My mom often related my childhood reading habits to devouring food. From my mother’s perspective, I was speeding through books as though my eyes were a machine with a conveyer belt tongue feeding me one after another. Convinced I wasn’t actually reading them, she required me to write book reports to prove I retained the information.

I never liked my reading habits described as devouring. Devouring gives the illusion that the information, stories, and characters only passed through me like a meal. But books never passed through me. The relationships I built with the characters were as real to me as the girl next door.

What she didn’t understand – and how could she since I wasn’t diagnosed with autism until adulthood – is that books were not fun stories to entertain me. Books were my friends. Within the pages of my books, I understood the art of communicating without a mask or filter. I created a friendship with the main character. Every word they said was shared with me; every thought was shared with me. And their circle of friends? Mine, too.

As a mother of an autistic girl was quoted in Sarah Hendrickx’s book, Women and Girls with Autism Spectrum Disorder, “She loves books and plays with them as well as reading them – almost like they have their own personalities.”

Books have a life of their own.

Standing stiff in a perfect salute along my bookshelf, the spines of my books offered a doorway into communication and friendship I couldn’t find in the real world.

As an autistic child, I fell behind in understanding the subtle art of non-verbal communication. I’d misread facial expressions; most jokes fell flat at my feet. I’d force laughs when others would laugh. Hide behind a chameleon’s mask, copying the facial expressions of others in the group. Quite simply, stepping into the friendships within the pages allowed me to go in bare naked – no mask, just myself. My whole self was fully exposed but entirely accepted.

In books, motivations and intentions are laid out in black and white. There is no need to read facial expressions; the book tells me what each character is doing.

A pattern of social predictability emerges in every book. Friendships break, but I know they will reconcile in the end. Characters’ personalities are less fluid and complex than in the real world. Behind each action is an intent – a purpose. Every character’s actions fall into a box based on their personality. There is a truth and comfort to this predictability.

In my pre-teen years, when social skills suddenly took a more significant role in defining social cliques, The Babysitters Club was my jam. Through my books, I could safely observe the social dynamics of teenage girls and, in a way, be a part of them.

Mary Anne, Dawn, Kristy, Claudia, Stacey, and Mallory were my closest friends for a few years.

I even attempted to recreate the relationships in the real world. I started my own babysitters’ club and convinced a few girls to join and take up the roles of each girl based on similar personalities. We never picked up babysitting gigs, but we did hold meetings.

I took up the role of Mary Anne.

Looking back, I remember the desperation and panic when the other girls broke out of character. In character, in my mind, the dynamics were predictable. I was accepted because Mary Anne was accepted. But out of character, the real world set in. I would, again, be the outcast: rarely invited over, often left out of conversations and made fun of. It was the ultimate masking attempt I’ve ever tried. And it failed.

Within two months, the real world set in. The play-acting was no longer novel to the other girls. They moved on to the next thing, and I was left behind. Allowed to tag along at school but rarely invited for sleepovers or to ‘hang out.’

Books, unlike people, have always been there for me. Accepting. Understanding. Thrilled to invite me in.

They also teach me about relationships. As Sarah Hendrickx puts it, “Not only does reading offer a solo escape from a chaotic world, it also provides knowledge and data that may help that [autistic] girl to manage that world once she has to return to it.”

For the past week, I’ve had morning coffee with Matt Haig. I intently listened as he shared his Notes on a Nervous Planet. Brené Brown and I are tight. She drops by in the evenings to share her latest success in researching shame.

I was there the day Scout beat up Cecil, and she taught me a few things about not accepting an unjust world. I imagine her when I’m looking for the courage to be myself. Bilbo helps me face my fear of the unknown; Mary Oliver allows me to tag along on her walks through the field next to her home.

These are the most honest and deep friendships I have. They show up when I need them to. They never have an excuse not to meet up with me.

I’m always welcome and there is always an open invitation.

Along with my autism diagnosis, I received another diagnosis: depression. 

I don’t remember when I started my personal battle with depression. It always seemed to be there – like those memory balls on Inside Out tinged with the color of emotion. Most of my memories are tinged with blue. 

It was a constant companion. 

Since my mother was abusive, therapy in childhood was never an option. As an adult, I entered therapy on and off again – when I had the money and time. It didn’t matter when I went or who I saw; their answers were the same: take an antidepressant. 

But medication didn’t work for me – it made my depression worse. 

It wasn’t until my autism diagnosis at the age of 39 that I discovered the truth about my depression. The antidepressants didn’t work because the depression was related to how I interacted with the neurotypical world. 

Here are some statistics from the Autistica site to consider: 

1. More than 5 in 10 autistic adults have had depression.
2. Autistic adults (without an intellectual disability) are over nine times more likely to consider suicide than the general population.

For many autistics, depression can stem from our interaction with a society that doesn’t accept us for who we are and requires us to hide our autistic traits. 

Masking

Masking is what autistics do to hide or suppress our autistic traits and, speaking for myself, is the most significant contributing factor to depression. Although masking occurs in both women and men, it is found more often in women, which may explain why girls are undiagnosed. Hiding our autistic traits makes it more difficult to diagnose us. 

Girls and women feel pressured to be more social and often mimic other girls or women. Speech patterns, tone, inflection, body language, special interests, etc., can be masked to a certain extent.  

You probably wonder what this has to do with our depression discussion. Well, several things.

Let’s start here: 

1. Masking is an exhausting process. 

I’ll start with a conversation between two people: one neurotypical and one autistic. For neurotypical people, much of their unspoken social cues are automatic. But for the autistic person, most of the conversation is a conscious effort. 

As described by Healthline, “Masking consumes huge amounts of energy. In a 2016 study, Trusted Source, women who used masking to satisfy neurotypical standards said they felt exhausted by the constant effort.”

The neurotypical can focus on the conversation and give little attention to everything else. Not only does the autistic person try to participate in the conversation, but they must also actively regulate their facial expressions and body language while also monitoring the flow of the conversation and the topic covered. 

