Do you remember those hearing tests in elementary school? 

A test administrator would plunk bulky headphones over your ears and ask you to raise your hand every time you heard a sound. I always expected to fail those things but never did. 

Once my mother asked my doctor to do the test. She was certain I had hearing problems because I was always asking people to repeat what they said. My teacher had also complained about the number of times she had to say my name before I’d respond. 

But, alas, I passed the hearing test…again. 

My doctor gave my mother some excuse about not paying attention and needing to focus more, blah, blah, blah. 

What no one realized and, as a child I was unable to articulate it, I could hear just fine. The issue had nothing to do with a refusal to pay attention in class nor with my hearing, it had everything to do with the way I process sound.

Even in adulthood, I struggle to process what others are saying, have extreme sensitivity to sounds, and can’t filter out background noises. I’ve found ways to excuse these issues like, in groups, mirroring everyone else’s responses. If they nod their heads, I nod my head. In one-on-one situations, I’ll say I have poor hearing even though it’s a lie to explain why I’ve asked them to repeat themselves a few times. 

It wasn’t until I was diagnosed with Autism at the age of 39 that I figured out why this was happening. Following my diagnosis, I put in a lot of time researching autism. So many ‘wrong’ things about me were finally explained. 

Now I understand that, like many autistics, I have auditory processing disorder.

What is auditory processing disorder?

Auditory processing disorder is a condition where you can hear sounds normally, but your brain has trouble understanding and making sense of those sounds. It can make it difficult to understand speech, follow directions, or distinguish between similar sounds.

Although anyone can have auditory processing disorder, approximately 5% of children have it, experts have estimated that up to 80% of autistic people have some level of auditory processing issues.

While researchers and doctors don’t know the exact cause for auditory processing disorder in autistics but some research suggests it’s an issue with autistic brains’ limited ability to store information into long-term memory. 

What we do know is anxiety, stress, and fatigue can exacerbate it.

Like all autistic traits, auditory processing issues can present differently from individual to individual. 

Hypersensitivity: 

Some sounds can be overwhelming or too loud. This one is more noticeable in individuals because a common response is to cover our ears. 

I covered my ears often in childhood but, unfortunately, was ridiculed by those around me about it. “It wasn’t THAT loud,” they’d say. 

For a long time, I purposely avoided covering my ears to avoid being picked on. It was painful to hear the sound. But now that I know why I’m sensitive to sounds, I now allow myself to cover my ears. I’ve also purchased Loops ear plugs which I carry in my purse.

Our hypersensitivity can also cause of to have a physical reaction to common sounds that may not bother most people. 

For me, hearing people smack, even small smacking sounds, sends my anxiety level through the roof. There are specific words that make me cringe when I hear them. I’m not sure why but it sounds like nails scratching a chalkboard. That’s the reaction I have. 

Filtering sounds: 

For those of us that experience this one, it can be difficult — often impossible — to filter out background noises and focus on one sound. 

Having a conversation in a restaurant is an exhausting experience for me — I can’t filter out other conversations, the clanging of utensils, and doors opening and closing. 

This can also contribute to most autistics’ need for quiet areas to work instead of open-concept office spaces. To listen to conversations with coworkers or on the phone, we have to fight against other sounds like fingers typing keyboards, mouse clicks, elevators moving, heavy footsteps down the walk ways, the air conditioner running, and coffee pots brewing. 

Mental Processing Speed: 

This one is a rough one to live with, at least, from my personal experience. My brain processes information at a slower pace than neurotypicals. I can hear what someone is saying — I hear the words — but understanding their meaning takes some time. I’ll understand a joke a minute or two after everyone else laughs. 

Those of us that experience this often miss steps in verbally delivered instructions and ask people to repeat what they’ve said. 

Prosody: 

Prosody is the rhythm, intonation, and emotional tone in speech. Some autistic people can have difficulty interpreting these cues, which interferes with our ability to understand the emotional context of conversations. 

My daughter, who is eight, loves to joke about how much I ruin sarcasm. She will say, “I hated my dinner. I can’t believe you fed that to me.” I can never tell if she is being sarcastic or really hated her dinner. I’ve since learned to look at her plate before I respond. If she ate everything, then she’s being sarcastic. If she’s hardly touched it, then she probably didn’t like it. 

For people I know well, I try to decide if what they said is something they’d normally say — does it fit a pattern of previous behavior, beliefs, or conversations, —  or look for eye rolls and other dramatic facial moments that might indicate if it’s sarcasm. 

