Thread by @KatinOxford

When I was little, my older brothers were diagnosed w/ Asperger's. This was in the 80's & early 90's when we didn't know much abt the condition. But my mom--I got lucky w/ my mom. She did tons of research on the condition, she never shamed my brothers, & welcomed it as a gift.

When I was 9 or 10, my mom had me tested. I am an outlier in autistic women; I got my diagnosis as a child. This was around 1998-1999, so they talked about prescribing medication for me since I wasn't doing well in school. I firmly, firmly refused. I promised I would do better.

Somewhere around that time, I resolved to be more normal. Act like other kids. Not clap my hands over hands when I flushed a toilet because the sound hurt my ears, observe my female friends and mimic them, not wander around on my own telling stories to myself at recess.

I wasn't particularly successful at this in grade school. The teasing was often vicious. "why is Kathleen so WEIRD!" "why do you talk to yourself" "I don't want to sit by Kathleen she's a freak".

I worked harder and harder to be perceived as "normal".

I didn't want to be like my brothers. I wanted to be "normal". Even worse, my father did not believe I had Asperger's because I manifested differently. After all, I had a core social group. I got better grades.

I must only have "a touch of Asperger's".

In high school, I had perfected the neurotypical disguise. I forced myself to ignore the noises and sensations that physically hurt me. I'd figured out basic social norms and when I screwed up at them, I was able to recover jokingly. I used my sense of humor to mask.

This type of masking, however, comes at a cost. spectrumnews.org/features/deep-…

A huge part of the reason girls aren't as diagnosed as commonly as boys is because girls (or those who present as girls at a young age) are socialized differently. They exhibit their autistic characteristics differently and, most often, they mask to avoid being ostracized.

This is a recipe for identity crises, mental health issues, and an assortment of other disorientations from your personhood. There is a high volume of anxiety and depression afflicted ND people and I think a huge part of that is due to the toll masking takes.

Only my closest friends knew I was on the spectrum. I kept it hidden for most of my adult life. I hated sharing it, hated people seeing me differently. I didn't want the stigma that decades of films and television perpetuated.

I didn't want to be Rain Man. I wanted to be Kat.

I didn't want to be Sheldon Cooper. I didn't want to be the Good Doctor savant.

I didn't want people to laugh at my condition.

I just wanted people to accept and love me wholeheartedly. I didn't want autism to define me.

I felt...such shame being autistic.

Then something weirdly magnificent happen. It was the smallest of things, something I doubt was even noticed.

In 2018, I was at #EvolvingFaith. We heard Science Mike speak. And he said, so casually, in such a throwaway way, "I'm autistic, so I read a lot."

It was like a fucking lightning bolt. Here was this amazing speaker and writer, just flatout saying to hundreds of people that he was autistic.

No shame.

No caveats.

"I'm autistic."

And that one small line, that sentence he probably doesn't even remember, changed everything for me.

I was autistic. And it was okay.

He could be Science Mike and autistic.

I could be Kat and autistic.

It was okay.

I slowly but surely started opening up about it. I explored #ActuallyAutistic on Twitter and was amazed at how many things applied to me.

And how many other people had been so badly affected by masking their entire lives.

I started a deconstruction process--a process that is still ongoing--of discovering my autistic foibles that I'd spent decades suppressing.

There's a way paper rubs together that hurts my ears. That's okay.

Certain public toilets are TOO LOUD. It's okay to cover my ears.

I am not boring for going ON AND ON AND ON forever about C.S. Lewis.

Some people on Twitter actually enjoy it!

I don't have to force myself to wear clothes that feel awful on my skin.

It's okay to be insanely picky about my food and how it's prepared. (While striving to always try new things! But forgive myself if I don't like it.)

The artifice, the false certainly-not-autistic-who-me-I'm-just-quirky-Kat is still around. She still shames me when I scratch denim (good stim) or listen to a song I love 900 times because it's just SO GOOD I CAN'T STAND IT.

But I'm starting to learn to forgive her.

Because it wasn't her fault.

And it's not yours either.

#ActuallyAutistic /end