While attempting to focus on what is said, we are also processing this in our heads: 

• What are my arms doing? Are they crossed? 
• Am I looking at the person? 
• Is that a pause for my turn to talk? 
• Was that a joke? 
• She made a weird face. Is my tone off? 
• Perhaps I should nod my head, so she knows I’m listening. 
• And much, much more. 

This extreme exercise in mental processing and multitasking is exhausting. 

The overwhelming burden of masking while socializing can often lead autistics to take breaks from socializing or avoid it altogether. This can increase our isolation and decrease our ability to make friends, both of which influence our levels of depression. 

2. Masking means we are living a lie and not being our authentic selves. 

Growing up without an autism diagnosis made me feel like I was leading a double life. And many autistics – especially the late-diagnosed women – feel this way. 

To be socially accepted, we must pretend to be someone we are not, but the mask we put on is at odds with our authentic selves. 

The more pressure we feel to mask our authentic selves, the less we know about ourselves. 

When I received my diagnosis, I felt like I had to look in the mirror and introduce myself…to myself. I didn’t know who I was and finally understood why. But, more importantly, how could I expect others to accept me for who I am if I don’t know who I am? 

When you feel that you must constantly hide who you are from the world to be accepted, your mental health will suffer. We need deep connections with friends and family to feel like we belong. 

Communication Misinterpretation

Our communication style is quite different from neurotypicals. We are more direct, blunt, honest, and don’t pick up on the smaller unspoken social cues like tone, body language, and facial expressions. It’s not uncommon for an autistic’s body language or facial expression to be mismatched with our emotional state or the tone of our voice. 

Think about it: If you can’t effectively decipher social cues, you can’t effectively use them. Mimicking others can only go so far.  

This apparent mismatch can cause neurotypicals to misinterpret what we are saying. 

For a quick example, let’s look at the response to unwrapping a gift. I can be thrilled about my gift, but my neutral face and flatly delivered “thank you” will undoubtedly, be misinterpreted as not happy with the gift. My parents accused me of not showing enough excitement and appreciation for gifts as a child. “You’re being rude,” was often said to me by my mother. 

Now, when I receive a gift, I consciously make an effort to express my gratitude outwardly. But this is hard. Am I overdoing it? Do they understand how excited I am? Do I come across as fake in my enthusiasm? 

Even when masking, our autistic traits can sometimes leak through. And in a highly standardized world, our differences make us stand out from the norm. We all know what happens if you aren’t ‘normal’ enough. 

Being different or ‘weird’ makes you a target for bullying and gossip.  

Because our brains don’t work ‘normally,’ we can often be told that our actions, words, and thoughts are wrong. 

Believing everything you do and say will be wrong can cause you to hold back and not participate in life and significantly affect your self-confidence. 

Autistics struggle to balance masking for acceptance and maintaining our authentic selves. We need access to appropriate mental health services to help us through these issues and depression.  

More than anything, we need affordable access to therapists specializing in autism. Therapists with the expertise to support adult women are hard to come by (there are only three in my city) and very expensive. 

More than anything, we need affordable access to therapists specializing in autism. It’s not uncommon for autistic adults – especially women – to be misdiagnosed with depression, and the source or reason for that depression is completely missed, overlooked, or ignored. Medications may help some, but we also need support in addressing the underlying causes of depression and anxiety related to our inactions in society.

As an autistic person, I hate the question, “How are you doing?”

When I say that I hate the question, think Grinch-loathes-Whoville-and-Christmas level hate.

Seriously, it’s a horrible question. Why haven’t neurotypicals figured this out yet?

As most autistics do, I learned about the insanity of this question the hard way. People may ask this question, but they don’t want to hear the answer.

No matter how you actually feel, neurotypicals expect to hear, “I’m fine. And you?” in response. This doesn’t come naturally to autistics, and it isn’t a habit to learn quickly.

An exhaustive thought process occurs from hearing the question to verbalizing the response.

Want to know what it’s like? Peek into my head. Come on; I won’t bite. Get in here:

A co-worker walks by and says, “Hey, Sarah. How are you?”

My thought process:

Ugh. THAT question. I don’t know. How am I? I’m hungry, but he doesn’t need to know that. I’m depressed because I hate my job. If I say that, does it make me a Debbie-downer? Maybe I should avoid that subject since he is a co-worker. But perhaps he feels the same way, and it would be nice to know someone else hates this place, too. How well do I know him? I think he has kids. Should I tell him that I was excited about my son’s promotion in swim class last night? Does he want to hear about my son? Probably not…What part of my life is he asking about???

Oh, yeah. He probably doesn’t want an answer. Why do people even ask this question if they don’t want the answer? What’s up with not telling the truth? They ask me how I feel but don’t want the answer. They want everything to be fine – let’s lie to the world and say everything is fine. Why ask the question if you don’t want the truth? Geez. 

Okay, slow down. Sllllloooooowwwww down brain!

Just tell him you’re fine – isn’t that what people expect. Quickly. Before too much time has passed. He’ll think I’m ignoring him. 

“I’m fine.”

There. I said it. Wait. He’s just staring at me. Shit. I forgot something. He’s looking at me weirdly. What did I forget? Oh, yeah…

“And you?”

Okay, he’s fine as usual. But wait, he can’t be fine. His face is red, and he’s gripping his pencil so hard his knuckles are white. Dude, you aren’t ‘fine.’ Why would you lie about that? I know you are lying to me. 

Is it his mom? She was in the hospital for a while. Maybe his wife? Is he sick? Did his boss chew him out? Is he mad at me? Was my tone off? Did I come across as rude? Too abrupt? Am I smiling to let him know I’m not annoyed at his question? What else am I forgetting here?

Seriously, WHY IS YOUR FACE SO RED????

Shoot. Did he just ask me another question? I missed it…

So, why is this a big deal to autistics?

• Cognitive Empathy 

According to Sara Hodges and M.W. Myers, cognitive empathy is “having more complete and accurate knowledge about the contents of another person’s mind, including how the person feels.”

Unfortunately, mindreading isn’t in the autistic skillset. Neurotypicals can weigh the type of relationship they have with someone to predict what’s in their head.