And this goes for other emotions as well. I can’t tell if something is bothering someone by what they say unless it’s really dramatic. Instead, I focus on changes in their behavior or facial expressions, etc. Are they crying (or not smiling)? Are their eyes red? Are they fidgeting with something? 

Be patient and deliver information in multiple ways

I was a teacher in a past life. One of the things we were taught was to ensure our lessons covered all the learning styles. Offer notes, give verbal instructions, provide visuals, and get hands-on if possible. Don’t just read Shakespeare, give the kids pool noodles and have them act out fight scenes! The more senses that are involved, the more people will remember the information. 

Whether you are in the office or in a classroom, there is no reason you can’t provide information in multiple forms. Relying on verbally delivered information is risky even for neurotypicals. (Ever heard of the telephone game?) Providing information and instructions in written form and with visuals ensures everyone understands the concept or problem being discussed. 

Most importantly, be patient. It doesn’t matter if the person you are interacting with is autistic, ADHD, or neurotypical. Auditory processing issues can affect anyone. Give people a moment to process new information and go a step further by giving them license to take as much time as they need.

A simple, “You don’t have to answer that (provide feedback, etc.) right now. You can take some time to think about it and get back to me,” can be a relief to someone dealing with auditory issues. 

I always seem to miss the obvious.

I miss a vital piece of non-verbal communication needed to lead me to an obvious conclusion. Or miss making a connection between two concepts at work, and someone must explain it to me. Or I don’t take an action I “should have known to take because it was obvious.” (Yep, I’ve heard this one before – from my boss!)

I heard some variation of, “but it was obvious” so much growing up (and as an adult) that I started to believe something was wrong with my brain. I’m missing some little electrical pathways in my head or something.

My grades in school were always excellent and coming up with out-of-the-box solutions isn’t unusual for me either. But catching what neurotypicals consider obvious? Not so much.

It wasn’t until my diagnosis that I started to pay a little more attention to this and there’s a little less deficiency and more a difference. Let’s look at what I mean.

But first, let’s address this question:  why do autistics miss the obvious?

Swimming in the Details

Autistics process information from the details up to the bigger picture. Sometimes we are so caught up in processing the details that we take longer to think our way through to the bigger concept.

When neurotypicals can process the bigger concept quicker, they can recognize more ‘obvious’ connections before us. It doesn’t mean we always miss the obvious connections or concepts, but the delay in our thought processing – because of our cognitive need to connect all the details – can make it appear that we don’t see it.

Often, a light bulb will go off after a conversation has ended. It takes that long to process all the details and come to the same conclusion that neurotypicals may think through quicker. It’s like that saying, “Unable to see the forest for the trees.”

A neurotypical can see a few of the trees and jump to the forest. Autistics need to see each tree individually before we can build out the forest in our thinking processes.

A Little Too Subtle for Me

And then there are all the subtleties of communication. Neurotypicals can instinctively pick up on subtle non-verbal cues like facial expressions, body language, and vocal tone. But my autistic brain doesn’t operate this way because we tend to take things literally.

If you say, “I’m fine,” I believe what you say. Reading your tone isn’t instinctual, especially if it isn’t an over-the-top shift. So, it isn’t a reach that we may miss that you aren’t actually “fine.”

What neurotypicals may view as obvious based on non-verbal communication and social cues isn’t always so apparent for autistic people.

It explains all the interactions I’ve had like this: 

Friend: “Well, obviously, she’s upset.”

Me: “She is?”

Non-verbal communication and social cues can be too subtle for me to pick up on which leads me to miss the obvious.

Can I have a minute to think, please?

Auditory processing is how the brain perceives and interprets sounds. Not all autistic individuals experience auditory processing challenges, but many do, including me!

How we process sound can delay or prevent us from catching cues or key information needed to make obvious connections. For example, I can’t filter out background noise and other conversations. If two conversations are going on at the dinner table, I can’t distinguish between the conversation I’m involved in and the other one. After a while, I go silent and just sit and pretend to listen. People get tired of me asked for them to repeat themselves.

Background noises don’t float into white noise for me. If the air conditioner is pumping in the background, I hear it. The elevator climbing up the shaft? Yep, I hear that too. It can overwhelm my ability to process verbal information.

Even in a perfect environment – no background noise, no other conversations – processing auditory information can be delayed. It takes me longer to understand what others are saying. I hear the words but don’t grasp what is said and takes me a while to think through it. This can explain why I can make obvious connections as I’m walking away from a conversation. My brain finally finishes processing what was said!

Flipping the Script

I may be oblivious to the things neurotypicals may perceive as obvious; but I’ve often found myself standing on the other side. There are times I’ve made a connection or acted based on what I perceived to be obvious but the neurotypicals around me didn’t see or catch.

