Last week, in a revelation that may surprise many—but perhaps make good sense to a few—I received an autism diagnosis. This would have come as quite a shock to me two years ago, but in the year and a half since my ADHD reveal and bombshell dys-agnoses, so much neurodivergent sand has shifted beneath my feet. I plan to share much more about these discoveries and my experience with the DysAuDHD neurotype, but I need some time to collect my thoughts.
In the meantime, please wish me luck as I begin the liberal arts program at Delaware County Community College this fall. Living with the internalized shame of multiple undiagnosed disabilities, higher education always felt inaccessible to me. Now, not so much. Now, I feel more discerning and capable than ever before. Part of that is maturity, but the lion’s share is knowing there’s a reason why my brain works (and doesn’t work) the way it does—and a reason I feel the way I feel. A reason that isn’t just me being a neurotypical failure. This diagnosis is supremely validating, and it has brought me so much relief. The more I learn about myself, the less I have to be afraid of.
I’m still sad (to put it mildly) that I didn’t find—or wasn’t offered—the support that could have made a difference in my younger years. The truth is, most of my life has been ruled by a set of rigid, self-limiting beliefs that I was the author of. Or perhaps trauma was the author, but my inner children and I set about rigorously defending them. Time to do things differently. Time to try some new, previously impossible things. I can’t wait to see what I’m capable of once I get out of my own way.
P.S. If you are laboring under any suspicions and are considering a neuropsych eval or assessment for yourself (or a loved one), DO IT. The process can reveal things you didn’t even know you were hiding from yourself—conditions that might be holding you back or causing hidden shame, even as you plod along blissfully(?) unaware of their effects. Look and see what you can find. Knowledge is power, friends.
It’s like sunlight—illuminating, in my case, the dark alleys and gloomy cul-de-sacs of my learned limits. And sunlight, in the words of a very wise friend, is a powerful disinfectant.
P.P.S. Oh, and goodness. Ugh. Some of you may be wondering if it was smart to share details about this diagnosis with a certain reprehensible individual talking despicable nonsense about abhorrent registries. I can’t know whether some ethically dubious, patently illegal, or straight-up diabolical reason will someday make me regret this admission, but I refuse to live in fear of that possibility, especially when honoring and sharing this knowledge is so affirming and healing for me.
I have consciously and unconsciously hidden so much to protect myself. No more of that, thanks.