But for me, the expectation of invoking cognitive empathy adds another round of wheel whirling in my head. There are too many variables to consider.

If I’m too tired to go through this thought process, I’ll start answering. I’ll pour out the details or stumble my way through as I attempt to shorten the response. All this takes energy to reign in the details because the question isn’t specific enough. How am I? There are so many paths to go down for this, and I have no idea which one to take.

• Literal Interpretation of Language

I remember the first time I heard the phrase: it’s raining cats and dogs. My mother was standing at the front window with the curtains open. I ran to the window to look because, you know, cats and dogs are falling from the sky, right? Gotta see that!

To my disappointment, there were no cats and dogs – just rain. That was my first lesson in idioms.

To this day, I go through a translation process in my head when I hear that phrase and many others. Same with the greeting, “How are you?”

Autistics take language at face value. What you say is what we expect you to mean. If you ask, “How are you doing?” then answering the question honestly should be the expectation. It feels fake otherwise.

If you don’t care to hear the answer, then a simple “Hello,” is greeting enough.

The point of sharing this is: If one greeting can cause this much anxiety to an autistic, can you imagine the anxiety and exhaustion of an entire conversation? We’re expected to communicate by neurotypical rules. It’s complicated, exhausting, and confusing.

For many neurotypicals, all of these “unspoken” rules come naturally. Neurotypicals can read an interaction and relationship enough to respond to this seemingly simple question.

But for autistics, it isn’t apparent. How do I know if someone is willing to hear the honest answer? When is the “I’m fine” response expected?

I just want people to mean what they say….or ask in this instance. Is that too much to ask?

We all know that interrupting someone is rude. Our parents taught us that. Our teachers taught us that.

It’s frustrating to be engrossed in a task or conversation and be interrupted. Just about anyone, neurotypical or neurodivergent, is irritated on some level.

I envy the person that can pick up a conversation with, “Now where was I? Oh, yeah! So, as I was saying…” I’ve never been that person. The person that can take a few moments to remember and pick it up the conversation again. Me? If I’m interrupted, I need to start the thought process over from the beginning.   

For autistic people, interruptions are on another level. Forget irritated – try emotionally shattering. I’m so involved mentally in the task that when someone interrupts me, I’m ripped out of my body. I’m thrown off and expected to pay attention to the interrupter. But my attention doesn’t want to let go of the original task. It’s mentally and emotionally jarring.

Masking is virtually impossible at this moment. Attempting to stop the look of frustration and avoid a terse response is hit or miss.

The response to being interrupted during a task at work is amplified. The interruptions aren’t a sometimes thing, they are excessive. It’s exhausting to shift focus to the interrupter then shift back to the task at hand. It’s like spending all my time sorting coins only to have someone come along and throw them all around the room. I can’t jump into the task where I left off, I need to start at the beginning to reorganize the information in my head and follow the thought process all over again.

On top of frequent socializing, task interruption is probably one of the main causes of exhaustion for me. At the end of the day, I’m frustrated and on edge. I can’t focus on anything. And I take all that home. Sustaining this work method just throws me into meltdowns and burnouts.

Notifications for chats, phone calls, email dings, meetings, and people randomly stopping by my cubicle. For much of the pandemic, I’ve worked remotely – desk drops are replaced with Teams chat notifications or unexpected calls.

Even though meetings are scheduled, they too interrupt my work. I don’t have the time to focus deeply on a project before shifting over to another meeting. When autistic people focus, we can lose all track of time and miss a lot of our own body signals until the last minute. When I’m focused, I don’t know when I need to go to the bathroom until it becomes an urgent feeling. Even though I know a meeting is coming up, I’m so focused and lose track of that time that the notification reminding me of the meeting is a frustrating interruption.

Lately, I started exploring a few options to reduce the interruptions. Blocking large chunks of time on my calendar, turning off notifications, and silencing my phone help a little. But they don’t stop the persistent co-worker or boss in an environment where every employee is expected to jump at any moment’s notice. I live in fear of being fired because I set up boundaries that others don’t.

If we really want to create inclusive work environments for autistic people, the entire way companies work will need to change. That’s what companies don’t understand.

It isn’t a few accommodations for the autistic person – it’s how everyone in the office works. Although interruptions effect autistics at a much greater intensity level, they do negatively affect the overall productivity of everyone at the office.

According to University of California Berkley, “The length of our recovery time depends on the complexity of our task; ranging anywhere from 8 minutes for simpler tasks to 25 minutes for more complex ones,” and, “Frequent interruptions can also lead to higher rates of exhaustion, stress-induced ailments, and a doubling of error rates.” 

Avoiding interruptions isn’t just good for autistics, its good for the entire workforce. If only we could rely less on accommodations (which many companies do not approve or support anyways) and more companies overhauling the way they work.

When the entire company culture is aligned on reducing task interruptions and maximizing productivity, autistic employees – and employees with other neurodiverse conditions – benefit as well.

If only, right?

Is LinkedIn promoting its polling feature? I must have missed the memo. All I see as I scroll through LinkedIn these days are polls. Polls about leadership and jobs and benefits. Polls about inclusion and interviews and, well, it turns out you can make a poll about any topic. Just scroll through your LinkedIn feed; it’s all there. 

Sometimes I play along to see how everyone else voted (you only see the updated results if you vote or wait until the vote closes but I’m too impatient). But every so often, a poll comes along that fires a few synapses in the old grey squish ball. 

Earlier today, I scrolled through a poll asking about language preference, specifically autistic self-identification. 

It comes down to “an autistic person” or “a person with autism.” 

If you know anything about autism awareness, there is a lot of discussion around this topic and some heated debates.

Strange that there is so much chatter out there about language choice. But believe it or not, your language choice influences how you think. (Lera Boroditsky gave a powerful Ted Talk about the influence of language choice on this subject.) So, how we choose to be identified reflects how we think of ourselves and the role autism plays in our identity.

In the end, it’s personal preference; each autistic person (or person with autism) has reasons for their choice in language. My own choice is identity first: autistic person. 

The poll I mentioned above led me to think of an experience with a coworker who asked me this same question. Wanting to avoid insulting autistic coworkers, she asked me what language was appropriate. 