It’s a weird feeling really when it happens at work. My coworkers start praising me for figuring out something because it was an out-there concept and everyone else missed it.  

But to me, it was easy. It was obvious.

These experiences prove autistics aren’t deficient; we’re just different.

Although my tendency for detail-oriented thinking and the need to find patterns can make it difficult to catch things neurotypicals view as obvious, it does help me make connections where others don’t normally look for them. This may contribute to neurotypicals’ perception that we can pick up on complex skills and concepts but struggle with the most simplistic things. Because we think differently, we make different observations. Our ability to think through the details can help us point out gaps and missing pieces of information others miss.

This ability is a strength.

The world can benefit from us. We bring valuable strengths such as attention to detail, pattern recognition, and unique perspectives. These strengths may be barriers in some areas but it’s important that we realize how valuable they are in other areas – they can complement common neurotypical strengths.

It’s why so many companies are putting more emphasis on the importance in the diversity of thought.

Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn’t know you had…and dealing with fears you didn’t know existed.

Linda Wooten

It’s no secret that working moms have exceptionally high standards placed on them.

Society judges us if we give anything less to our children than a stay-at-home in the 1950s. We must justify our ability to raise children, keep house, and be great employees to ‘earn’ the privilege of having a job – and avoid shame.

It’s an impossible juggle of expectations. We’re expected to do it all.

I remember when I became a first-time mother – I didn’t want anyone to know how much I struggled. I thought it was supposed to ‘come naturally.’ With every meltdown, I felt like a failure.

Good mothers did everything. And LOVED it!

That’s what all the doll commercials told us growing up. It’s easy! You’re a natural because you are a girl.

I hated playing with dolls. But I digress.

The shadow of grey clouds marks my memories of my son’s first few years. I never had time to recover from all the new day-to-day demands and felt guilty for even thinking of taking time for myself.

It’s crazy how much a diagnosis can change your life. Once I understood why I couldn’t keep up with work, children, playdates, birthday parties, and other demands of life, I could be forgiving of myself.

The autism diagnosis started my journey to self-awareness. Instead of looking at everything I was as “wrong,” I began to look at myself with acceptance. The more I learned about myself, the more I crafted my life around my needs to be a better mother.

This self-awareness has allowed my strengths as an autistic mother to float to the surface. And my children have benefited from it too.

I need a set routine and schedule.

Sometimes my husband calls me at work and asks if I can run by the store on the way home. And he waits quietly for my answer. He knows my weekly schedule is set in stone. Any changes to it will disrupt my focus and, depending on my state, push me into the overwhelmed zone.

I process this and do an inventory of how I feel. Can I handle it? How do I feel about it?

Sometimes the answer is, reluctantly, yes, but sometimes it’s no.

When I start a week, I need to know the schedule. When too many variables are at play, I am overwhelmed. It’s also essential that every day of the week follows the same routine. So, every Monday looks the same – the same schedule, routine, and set of demands.

This is how I avoid cognitive overload. Because I stick to a routine and set schedules, I have more energy to deal with things that pop up “out of the blue.”

I’ve also learned how much my children rely on our routines too. Because of my need for routines and schedules, my children know what to expect daily. They know what days they have after-school activities. They know Saturday mornings are for leisure and recovery.

They know what is expected of them every day.

The assurance is especially important for my autistic son, who is still learning to be aware of his needs.

Routines bring a sense of stability and security for autistic moms and children.

Everyone has limits – including me.

This one is difficult for the nonautistic women I know. They push their boundaries by overloading their children’s schedules. But they can push further than I can. This is something I’ve had to accept. It takes work. There’s so much pressure to be involved in school activities, birthday parties, playdates, etc.

I’m pulling the brake when other women are still running their engines.

And that’s okay. Because I know I will suffer cognitive paralysis if I push too far. When I’m overwhelmed with commitments and demands, I shut down. I can’t move, think, or speak. I go into zombie mode, which isn’t a good place to be.

So, I avoid overloading our schedules, which prevents me from overloading my brain. Most importantly, I purposely build in time for recovery based on the energy I’m using. (Spoon theory, anyone?)

While schedules are good for children, overscheduling them isn’t. I know a few nonautistic moms like this, and they are burned out. Shuttling their children from one place to the next and running through fast food drive-thrus occupy the bulk of their week outside work.

All moms need a breather. And children need self-directed free time. Boredom breeds creativity. As with all things, balance is vital. By knowing my limits, I can give my best without the increased anxiety of unending life demands.

