I was diagnosed with Autism the day after my 53rd birthday. One reasons it took so long was because when I first learned about Autism in college it was not a diagnosis to seek out. I learned about autism in a psych 101 class and it scared me how many of the symptoms I related to. Like banging your head. I was a headbanger from about 5 until my early 20s. (fill in your own heavy metal joke.) There were other symptoms, but that’s the one that’s stuck with me all these years. But I couldn’t be autistic. The autistic kids in the textbooks and films could barely communicate or interact with people. Then we talked about schizophrenia and some of those symptoms hit home as well. We know now that there’s overlap, but at the time all I knew was that I related to these people and I didn’t want anyone to know. Looking back with what I’ve learned over this last year, I know I masked before then. But I see that as the turning point where the mask became more of a permanent part of daily life.

Letting go of that fear of being labeled autistic was the toughest part of getting diagnosed. It was learning about aspergers that lead me to a more modern understanding of autism and let me look for help. I’m learning to embrace being autistic and have started to bring it up more openly at work. But it’s difficult. In some ways it’s been like going through the stages of grief. I spent decades in denial. At times I got angry with myself, even if I didn’t know why. While I don’t think I did any bargaining, it was depression that lead me down the path to seek help. Having a diagnosis put me in a better place, and I’m still navigating acceptance and what that means.

I don’t wonder what life would have been like if I had been diagnosed all those years ago. I wonder what it would have been like if I had the same understanding of autism back then that I do now.

A question on redit recently got me thinking about my history of employment. I’ve been fortunate to stumble into a field that’s allowed me to have a long career. Looking back I realize it could have gone very differently. My early employment was a series of part time or temporary jobs. The few time I had something more permanent or full time it didn’t last long.

I remember one temp job where I had to pick parts. In some ways it was ideal. You got a list of parts and went through the warehouse pulling them together into a tray. You then took the tray to the person who did the assembly. While you were on the floor you could listen to music, had to focus on your list, and be timely. The challenge was that people wanted to socialize. Several of them went to lunch together or wanted to chat on breaks. I ate in my car to avoid people and smiled and nodded during breaks. It wasn’t that they weren’t nice folks, I just didn’t know how to interact with them, and it sent my social anxiety through the roof. After calling in sick for three days straight because I couldn’t cope, they said they couldn’t hold the job for me. I guess we both figured I’d quit.

During that time one of the best temp jobs I’d had was working in a physical file room. They basically stuck me back in a cage with the files. The job consisted of pulling requested files, and re-filing them when they came back. I kept busy and could listen to books-on-tape or music (this was the 90’s). And no one wanted to stop and chat. I got promoted out of the file room. I lasted for a while after that, but eventually that ended as well. Mostly because of the hour plus commute.

I ended up in a temp job at Wells Fargo auditing branch cash drawers. Most of it was done on the computer. And while the people I worked with wanted to chat, they mostly wanted to talk about work. I could do that. I understood the work we did and could talk about it without any problem. It was a temp job and as it wound down they asked me if had another job lined up. When I said no they asked if I could help in another area. “You seem to be pretty good with computer stuff. Another department is using this application called Microsoft Access. Do you think you could figure it out and help us organize X?” I started working with it and learning about database design. They asked me to stay, and I quickly figured out if I kept building them new tools I didn’t have to do the parts of the job I hated. Like making cold calls to customers. They pretty much left me to develop tools and applications. I liked the work. Development was about information and how things connected together. It clicked with my brain and I was good at it.

Towards the end of my first year at Wells they called me into a conference room to meet with a VP from the Bay Area. The bank had to complete Y2K certification. She wanted to know who I was and why was my name associated with three applications listed as mission critical for the certification program. I thought for sure I was going to be fired. Instead I got pulled onto a development team and I officially had a career, not just a job. While I worked hard and always kept learning, I recognize that I got very lucky to find this path. If it hadn’t been for Y2K I may not have had the career I have now. I was also fortunate to have been on a team at Wells that allowed me to learn the social skills I needed in the corporate world. My time at Wells Fargo wasn’t perfect, but it did provide a safe place for me. A lot of people don’t get that opportunity.