Of course, I said, each person is different. I prefer “autistic person,” but not everyone does. 

Every autistic person is passionate about their language choice. 

But, looking back at the experience, it never occurred to me the importance of explaining why that is. 

Why did I choose to identify myself as autistic first? Why is language so important when discussing autistic identity?

Autistic awareness is essential, but that isn’t my goal. My goal is to help people understand autism. If I can’t articulate my reasons, I lose authority when explaining autism to others. While it would be nice to write off our choices as – it was MY choice; therefore, you must respect it – that isn’t how others learn from us. Respect branches from understanding. 

Many neurotypicals don’t understand why autistic people are so passionate about the language around autism. The most important takeaway from this for neurotypicals is understanding why language preference in autistic identification is so important and being respectful of our individual choices. No, we don’t expect neurotypicals to read our minds and know every individual’s language preference. But once our choice is shared, it should be respected.

After gnawing on my thoughts for a bit, I am ready to articulate my “why” in choosing identity first language.  

I recognize the weight of our society’s impact on me because of my autism. Being autistic becomes an obstacle in the world at large. Our systems and social experiences are defined by neurotypical standards and not aligned – nor accepting – of my autism. I’m expected to adapt to neurotypical standards instead of being myself.

When I step outside my door, my autism, whether or not I want it, defines me.  

Friendships fall away because I say or do “weird” things or need breaks between social events. 

For those who don’t know I’m autistic, I’m “a little off” in their eyes.

Stores, my office, and other public places are sensory bombs. The sights and sounds and buzz of voices and noises are overwhelming. 

My job operates counter to my brain. 

Because society is not inclusive of autistics, my autism does define my place in it. 

And that is why I choose to be called an autistic person. 

That said, I would like that to change. With education, understanding, and acceptance in our society, perhaps it will. 

One day, I’d like to identify myself as a person with autism. But to do that, society will need to not only accept me but INCLUDE me as I am. When society no longer forces my autism to define me, I can identify myself as a person with autism. 

Until then, I prefer “autistic person.” For me, it accurately represents me.

I’d love to hear from others on their language preference and why. Feel free to leave a note in the comments. There is no right or wrong choice.

Just like most things in our society, we’ve structured the employment process around neurotypical social skills. Unfortunately, autistic social skills do not align with these expectations. It’s disheartening to read in Forbes that “a staggering 50-75% of the 5.6 million autistic adults in the U.S. are unemployed or underemployed.” 

As an autistic, I know how difficult it is to get–and keep–a job. We are expected to transport ourselves to a neurotypical world 8 or more hours every day. So much of the employee experience operates against brains on the autistic spectrum. This includes the social skills needed to maintain long-term relationships.  

Most workplaces are ripe with social nuances. Learning and participating in them can improve career success. But operating in an environment that runs counter to our innate social skills inhibits our ability to succeed in the workplace. 

Companies are not prepared to shift the current formula for success to include autistic employees. It would require an overhaul of the entire hiring and promotion process.  

Autistic employees don’t “fit in.” 

As the saying goes, it isn’t what you know, but who you know. Networking begins the day you start your new job, and the first step in this process is to build relationships with the coworkers you see every day.

Inter-office relationships are challenging to build. Think about it. Our coworkers must interact with us every day, even if we aren’t, shall we say, their cup of tea.  

As Marcia Scheiner said in her book An Employer’s Guide to Managing Professionals on the Autism Spectrum, “Although autism is considered a ‘hidden disability,’ the observable behavior of colleagues with autism is often described as annoying, odd, rude, and uncaring. While many people on the spectrum may want to socialize with others, their social-skill deficits can make these interactions awkward.” 

Basically, our coworkers don’t see why autistic employees socialize the way we do. Instead, they experience autistic traits that are difficult to hide, and misinterpret them. To them, autistic coworkers are awkward. In response, they may limit their social interaction with their ‘awkward’ coworkers. They will avoid inviting them to lunch or stopping by their cubicle for a quick chat.

Sometimes, autistic employees will be the subject of water-cooler gossip and inter-office bullying. Autistic employees may see the restricted interactions by others. And, recognizing that they are not included in the inter-office relationships building up around them, can cause autistic employees to further withdrawal from office interactions.  

That autistic employees don’t “fit in” according to neurotypical social expectations. In the workplace, this can hinder our ability to keep jobs and promote. 

Autistic individuals’ strong sense of fairness works against the social expectations of the workplace.

Probably the first thing young adults learn when entering the workforce is that hard work isn’t enough to push them through the ranks. Mastering inter-office politics is a skill needed to succeed. 

Unfortunately for autistic employees, it isn’t that simple. 

We can’t wrap our heads around the unfair concept of hiring and promoting based on favorability instead of job skills. Favoritism is “when a person (usually a manager) demonstrates preferential treatment to one person over all of the other employees for reasons unrelated to performance,” as defined by Susan Lucas.

Being the boss’s favorite usually means better annual reviews and raises, the first choice of projects, and improved chances for promotion, even if the favored employee’s work is mediocre. This does not sit well with autistic employees.

We can’t see the purpose of the favorability over work quality and skill.

Office politics is a challenging concept to grasp. In addition to favoritism, employees need to learn to read social situations – not a natural skill for autistics. When should an employee be honest with my boss and when should I tell the boss what they want to hear instead? What does the boss want to hear instead of the truth? Why can’t I be honest?

“Office politics and ‘sucking up’ to the boss are not in (an autistic woman’s) social toolbox and this can cause others to dislike her socially, despite being skilled at her job.” – Sarah Hendrickx, Women and Girls with Autism Spectrum Disorder

Between our social skills and inability to navigate office politics, we are not held favorably in the eyes of bosses. Unfortunately, some bosses will do more for the “socially favorable” and find reasons to drop the “socially unfavorable.”

Autistic employees can do a few things to help maximize their success in the workplace.

Office politics won’t go away. Depending upon the job, some inter-office politics and social skills will always be required to maintain employment and promote. But there are things autistic employees can do to support themselves.

