my experiences so far?
x- Ladybird
This is my first post on this forum, so I am a bit nervous, and I’m sorry if I don’t do this “right.”
I recently watched a video by a woman with Asperger’s syndrome, and all of a sudden, it was like a shroud was lifted from my head. She talked about masking, and how pervasive it is particularly for autistic girls and women. This sparked a fever in me to research autism and Asperger’s in adult women.
After hours of reading, suddenly my need to recoil in a dark room in the fetal position for hours (oftentimes, days) at a time after going to the grocery store, meeting up with family or friends, or going to a doctor appointment made sense. My penchant for having all the curtains drawn in my house and my adoration of cloudy, rainy days made sense. My need to prepare scripts and visualize my posturing prior to virtually any social interaction made sense. I’m pretty darn sure I’m on the autism spectrum.
The completely ironic thing is that I’m professionally trained as a speech-language pathologist; I’m an expert in communication and autism spectrum disorders. Why did it take 30 years for it to occur to me that maybe I am on the spectrum?! Well now that I think about it, it didn’t. Growing up, particularly in high school and college, I would “joke” to my mom that maybe I was autistic. But I was “very good” socially! I was extremely empathetic! I couldn’t be autistic! (Insert eye roll here ). I now realize I had very gender biased, stereotypical ideas of what autism looks like.
I was a very high achieving student. I graduated at the top of my class in high school, undergrad, and graduate school. But after 3 attempts over the course of 4 years to work as a speech-language pathologist, I finally acknowledged that working in the environments available to me was not an option. I attributed this to my diagnosis of treatment resistant depression. Now I strongly believe it is because I am on the spectrum.
I absolutely love speech and language. I love studying people’s speech and language patterns, diagnosing their difficulties, writing evaluation reports, creatively problem solving and generating individualized goals and treatment protocols. What was extremely difficult was actually interacting with clients and their parents. I did it, and I did it well. But I would come home from work, crash into bed, and be asleep by 5:30 PM. Sleep and work. That’s all I did for 4 years.
It’s been a year since I’ve stopped working, and my depression is in remission. But if I’m not depressed, why are socializing, running errands, doing chores, and doing other “normal” daily things still so darn exhausting? Maybe it’s because I’m autistic.
I can’t count the amount of times this past week I’ve cried because I’ve read another woman’s account of discovering she’s autistic and or/ receiving a diagnosis. I’ve cried because, for the first time in my life, I see people who experience the world like I do. I’ve cried because suddenly I see myself for who I really am. I’ve cried because I realize that maybe I haven’t failed at life, but maybe I’m actually an incredible miracle for surviving this long in a society that wasn’t designed for people like me. My mask has cracked and now it is crumbling in my hands.
I am currently trying to get an evaluation for ASD. I am nervous and excited to see where this leads.
Can anyone relate to my experiences so far?
x- Ladybird
