The Big Secret

There was a secret I used to keep for a long time.  I kept it hidden in the back of my mind, disguised in my behavior, and wiped from every introduction and small-talk conversation I had.  If anyone found out, my fear would absolutely skyrocket.

Audio coming soon!

You know it already.  It’s in the title of this blog.

Yes, I’m autistic.  It’s pretty clear now.  But only a few years ago, that would never be the first thing you knew about me.

When I was first diagnosed around the age of ten, my mom came to my fifth grade classroom and did a presentation about autism to teach them more about me.  I have to admit, it was a really cool day.  For once, all my classmates seemed genuinely interested in me.  A lot of them came up to tell me how much they admired me and offered help if I needed anything.  They were very nice.  Unfortunately though, this only lasted for a little while.  Within 48 hours, I was back to getting bullied on the bus.  I realized that the presentation had been nothing but brief entertainment for my peers.

In middle school, I was put into a program that linked autistic classmates with neurotypical “friends” to help them.  I’d like to get more into this in another post, but for now, I’ll just summarize.  Basically, the neurotypicals who signed up for the program would be assigned an autistic person to eat lunch with in the library.  Many of the other autistic kids were in the special needs classes, and I was one of the only ones who was considered “normal” enough.  Thus, I found myself with peers who were content to just eat lunch and chat with me while the others who shared my diagnosis got abandoned.  I couldn’t stand to watch it.  I couldn’t stand to be there.  So eventually, I just stopped going.

By the time high school rolled around, I’d started learning.  If I opened my mouth, if I said I had the “a-word,” I’d get treated way differently than I would otherwise.  Whenever I told a new acquaintance that I was autistic or they found out themselves, stereotypes took over.  As a result, I’d get left alone, taken advantage of, constantly asked if I needed help, or worse – a combination of all three.  People thought of me as simultaneously an incapable child and a genius, so they would only talk to me if they perceived themselves or I needing assistance.  Eventually I stopped giving into selfish requests, which was hard, but it was even harder to get rid of the “helpers.”  Sometimes, people were so adamant about helping me that it was almost like I was helping them.  I had to allow them to do what they wanted or else they wouldn’t leave me alone.  Often I would just take the advice, thank them, walk away, and have nothing to do with the whole thing until I saw the person again.  No one would listen to my side of the story, or even my voice, as one individual always spoke to me slowly.  In their minds, I was an untrustworthy source on the subject of my own life.  By senior year, I’d realized that I felt much better off taking care of myself than letting anyone else dictate what I had to do.

Cheap thrills, forced friends, stereotypes – it was way too much to handle.  My diagnosis had to be erased, and college was the perfect opportunity to do that.  Going to a new school with hardly anyone from K12 meant that I could get a completely different reputation.  I didn’t tell people about my diagnosis until they’d gotten a chance to see my personality first.  For a while, it worked.  People were surprised, but generally calm about me being autistic.  They hadn’t been expecting it, but they wanted to support me while still respecting my boundaries.  For the first time, I felt heard.

However, there was a downside to me keeping my secret.  There were times when I’d get overwhelmed and be on the verge of meltdown.  People were unknowingly triggering my symptoms.  I’d hear misinformation and feel a need to clear it up.  A big reveal right at first glance wasn’t working, but neither was hiding everything.

By now, I’ve found a happy medium.  Of course, this is different for everybody, but I’ve found this benefits me the most.  When forming a casual relationship, such as meeting a friend or coworker, I don’t have to tell anyone upfront about my diagnosis.  With a teacher, health professional, boss, or relevant community, this might be a more immediate conversation, and in situations like meltdowns, it is important to tell anyone right away.  In all circumstances, however, I prefer to keep it as nonchalant as possible, maintaining my personality as if we were talking about anything else.  I keep the topic brief and straightforward unless they want to ask questions.  That way, people know, but they understand that there’s more to me than just a label.  Yes, I do have strengths and struggles, but I am not a stereotype.  My goal is to help people understand.  As I finish this post, I’m glad I can be me without keeping a big secret.