1.      Choosing careers that align with our strengths and preferred working environments.

Choosing a career that doesn’t heavily rely on social skills and aligns with our strengths can improve our chances for success. Also, understanding the type of working environment can maximize our resiliency.

“The main problem for most of us (autistics) is that we have a hard time holding onto jobs for social reasons. I cannot stress enough how important it is to work with your strengths and acknowledge your triggers – things that push your autistic buttons – so that you choose the right career path.” – Rudy Simone, Aspergirls

An office environment may not be the best place for some autistic people. Fluorescent lights, cold temperatures, white-noise machines, and impromptu hallway meetings can grind on our senses. Working from home may be more appropriate for some.

I know an autistic person that loves food and can hyper focus on cooking. He is now a chef. The hustle and bustle of a commercial kitchen gives him the excuse to avoid most socializing. Hyper focusing on the plate in front of him propels him forward.

We can increase our chances of success by pursuing opportunities that align closely with our needs and strengths.

2.      Become a Subject Matter Expert (SME).

Generally, autistic individuals can focus intensely on a subject; often researching it until fully knowledgeable. We love details. Understanding the details gives us some level of control and order in the subject. Typically, self-learning is an autistic strength.

These skills can help us become SMEs. Thus, becoming a source of valuable information for coworkers. 

Professional conversations are a great opportunity to know someone. As subject matter experts, we can share valuable knowledge with coworkers and build a rapport through these interactions.

Autistics find small talk challenging but can talk endlessly about areas of interest. These types of interactions involve less pressure to socialize casually. The focus is on the professional subject matter, not the weather or what-was-Pam-thinking-wearing-that-outfit-to-work gossip. 

Building a reputation as a “go-to” person across departments can help boost your career internally. Leaders talk. Make sure they are talking about your skills and expertise. 

3.     Find a mentor.

There are many benefits for anyone–autistic or not–to having a professional mentor. A mentor can shorten the learning curve, help mentees navigate the office environment, and improve their professional network. 

Many companies offer mentorship programs. Autistic employees can benefit from the professional support an inter-company mentor can offer. The one-on-one support for autistic employees can be invaluable.

We all have the right to pursue career ambitions and earn a living. Unfortunately, the workplace wasn’t built with an autistic or neurodiverse brain in mind. It doesn’t mean that autistics can’t be successful in the workplace. Being more purposeful and self-aware can help us align our career goals and working environment to our strengths.

My gynecologist said it first. But she was not the last. Everyone I discuss my diagnosis with has a similar response:

“You don’t look autistic.”

What do people expect to see when they look at an autistic person?

Autism is so integral to who I am that their disbelief is hurtful. I was diagnosed with autism at 39. I’ve spent my life never quite fitting in with the world around me. Late diagnosed autistic women like me float around the fringes of social circles. Too “weird” to be included in the friendships forming around us.

For me, a diagnosis ushered in a new level of self-understanding. I had hoped it would help those around me understand, too. Instead, they met me with disbelief. It seems I can’t do anything right. I am too weird to be normal but not autistic enough to be autistic?

Scenes like the one with my gynecologist are not unusual for late-diagnosed women. It’s a common theme. We are not believed. So, why is that? Why are people in disbelief when we have a professional diagnosis in hand?

It all boils down to their perception. 

The Public’s Exposure to Autism

The reality is that most people’s exposure to autism is limited to the entertainment industry. Production companies have this incessant desire to limit the portrayal of autistic characters to a single set of characteristics.

Early segregation of autistic people in schools and the workforce also hindered the public’s exposure. With so few opportunities to be exposed to individuals on the autistic spectrum, it’s no wonder most people lack understanding.

And I find it hard to blame them. Even I knew almost nothing about autism until I considered it as an explanation for my son’s social difficulties. 

The portrayal of autistics in the entertainment industry, coupled with early autistic segregation and research, fueled false stereotypes. These stereotypes seem to be the only exposure or awareness the public has to autism. 

Stereotypes

Our brains look for patterns. We categorize people, concepts, and things into little boxes. And this is how stereotypes are formed.  

Stereotypes are often based on inaccurate information or negative experiences with members of a particular group. Stereotypes are assumptions; and when we assume something about an individual, we don’t give them a chance to show their colors. Basing our interactions with them on assumptions can cause us to place unwarranted and, sometimes, discriminatory obstacles in front of them. 

Here are a few pervasive stereotypes that plague autistic individuals, more so late-diagnosed autistic women. (Please note that these stereotypes can hurt any autistic individual. I’m only focusing on those that have a profound impact on late-diagnosed autistic women because it is my experience.)

It’s a Boys’-Syndrome

We base much of our medical knowledge on research conducted on males. For example, did you know that heart attack symptoms are different in women than men? You’d think that is an important distinction we need to be aware of, right? But heart attack research is based on men’s experiences. I didn’t realize this until I ran across an article about many hospitals turning away female heart attack sufferers.

The article found me at a time when I was researching autism as an explanation for my son’s social struggles. My son and I have similar behaviors and personalities. But he checked all the boxes for autism, and I didn’t. 

After reading the heart attack article, it occurred to me: maybe autism is different for girls. Researching ‘autism in girls’ instead of ‘autistic traits’ was enlightening. I managed to track down a few articles discussing the ways autism expressed differently in girls. Finally, a checklist of traits I could relate to. 

Early researchers focused on autistic characteristics as they are expressed in boys. This caused diagnostic tools to be created with male autistic criteria–not girls.

“Research that investigates and differentiates the male and female profile, presentation, and experience of autism is fairly scarce, perpetuating the myth that autism is a significant male-dominated condition, or that gender is simply not a consideration,”

–Sarah Hendrickx, Women & Girls with Autism Spectrum Disorder

Despite the advancements in autism research, many of the old assumptions still plague the public’s perception of autism as a boys’-syndrome.

Autistics Lack Empathy

This one is particularly damaging to female autistics. Empathy is one of those ‘motherly’ and ‘nurturing’ characteristics society expects women to have. We feel the pressure of expressing empathy in the ‘right’ way at the ‘right’ time or risk being viewed as cold-hearted. 