I know now that most (all?) of my social anxiety comes from being autistic. Back then I thought I was a horrible person for not being able to connect with my co-workers. That there was something wrong with me. What let me have a career was finding a field that let me leverage how my brain works. I was able to make aspects of my job my special interest, and then turn my special interest in to a craft. I’ve continued to do this throughout my career. Along the way I’ve learned how to socialize at work (about work). I keep most of my non-work related special interests to myself. I don’t hide them. I just don’t go on about them. I’ve developed a work persona that let’s me fit in even when I tend to stand apart. It isn’t perfect, but it works. It also has it’s limitations, but that’s another story.

I’m writing this for a few reasons. One is to track my own self discovery, but the other is in hope that it might help someone else. At the least, I hope you know you’re not alone.

There’s a trope in superhero origin stories. There’s that scene where the hero is tormented by their powers before learning to control them. For example, Superman not being able to control his x-ray vision. Seeing nothing but peoples insides. But eventually he masters his “gifts” and harnesses them for good. Now imagine if he never gained mastery over those gifts. What if he couldn’t control when they were a boon and when they were a torment?

Many folks who are Neurodivergent (ND) will talk about how it gives them superpowers. It’s a way to put a positive spin on our disabilities. And yes, there is truth to the superpowers metaphor for some us. But it’s still a positive spin that doesn’t always reflect reality. This notion of ND superpowers is also controversial in the community. While some are able to harness things like hyper-focus into an asset, others face such severe challenges that they see it as anything but positive.

I myself have referred to autism as giving me superpowers while leaving me vulnerable to kryptonite. While it’s a nice metaphor it isn’t accurate. Superpowers are internal while kryptonite is external. Why not just avoid kryptonite? This is where the metaphor starts to break down. Kryptonite is rare and some of my triggers are all too common. It’s how the outside world gets perceived by my internal wiring that’s the issue. It’s how what in one context is a superpower, in anther context can eat me from the inside. I don’t believe my autism has gotten better or worse over the years. Over time I’ve changed the way I interact with the world. Context and intent make a difference in how the world impacts me.

As an example, my hatred of bars and night clubs isn’t due to my autism getting worse, it’s about the change in my interaction with those environments. When I was in my early 20’s I went to crowded, bright, noisy clubs to drink and dance. Giving into the sensory overload was part of the experience. Plus one for autism. I didn’t have to get high to experience a trip at a night club. But as I got older it became more about hanging out with people. When you try to focus on people and conversations, a crowded, bright, noisy bar is a special type of hell. The environment didn’t changed. My autism didn’t changed. My intent and my context for being there changed.

There’s another place where the kryptonite metaphor is faulty. If you remove the kryptonite, Superman gets better and goes off to save the day. A common element of many NDs is the concept of meltdowns and shutdowns. And you don’t just recover when the trigger is removed. Basically, when you become so overwhelmed by external factors and triggers you enter into one of these states. How meltdowns/shutdowns manifest depends on the individual. My meltdowns are infrequent these days, but tend to look like misplaced anger and frustration. Shutdowns are more common for me. When I go into a shutdown I retract into myself and become almost non-verbal. Once I go into a shutdown I have to ride it out. Once the trigger is removed I will sometimes go into a state of euphoria that looks like recovery. But it doesn’t last long and full recovery can take days. This is one of the things that gets missed by most neurotypicals. The long recovery times.

And recovery times aren’t limited to meltdowns and shutdowns. Masking to fit in can take a large toll as well. Over the years I’ve created a facilitators mask. While building out a full workshop leans into my strengths, facilitating a workshop goes against my true self. I’ve learned how to do it. And do it well. Part of me even enjoys it. But there’s a price. Part of that price is that I lack focus for two to three days afterwards. Some of that time is mental recovery, but much is spent running over every detail of the workshop. I can’t turn it off. I don’t want to get into debates about masking, but it’s worth noting that wearing a mask is a type of trauma for most NDs. You’re putting your mind through something it’s not wired to do. When an athlete pushes their body to the brink they need a proper recovery cycle. When wearing a heavy mask for a prolonged period, I also need a recovery cycle.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to put a positive spin on things. If we only ever dwell on the negative life can seem pointless. Yet, only looking on the bright side of life does a disservice, as it tends to romanticize disability. Life shouldn’t be an endlessly depressing Morrissey song. Nor should it be a jaunty Monty Python one. But it might just be a 1980s sitcom theme. “You take the good. You take the bad. You take them both, and then you have, the facts of life.”