I self-advocate for my needs.

At home, this means pushing back when others ask for more. It means being honest about and speaking up for your limits. The plus side? Your children will learn to speak up for their limits too.

If my husband had it his ADHD way, we’d be active 100% of the week. He. Doesn’t. Stop.

Sometimes I tell him, no; I’m out of steam. Other times I speak up and voice my need to “not be needed” for a while.

Quality time alone in a silent environment with a hobby is necessary for me to recover from overwhelm and avoid a sensory meltdown. I’ll leave the kids with him, head upstairs, and lock myself in my craft room for a few hours.

It’s also important for my children to witness boundary-setting and self-advocacy.

I prioritize what needs to be done based on my available energy.

Every day has a routine and schedule. Top priorities like feeding my kids are included, of course. But some days, I get home and have little energy left, so I tackle something else on the priority list. A load of laundry gets folded, or I sweep the floor.

To be direct – the house is never spotless. I do things when I can. And so does my husband.

We are not perfect parents, but we are the best parents we can be.

I’ve let go of guilt – mostly.   

Autistic women don’t fit into a societal mold, not in the workplace, social settings, families, friends, and not as mothers.

So, why try?

Accepting myself means accepting all of me, including the way I parent.

Sometimes I feel guilty that I can’t be more like nonautistic moms. The playdates, volunteering at school, and letting my children join any activity they wanted, no matter the time commitment.

But I’ve grown secure enough in my strengths to be okay with my limits. Brushing off the guilt gets easier.  

My children are happy and well taken care of. They are loved – and know it.

No one has all the answers, especially about parenting. But we could do with a little less judgment and more support.

Just because parenting looks different with an autistic mom doesn’t mean it isn’t quality parenting. All moms, autistic or not, must extend each other more grace. It’s impossible to believe that anyone can do it “all.” And there is a lot we can learn from each other if we only take a moment to listen.

What are your greatest parenting strengths? What helps you? Please share it in the comments below!

When I was a child, my parents encouraged – well, more like forced – me to make eye contact.

“Look me in the eyes when I speak to you,” they’d bark.

They didn’t understand how painful making eye contact can be for me. It feels like I’m forcing myself to hold my hand over an open flame. My body is screaming at me. My brain is triggering every muscle to move, and it takes every ounce of energy to restrain myself.

I always wondered why it wasn’t easy for me. And why it never seemed to bother anyone else. It wasn’t until my autism diagnosis that I understood. Since then, I’ve questioned a lot of social norms that don’t seem reasonable.

We attach certain character traits to someone who makes steady eye contact during a conversation. But if we force everyone to do it, does it really mean anything?

Our society adopted eye contact as an important part of nonverbal communication. For many in Western society, we believe it conveys respect, attentiveness, and confidence. Yet, there is no basis for this perception. And by accepting and enforcing this expectation, we are marginalizing those with neurodivergent conditions (like autism), different cultural backgrounds, and personal trauma. 

The Many Myths of Eye Contact

It isn’t a myth that many autistic people are uncomfortable with establishing and maintaining eye contact. Many, especially women who went undiagnosed as children, force themselves to either suffer the discomfort or pretend to look people in the eyes. Pretending can be looking at a person’s ear, nose, or mouth. Somewhere close to the eyes to appear as though we are following social expectations.

But this expectation – to make eye contact during conversations – was established on assumptions. Eye contact is not needed for effective communication.

Let’s look at a few eye contact myths.

Eye Contact is Universally Expected

My first university was in Hawai’i and had a large Asian student base. One of my professors started the first day of class with a speech directed at the Asian students in the room – “In the United States, your role as students is to take part in class, raise your hand and answer questions, and look me in the eyes when you speak with me.”

My heart sank for them. I knew firsthand what it was like to be forced to conform to uncomfortable social standards. In many Asian cultures, eye contact, especially with an authority figure, is perceived as rude and disrespectful.

As our world grows smaller and more connected, we must recognize that nonverbal communication isn’t always universal.

What is appropriate in one culture may not be in another culture.

Eye contact is not a universally accepted practice.

Are you paying attention to me?

Sitting in a meeting, having coffee with a friend, or conversing with the bank teller; in all conversations eye contact is used to measure the level of attentiveness of the other person. But as a former high school teacher, I can tell you from experience that avoiding eye contact doesn’t mean someone isn’t paying attention. I’ve had many ADHD students doodling in their notebooks who could still recite verbatim what I said and participate in class discussions while never lifting their eyes from the paper in front of them.

Some people need to avert their gaze to focus on what you are saying. 