Late-diagnosed autistic women have learned the behaviors and responses we ‘should’ have to express empathy. Our social interactions instruction manual in our heads usually includes an entry to guide us through situations when an expression of empathy is warranted.

What people need to understand is that we do feel empathy, we just don’t know how to express it or connect with it. Often, our lack of experience with another’s situation prevents us from feeling empathy or expressing it in the expected way. Making the conscious effort to play out a similar scenario in our heads using ourselves and family members to play the parts can help us jump-start our emotional responses. We can empathize when can ‘live’ the experience.

We must imagine ourselves in the scenario or respond with the words or phrases society expects from an empathetic person. 

Also, society is more lenient with male’s lack of emotional response. Men are allowed to be aloof and less emotional. Autistic men may appear to be without empathy – because they struggle to express it – but they don’t put in the extra effort to mask that struggle.  

The point is: we do feel empathy. But the extra work we go through to either relate or respond correctly skews the view of those around us.

Because I show empathy, people don’t believe I’m autistic.  

Adults Don’t have Autism

If you are a recently diagnosed adult autistic woman–like me–you have many stereotypes working against you. Since autism is often diagnosed in childhood, there is little research, and therefore understanding, of autism in adults. 

The misconception is if we weren’t diagnosed as a child, then we aren’t autistic ‘enough.’ 

Unfortunately, it’s not general knowledge that autism was never considered as a diagnosis for girls. Many girls grew up coping with it as we went along and wrongly diagnosed with other conditions. Unlike most autistic boys, we devoted a substantial amount of energy to masking (aka camouflaging) our autistic traits to fit in. 

People in our lives are used to the masked interactions they have with autistic women before hearing a word about autism. I can imagine it’s difficult to wrap their minds around that fact that we aren’t being our true autistic selves and only saw the person we pretended to be. 

Sarah Hendrickx said in Women and Girls with Autism Spectrum Disorder, “… women with autism are a lot more ‘autistic’ than they look,” and “The majority of these [autistic] women are getting through each day with an often sophisticated set of compensatory behaviours, personas and clever strategies for avoiding certain situations without anyone knowing [they are autistic].”

Because of the lack of research on autistic expression in girls, we flew under the radar. We hid our experiences and autistic traits. Now as doctors diagnose our children, we see the similarities and wonder… could I be autistic, too? Today, doctors look at both parents to determine the hereditary source.

An entire generation of autistic women are just now discovering who they are and sharing their stories.

The rise in women receiving diagnoses has also increased awareness for autistic adults. Autistic children don’t outgrow autism. Autism is in the very fabric of our being. We are and will always be autistic. Perhaps our ability to hide it in a neurotypical world improves as we grow into adulthood, but we will always be autistic.

What can we do about the stereotypes?

Foremost, let’s share our stories. Let’s talk about why we don’t fit the stereotypes. Let’s talk about autistic people as individuals: each just as different as the next. The more we share our experiences, the more opportunities we give others to learn.

It can frustrate and exhaust us to push through the barriers others set in front of us because of their assumptions. Finding the patience and courage to push past them and speak up is essential. Autism isn’t a dirty word. Being on the autistic spectrum isn’t a curse. Speaking about the individualism of autism can help reshape people’s understanding and perceptions. It’s called a spectrum for a reason. Each individual’s autistic characteristics are expressed at different levels. 

“If you’ve met one individual with autism, you’ve met one individual with autism.” 

— Dr. Stephen Shore

It’s time to throw autistic stereotypes out the door. By sharing our stories, we give people a chance to see just how different we are from each other. 

Humans have fluid identities. The names or labels we use influence how we see ourselves and our place in the world. We build our experiences, emotions, and communities around those labels. As new labels are added to our lives, we reevaluate our identities to incorporate our new understanding.

This process happens after an autism spectrum disorder diagnosis. Names have value in our identities so it’s no wonder that a “battle over the name” has cropped up since the removal of Asperger’s Syndrome from the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5). Published in 2013, the DSM no longer supports an Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis. Instead, the DSM reclassified it as autism spectrum disorder.

The general argument for the change is that the parameters for Asperger’s were not accurate and inconsistently applied. By reclassifying it, the methods for diagnosis are more standardized. It helps cut down on the confusion when diagnosing.   

Asperger’s fits comfortably on the autism spectrum. As a spectrum, individuals have different needs, but the types of symptoms remains consistent. To be diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, an individual must have social communication and reciprocity deficits and restrictive and repetitive behavior. These parameters for a diagnosis encompass those who would have received an Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis before 2013. 

Despite the exclusion from the DSM, many continue to use the term Asperger’s, and it has caused a debate within the autistic community. It turns out there is more to the term Asperger’s than just a name. 

For those diagnosed before 2013, Asperger’s has become a part of their identity. It was the label given to them. It explained why they are the way they are. For a group of people who rely on routine and predictability, it is easy to see why a change in diagnosis can cause anxiety. They researched and learned about themselves in relation to an Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis. 

Although my diagnosis is high-functioning autism, the psychologist who diagnosed me continued to refer to it as Asperger’s. (Had I been diagnosed before 2013, she said, I would qualify for the Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis.)

It was with this term in hand that I set out on a path of understanding and self-acceptance. Following my diagnosis, the books I read to learn more about myself were written by adult Aspie women. Those early days of research aligned the Asperger’s label with my identity. The women I’ve learned from still use the term. I built my community on the term Asperger’s.

But I know it isn’t my “official” diagnosis. So, in the past few months, I’ve worked harder at moving between the two labels; increasing my comfort as an individual on the autistic spectrum.

There is a stigma associated with autism. People are less familiar with Asperger’s than autism; and this opens the door for me to educate them. It’s the groundwork to influence their perceptions before diving into the “it’s on the autism spectrum” part. 

Besides, we all know about Rain Man. He’s laid out some restrictive assumptions about what autism is and isn’t. I do not align with most people’s perception of autism. My life is littered with rejections, abuse, and bullies; people have always misunderstood me. Misconceptions about autism stare me down like a beady-eyed schoolyard bully ready to corner me on the playground. I fear those perceptions. 

