For most of my life I struggled to meet societal expectations. I was awkward and weird, propelled by my own anxiety to the point I was much like a starving dog attempting to steal a bone from a much bigger, healthier dog, and getting away with it because my attack was so driven and unexpected.
I was in my mid-twenties before I learned how to stop talking. I tend to fill the vacuum of quiet which naturally occurs when people are thinking or done talking. That quiet still makes me itch all over. I feel pressure inside to quickly fill it up, but that's impossible and ill-advised. When attempting to fill a vacuum, I throw out thoughts like banana peels. They are slippery and unwelcome. Their color turns as soon as they hit the air. They are better as compost than conversational fuel.
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Compost. It's an idea I come back to frequently. I believe in looking at the shit of life as an opportunity for growth. When I could no longer stand to put on an act that I felt happy and safe with my peers, I felt mired in shit. My own. As though I was false. Truth be told, I was. I had been wearing masks and acting to fulfill the role of "normal." I learned to control my face and pitch my voice and use my body in a manner that has one of my friends telling me I'm a natural actress and I must pursue it. Maybe in a piece she writes, I will, but that's not who I want to be because it's not who I am.
I have a repertoire of characters to suit many occasions. I still switch between them in public. I've written about this before--about reading body language and my telephone voice--how even if I'm crying or asleep I can pass on the phone as happy and alert so as not to make the caller uncomfortable. These characters have served me in a world where neurodivergence is not accepted, but it is now the divergence that most serves me.
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Recognizing myself as autistic was revelatory. I suddenly understood why I never fit. I don't see neurodivergence as wrong. It's divergence. It's difference.
Difference is what set me apart socially and emotionally, drove me to adopt false characters and narratives to locate acceptance. It's also what sharpens my creativity, gives me alternate (and sometimes deeper) perspectives and, ultimately, supports me in loving and accepting myself.
What I mean to say is learning I am autistic was a relief. I was able to look back at the catalogue of my life and understand so many more interactions, tough moments and my incredibly painful shyness, outbursts and more. It was much like when I learned I have post traumatic stress disorder. Those words allowed me to accept that violence throughout my life was not something I sought. Namely, I was able to finally dispel with guilt for being raped and sexually assaulted. Blame landed where it should have: on the perpetrators.
With autism as part of me, I've stopped hiding my stims. If I need to cover my ears and rock, I find a comfortable spot and do it. My kids know what it means, they know to wait, but if they are rowdy, I'll find another adult and ask for help so I can calm my nervous system and carry on.
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What does this boil down to? There is so much about me that was never accepted from the outside. Because I have the words and research to understand myself, I am able to accept it from the inside. PTSD, ADHD, dyslexia, dyscalculia, Autism Spectrum Disorder, depression, anxiety. These are all pieces of who I am. In fact, all fall under the ASD umbrella as autism informs our storing of violent experiences. They go together, and it's okay that this package calls me has so many labels. Labels don't make me, but they help me be my best me.
I have friends who never seek diagnosis for themselves or their children. I don't judge, but I don't understand. How do you turn off your curiosity? A label can be so useful. Yes, it can be applied destructively, but if we lovingly own our divergences from "typical," it doesn't matter what the world says. I choose to show my labels on the outside in an effort to de-stigmatize. None of them have stopped me from being compassionate. If anything, they've increased my ability to empathize. I am not afraid of knowing myself, but it's only because I've had the chance to examine my needs through the correct framework. I wish we all had this opportunity. I also wish for less stigma surrounding divergence.
I am many things, not one thing. No label can accurately caption all of me. Each one has simply paved a bit more of the path to self-acceptance.
What are you accepting about yourself?
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Only for girls.
Every post you write shows a clear picture of your mind which you are always
passionate to share with us without fear of hiding. I call this sincere identity
You are always straightforward...."calling a spade a spade"...always
ready in facing what life brings about. This has really set you ahead in so
many things of which i 'm proud in taking you as one of my top role models.
@shawnamawna.
Don't hate on me but it sounds to me the you are "normal" whatever the hell that is. Sounds like you got a pretty good grip on reality and have learned a crucial step towards mastery. Bravo! I imagine it kinda sucks that so many probably look to you for the answers of their own FINE (fucked up insecure emotional) life. I know it can be a bit much at times especially with the PTSD, guilt, self doubt, manic, depressive, etc, etc... Forget all that. You're well on the road to being victorious, happy, healthy, and even holy in my book. Keep up the good work and try to be gentle on your - self. I hope you can feel the heart felt love I'm sending to you this moment.
Just think... Gee ain't life Grand
What a loving and brilliant response! Thank you. I appreciate this so much @spozone. I do think we have words for too much now-that we don’t need to classify everything as “different.” At the same time, when being outcast, it helps to have words to lean on that say, “It’s not actually about you. It’s about intolerance of variety.”