30 December 2021, 5 PM – my life changed forever. It was nothing catastrophic but a series of events that led to this moment. 

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“Make friends and be normal” has been on my to-do list since I was a teenager. 

On the outside, my life was ordinary. Growing up, I did not have any significant developmental delays. I was a regular school-going kid, trying to please my teachers and get good grades to keep my parents happy. But on the inside, I was fighting a silent battle — trying to fit in and appear ‘less weird.’ From very early on, every social interaction felt like playing a high-stakes game of chess. No matter how hard I tried, I failed to make friends or socialize. Eventually, I convinced myself that something was wrong with me.  

Thus began my relentless pursuit of ‘appearing normal.’ I spent hours observing how everyone around me behaved and tried to emulate them.

Desperate to fit in, I started using phrases I picked up from other people’s conversations, movies, and books.

As my social skills were limited, I devoted myself to excelling academically, using it as a shield to hide my shortcomings. Throughout my years in school and college, I maintained this facade.

I thought I could fake it till I started working as a lawyer. The profession itself is demanding and stressful. But for me, constant interaction with colleagues and clients and the expectation of socializing after work proved even more challenging. I would replay conversations long after they had ended, trying to analyze if I had let my mask slip. 

The perpetually noisy environment of a law firm also made it difficult to concentrate during the day. This meant I started work only when the rest of the world was winding down. But the nocturnal routine on repeat left me exhausted the following day and affected my performance over the years. Being a lawyer, I knew hiding facts was criminal. Yet, I continued concealing my true self.

After years of trying to fit in, I experienced a severe burnout in 2018. It led to a breakdown at work, prompting me to quit and seek help. 

I was told it was depression and anxiety. Despite being on a cocktail of medicines and going for therapy, something was still amiss. When I sought a second opinion, I was told it could be a personality disorder and was offered new medication that only provided temporary relief. Around 2020, I almost accepted my fate. This was until a conversation with someone who related to my struggles and then asked if I had ever considered I could be autistic. 

I had heard of autism, but I had no idea what it meant. So I spent the next few months researching. I found videos on YouTube by adult autistic creators whose lived experiences mirrored mine. At long last, it felt like I had found the missing piece of the puzzle. But when I asked my former therapist about my possibility of being autistic, their response startled me. “You have empathy,” they said, contradicting an autistic diagnosis. That only a neuro-conforming person could show empathy highlights how misunderstood neurodivergence is. 

Ultimately, in 2021, I sought a formal assessment. The process was extensive, forcing me to revisit uncomfortable memories. When the evaluator expressed interest in speaking to my parents to know more about my early years, my internalized ableism even made me lie — I told them I was seeing a new therapist, and they wanted some information about my childhood. 

Finally, on 30 December 2021, I was on a Zoom call with my evaluator when I found out that I am, indeed, AUTISTIC. 

The diagnosis bought some closure. I could finally stop blaming myself for not fitting in. But when you are diagnosed late in life, unconditional acceptance is a challenge — I now have a severe identity crisis. I question everything that happened before my diagnosis, wondering if it had indeed been me or me behind my mask, trying her best to fit in. 

Surviving as an autistic individual requires a great deal of self-advocacy and making accommodations. On most days, I choose self-preservation above all. I judiciously manage my energy and schedule ample downtime after social interaction. To reduce sensory overwhelm, I keep my phone in grayscale mode and use noise-canceling earphones. I avoid noisy places, loud people, and kids. I also see a therapist who understands and recognizes neurodivergence.

When I open up about my diagnosis, I get the same response, “You don’t look autistic.” But how do I explain that looking or behaving like Sheldon Cooper, Ray Babbit, or Rizwan Khan is a stereotype popularized by the media and not a condition for getting diagnosed? I have told several people in my social and family circle that I am autistic. To them, I am an outlier who doesn’t like synchronous conversations (unexpected phone or video calls send me spiraling) and is reluctant to socialize. Although my ‘unusually asocial’ personality is somewhat acceptable, their deep-rooted ableism holds them back from fully accepting I am autistic.

Image courtesy mediEND0256

I also found it difficult to resume my career as a lawyer. Describing my autistic brain’s occasional ‘refusal to cooperate’ (aka executive dysfunction) is challenging, given law demands hustle. How can I explain that despite my willingness to bring my A-game, I can have shutdowns or meltdowns, leaving my brain paralyzed?

Alongside grieving the loss of a career that could have been and the accompanying financial and social status, I also mourn the person I no longer am — the person who masked her way through more than two decades of life.

I often wonder if struggling academically would have drawn attention and prevented me from slipping through the cracks. Maybe someone would have noticed the signs, prompting an earlier intervention to shape a life more accommodating of my autistic self.

Unfortunately, the loudest ableist voice is uncomfortably close to home — a part of me that has excelled at appearing neuro-confirming for so long. That part still struggles to embrace my autistic self completely.

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Maybe life’s given me a chance for a do-over. 

So I am hopeful that peace and self-acceptance will come sooner than expected.  

Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author’s own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of MyndStories.