While I feel “Aspie,” I catch myself using autistic more often. In expanding my connections to other autistic women, I feel less alone in my responsibility to educate the public. My confidence in confronting other’s assumptions about autism is also growing. The more I understand myself, the more comfortable I am in educating others. Maybe there is a correlation between the two.

Eventually, I will catch up with the DSM. I’m a high-functioning autistic (there is also a debate about the low, middle, and high functioning classifications).

The only way to change incorrect assumptions is to confront and counter them. Asperger’s was my introduction to what makes me tick. And it will be the pathway to accepting my formal diagnosis.

Whatever your take on the labeling debate, patience and consideration should be at the heart of it. Those who continue to call themselves Aspies have their reasons. And those who decided to make the switch have their own set of reasons.  

As humans, we spend our lives struggling with our identities. For many late-diagnosed women, the road to understanding our differences is a long one. Society makes autistic life difficult enough as it is. Let’s give each other a break and the space to explore our identities and our world in the ways that work best for ourselves. At our own pace, we will embrace this piece of our identity. More than a year has passed since my diagnosis, and I’m still trying to embrace it. Let’s allow each other to do it at our pace because each of us is different – and so are our experiences. 

Many late diagnosed Aspie women have come to believe the negative views of others and internalized it. We’ve grown up plagued by rejection.  

To help us pick up on the nuances of conversation and relationships, we’ve developed mental scripts: a set of “how to be normal” instructions that we’ve accumulated throughout our lives. This is how we should act, but don’t. We believe there is something wrong with us because it doesn’t come naturally. And this is what we compare ourselves to.

But what we didn’t know is that it’s the wrong instruction sheet!

Is it a wonder that so many of us find relief in our diagnosis? When I received mine, the realization hit me – I belong somewhere. All my life, I tried to wedge myself into the wrong social puzzle. Instead, there are others like me. 

I wanted to shout it from the rooftops! 

Instead of allowing people to whisper about my weirdness, I could offer up a word to reframe their expectations of me: Asperger’s. What I didn’t expect was the level of disbelief that followed. They either didn’t believe me or wanted me to continue to act as normal as possible because it made them uncomfortable. I’m still weird to them. *shoulder shrug*

I get it. When a person fits in the “normal” group, they don’t spend much time trying to understand anyone with a divergent experience. 

And they say I’m the one that doesn’t understand empathy. Pffft. Yeah, right…

But disclosing my diagnosis to those in my close circle of family and friends was one thing. Disclosing to my employer, well, that was another. 

Why did I choose to disclose to my employer? 

Well, to put it bluntly – I was hoping for some support. It was a long shot, and I knew that. But with COVID-19 sending my anxiety through the roof, I wasn’t adapting well. And my company was spraying Diversity and Inclusion rhetoric into the crowd. So, I hoped for the best. 

At least, disclosing allowed me the opportunity to request a few accommodations. 

With incessant meltdowns, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. But if I had the opportunity to take a deep breath and weigh my options, I’m not sure I would have disclosed. I’m not sure I would have needed to disclose.

Pros and Cons

There are plenty of reasons why you shouldn’t disclose. And, unfortunately, I’m living some of them right now. I’m ostracized more than I already was (because, you know, weird) and pigeonholed into common autistic stereotypes. Before my disclosure, I had a lot more autonomy in my position. Now? Well, now, I’m micromanaged. Do you want to know the worst part of it? The more micromanaged I am, the higher my anxiety. The higher my anxiety, the more mistakes I make, thus reassuring management’s belief that I need micromanaging. It’s a vicious cycle. Never mind the track record of success I had before the disclosure.  

They play off my Aspie experiences as “everyone feels that way.” Thankfully, my disclosure experience isn’t completely bad. I’ve heard and read horror stories. But I can’t sweep my Asperger’s under the rug.

Aspie in the workplace tip: Employee resource groups are a great place to find support and resources. (Unfortunately, my company didn't have one for neurodiversity, so I had to start it myself.) 

For some, disclosure can be an invaluable tool. Disclosure can provide you the support, flexibility, and understanding you need in your role. It’s your choice, no one else’s.

Either way, what I tell any autistic woman who is in the throes of deciding whether to disclose at work is this: 

The best thing you can do for yourself is to learn how to self-advocate with confidence. 

It is essential to recognize that self-advocacy and disclosure are interrelated. Self-advocacy involves knowing when and how to approach others to negotiate desired accommodations to achieve mutual understanding, fulfillment, and productivity. 

Stephen M. Shore

No offence to Stephen, but you can self-advocate to a certain degree without disclosing your diagnosis. It’s not completely interrelated because some divergent thinking does occur with the neurotypical spectrum. While disclosing can open the door to honest conversations about accommodations, it isn’t always necessary. Each person is different and that includes our needs. Many workplace accommodations for autistic individuals can be aligned with traditional business etiquette not often practiced these days.

For example, is it difficult to remember details of an assignment when given to you verbally? Follow up the conversation with an email recapping the discussion and end with this question: “Is my understanding of your request accurate?” I love doing this. Ending the email with a question informs the other person that you expect confirmation or correction. If I misunderstood something, they will correct me. If we are on the same page, they will confirm it. An email following up a meeting is a throwback to old school professional etiquette. And it never hurts to have everything in writing anyways.

The point is: there are ways to work around it disclosing.

More important than disclosing is that you know what you need. When you know what support you need, you can better determine if a simple request can cover it or if a formal accommodation is needed.

If you know how you best process information, you can determine what you need for support. Then, learn how to ask for it. Seeking out a coach or another trusted individual can help you evaluate the approach to requesting specific modifications or accommodations. (Remember those employee resource groups I mentioned earlier?)

Speak up for yourself – your needs are important for your success. If you know what you need, you can determine the best approach for getting it. And sometimes, you can avoid full disclosure of your diagnosis. Learning the best way to self-advocate can make a world of difference for you.

Jane texted back and declined my lunch invitation because she would be out of town again. Following other weekend options, she claimed she would be out of town every weekend for the next month. 

