To the autistics who masked while I chose authenticity.

You are the majority of autistics while people like me are the minority. Most of you weren’t even aware you were autistic until well into adulthood. I need to forgive you even though I have suffered a lot from you avoiding me when we could have been friends. You did what you had to do to survive. The consequences of not masking may have been more severe to you than they were to me; although I still paid a huge price. Most importantly, your choices were very personal and had complex reasons. But a little accountability for your unintended harm goes a long way.

I want you to be honest with yourself. Did you truly believe that being different is shameful and that there was something inherently wrong with both you and me? Have you at any point projected your insecurities on me without realizing it?

What stopped you from standing up for me while I was severely bullied in school? I was bullied by almost everyone in my classes, so I can guarantee that at least some of you joined in because you were afraid the bullying would be directed at you instead. What would you have done differently if you could go back with the knowledge you have?

Last, but not least, how did it make you feel to see me so open and unapologetic about my diagnosis? Did you tell me that I was “brave” to talk about it, while you really believed I was unwise to be so vulnerable? How do you feel knowing now that a small number of people were willing to take those risks to make the world a better place for you?

Update

I have had a lot on my plate over the past few months. I thought I was all set to graduate by now, but it turns out that I still have one more class that I need to complete in order to earn my Master of Arts in Special Education. I even held my graduation ceremony, thinking I was done with everything, only to have the graduate office tell me last week that one class is missing! The people in my life were so excited for me to begin my new search for counseling jobs. Sadly, that all has to wait until December.

The good news is that there is an alternative route to get closer to my new career by taking a transitional job as a graduate student assistant. The pay is about the same as what I am making now, and it will allow me more time to practice my counseling skills. I feel that I still have more to learn anyway before I am ready to be an official counselor.

I am also starting to organize in-person events again for my fellow autistics, after many failed attempts trying to connect people shortly after the pandemic. I have met with a few other group organizers in my area who have already connected lots of people and have good turnouts at their events. Just being able to talk to fellows like me in a real-time manner makes so much of a difference. I can finally discuss the shared traumas many autistic people face, and how it affects their relationships between each other just as much as it does with neurotypicals. I have been able to come to terms that not all autitsic people are going to be the right match for my friendship, and they each have their own battles to pick. But the people I have met with understand the frustration of being a group leader very well. It takes a lot of time putting oneself out there, with no guarantee of shows for a while, and it can feel thankless. The people who finally showed up have proven me just how much they were worth the time and effort.

I never learned the art of masking, because I resisted it growing up

And that is okay. I never should have have been forced to appear “normal” without having other options to cope with ableism. I should have been allowed to judge for myself if and when fitting in was worth it. My peers who ostracized me should have also been held accountable.

Many #ActuallyAutistic folks talk about their experiences faking neurotypical in public, and the toll it has taken on their mental health. They have spent many years trying to fit in, only to find that it is not sustainable in the long run. Meanwhile, I had the opposite problem; I made being the weird kid my identity and I exaggerated my quirks for attention. As a child of the ’90s and early ’00s, the cartoons I watched encouraged viewers to be themselves, and I took that message to heart. I also had one great special ed teacher who set my expectations of others high. She fostered a positive environment for my classmates and me – no matter how different we were, no matter what supports we needed.

But things were about to change as soon as I was transferred into a “regular ed” classroom. My family’s expectations of me were changing, too. They felt it was time that I start toning down my imaginative world so that others don’t label me the weird kid. I hated that advice right away. They were basically asking me to keep the things I enjoyed and loved hidden for the sake of being more like everyone else. But no matter how upset it made me, they continued to argue. Soon our relationship was about to go downhill. It made me feel as though their acceptance of me was conditional.

During my first few years of regular ed, none of the kids were particularly mean to me, but they never fully included me in their activities either. We only said “hi” to each other and talked for a few minutes, then I went off to play alone at recess. I saw no problem with that. I still hung out with my special ed friends while I continued to take the short bus. Because I rarely hung out with “regular” kids, my family was concerned that I was missing out on learning important social skills.

They were not completely wrong. Due to the segregation between mainstream and “special needs” children, neither group knew how to interact with each other. I continued to act in ways that were expected for special education students, and had no concept of why NT children would find it weird. I never had any problems making friends while I was still segregated in those classrooms; in fact, many of the students there loved my company and we had great times together. It did not occur to me why neurotypical students would not be able to enjoy my company the same way. It took two years of mainstream inclusion before I learned how fickle my peers truly were. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks as I entered junior high. Every interaction with my peers triggered a fight or flight response. But I stuck to my values, and there were a small number of teachers and students who supported me for who I was. But even as I transitioned to a more accepting high school, the trauma of severe bullying never left me. It took me a long time to regain the confidence to talk to crushes, thinking I would never have a chance with anyone I wanted to be with. I fooled myself into believing that it was actually my thing to assign numbers to people, rather than others pinning that role onto me. I loved the attention anyway, so I continued to do it just to feel like I was a part of something. But the idiosyncrasy did not last in college – while it made me stand out to my peers, it never helped me accomplish what I was truly after, which was connection.

So I withdrew for many years, convinced that I would never make any friends unless I learned to master the art of normalcy. I may have been right the whole time. But I sure hope the next generations of college students have better options.