Funny, considering that she was out of town the last three times, I asked her to meet up with me.

Once I made the connection, it felt as though my organs dropped like an armload of sopping wet towels smacking the floor. Another friendship ended. As usual, I did not know why.

Was I too blunt? Did I come across as rude? Was I too clingy? Did I repeatedly talk about the same things? 

Friendships suddenly ending seems to be a trend for me. 

It seems to be the trend for a lot of women with Asperger’s Syndrome (Aspies).  

Aspies have difficulty creating and maintaining friendships – friendships end suddenly with no warning or understanding of why for the Aspie.

I didn’t know that I have Asperger’s Syndrome, so I could not speak up for myself during my friendship with Jane. I could not prepare her for what a friendship with an Aspie would look like. Would the friendship have continued if she knew? Maybe, but disclosure doesn’t guarantee empathy and understanding.

So, why are friendships so difficult for Aspies?

A lack of social skills can make relationships difficult. 

When neurotypical individuals carry on a conversation, they rely on often subtle non-verbal social cues. These can be things like facial expressions, shifts in tone, and body language. Non-verbal social cues are inherently valuable in conveying emotions and regulating the flow of the conversation.

An Aspie may not catch these things, thus disrupting the flow of the conversation.

Verbal processing can complicate matters as well. We need more time to process the conversation and, when we miss non-verbal cues, we can lose the conversation. Many times, I’ve contributed to a conversation, not realizing the group moved on from the original topic. 

Other traits of Aspies in a social situation include coming across as blunt, difficulty with small talk, monitoring voice level, picking up on sarcasm, and understanding jokes. It is essential to keep in mind that each Aspie (or any autistic individual) has a social skill level unique to them. 

Sensory issues can be an obstacle to building relationships, too. 

For Aspie women, sensory issues make it challenging to maintain friendships since group activities are an integral part of socializing. Milestone events such as attending baby showers, weddings, birthdays, and girls’ night out, while revitalizing neurotypical women, these gatherings drain the energy reserves of an autistic woman. But these milestones and events are at the heart of female friendships. 

I would prefer to stay home than venture out into a very crowded and loud scene. Aspie brains process the world around us differently than neurotypical brains. Unlike neurotypicals, our brains cannot organize and filter out unimportant environmental stimuli. 

For example, let’s talk about baseball. I love baseball. My family and I attend baseball games every year (before COVID, of course). Although I enjoy visiting the ballpark, it is also a source of great anxiety. A neurotypical can watch the game and chat with friends and walk around the ballpark without hesitation. For me, it isn’t so easy. I can’t filter out the roaring crowd and the cheers echoing off the concrete walls while focusing on a conversation. For a temporary escape and relief from the overstimulating environment, I must live in my head and completely ignore my surroundings. I can either completely experience my environment or completely shut it out: there is not an in-between. 

With enough advance notice, some Aspies can “emotionally prep” for the experience; but it is emotionally draining. We need time in between social events to recharge. This means friends may not see us for a while, and we stick to good ‘ole text messaging.  

But these ‘breaks’ from the relationship can often be difficult for other women to understand.

Aspies have a penchant for routine. 

Aspies thrive on routine and repetition. When we know what to expect, we can be prepared. Every weekday and Saturday have their own set-in-stone routine for me. To disrupt my routine is anxiety-inducing. If plans are made several weeks in advance, I have the time to come to terms with the disruption. But one or two days before? Nope. Can’t make it. 

“Reality to an autistic person is a confusing, interacting mass of events, people, places, sounds and sights… Set routines, times, particular routes and rituals all help to get order into an unbearably chaotic life. Trying to keep everything the same reduces some of the terrible fear.” 

Jolliffe (1992) in Howlin (2004), p.137. 

Passing for normal has consequences.

Many female Aspies analyze and adopt neurotypical girls/women’s social culture. In this way, we create a “mask” to appear normal. By purposely editing our social performance to align with society’s expectations, we can give the illusion of good social skills while suppressing our autistic characteristics. But, to keep this “mask” on, we spend a lot of mental energy.

To keep up with masking–purposely creating a social persona to appear normal–we sacrifice our health.

Years of negative social experiences can build up and cause social anxiety and depression, which we carry into future social situations. When past friends have responded negatively to our social stumbles, we try even hard to cover them up or adapt to avoid it in the future.

What can we do?

It would be fantastic to experience a world where Aspies can walk into friendships–autistic tendencies and all. The drastic increase in autistic studies, awareness, and education in the past decade proves optimistic. People are interested in understanding us better and what they can do to be an ally to the autistic community.

Maybe soon, more people will be open to meeting us halfway. Perhaps you are one of them. If you are, then welcome!

Please take the time to learn about us, look past our differences, and recognize our strengths. We are loyal, honest, passionate, and don’t rely as much on social expectations. 

Here are some things you can do to help us: 

• Don’t believe the stereotypes. Do the research, ask us questions, and learn what life is like for us. For example, we do not lack empathy despite the stereotype. The way we experience the world differs from how ‘normal’ people experience the world. This means that both groups have difficulty seeing the world from the view of the other group. Like a relationship–it is a two-way street!
• Listen to and read about Asperger’s from an our perspective. It would not be an accurate representation for a man to discuss a woman’s perspective on life. So, why would you listen to a neurotypical person explain what life is like for an Aspie?
• If our directness offends you, ask for clarification. Give us the benefit of the doubt by allowing us the opportunity to clarify what we say. You find that, in most cases, we don’t intend for our messages to appear rude. ‘Normal’ people rely on social graces and politeness more so than Aspies. We learn them and try to use them. Still, it isn’t easy to maintain because it goes against our need for honest and direct communication.  
• Share your expectations and be direct. Aspies don’t always pick up on hints or non-verbal cues. 

Most importantly, don’t try to fix us. We aren’t broken. We experience the world a little differently.

I’ll be honest; jealousy hits me each time I watch a TV show or movie with a strong female friendship. Sometimes it moves me to tears. 

I’m missing out on this. 

It would be nice to have someone to call when I need advice or support or just a friendly laugh. 

Because Aspies need friends, too.