Autism is another example. As an autistic, my brain doesn’t filter out unnecessary external stimuli. It takes a lot of effort to hear and process a conversation when you can’t filter out unimportant details. The music in the restaurant, the waiter rushing past the table, the temperature of the room, and monitoring my facial expressions can be overwhelming.

Now I’m expected to read my conversation partner’s facial expressions on top of all that? It’s too much. Cue the sensory overload!

Sensory overload will also interfere with my audio-processing ability. Looking someone in the eye increases the number of times I have to ask the other person to repeat themselves. Removing the need to read their face, especially their eyes, makes cutting through the other external stimulus easier. I can then focus on processing what they are communicating verbally.

Contrary to society’s assumption, averting my gaze doesn’t mean I’m uninterested. I want to focus on what you’re saying as much as possible, so I look away.

And research supports my experience.

Researchers studied gaze aversion in allistic individuals and discovered that “averting the gaze has functional consequences. That is, for moderately difficult questions, people are more accurate [with their answers] when they avert their gaze (here, close their eyes) than when they do not.”

And they “speculate that averting the gaze helps people to disengage from environmental stimulation and thereby enhances the efficiency of cognitive processing directed by nonenvironmental stimulation.”

Any autistic person can tell you it does. But, as it turns out, it helps everyone, too, not only us neurodivergent folk.

Averting our gaze can improve our cognitive abilities.

Liar, liar, pants on fire!

Every time I’d tell my parents the truth they would demand that I look them in the eyes and tell them.

I learned early on that eye contact = truthfulness. Since 4th or 5th grade, I forced myself to look the other person in the eye when someone questioned my integrity.

It worked for a while. Until my little sister mastered lying to our parents’ faces, she held her gaze steady and calm. And she got away with many horrible things because of it.

It’s crazy that we make these assumptions about eye contact. I guess it’s because we view eyes as the “windows into the soul.” We assume a liar would look away to avoid feeling exposed through eye contact. But research says that’s not the case. Liars, in fact, are more deliberate in their eye contact.

“It comes as no surprise that most people think gaze aversion signals deception. Intuitively, this makes sense. People who feel embarrassed avoid eye contact. People who feel ashamed avoid eye contact. People who are under a heavy cognitive load tend to avoid direct eye contact. However, it does come as a surprise that research shows there is no connection between lying and the amount of eye contact between the liar and the target of the lie.”

Jack Schafer Ph.D.

Also, looking away while speaking can help with accurate memory retrieval. In short, it improves your chances of telling the truth – in accurate details.  

Each of these studies chips away at our assumptions about eye contact and, hopefully, leads us to consider other assumptions about nonverbal communication.

Awareness can help us be inclusive of everyone

If we want a more inclusive society, we should revisit our expectations around social norms, like making eye contact.

Research tells us that what we know about making eye contact isn’t accurate. And we are leaving people behind because of it. For example, one of my coworkers removed a candidate from consideration because he couldn’t make eye contact. “It’s just weird, you know?” she said.

Did she pay attention to his experience? Or his answers to her questions? No. In fact, she dismissed a high-quality candidate because he didn’t conform to her assumptions about non-verbal communication.

We need to open ourselves to different communication styles.

Accept, don’t judge, people for averting their gaze during a conversation. Recognize that forcing eye contact can traumatize many and only increase social anxiety.

Many people are confident and knowledgeable but are uncomfortable making eye contact.

More and more autistics are speaking up about our experiences. But our call for a society that is aware and inclusive doesn’t stop at us – it extends beyond us. That’s what I love most about autistic awareness. The more we question social norms and accept autistic differences, the more we accept everyone’s differences. 

Recognizing and respecting that nonverbal communication styles often deviate from the norm, we listen more and assume less.

So, as we challenge social norms such as eye contact, let’s move beyond the “disability” label and remind ourselves that this is inclusion in action. Communication styles vary from culture to culture, brain to brain, and are influenced by personal experiences such as trauma and anxiety.

Put more weight on a speaker’s words than their ability to follow social norms. And remain consciously aware that much of what we understand about nonverbal communication is fluid and often rooted in false assumptions.

And please don’t ever force your child to look you in the eye.

Facial expressions are a form of non-verbal communication that accompanies a verbal message and can help convey the intent behind the message and the speaker’s emotional state. In short, it rounds out the complete picture for the receiver. And for neurotypicals, a conflict between a person’s words and facial expressions can lead to misunderstandings.

For autistics, this conflict is a way of life. We often rely on words only to communicate.

There is a stereotype that autistics can’t produce or read facial expressions, which isn’t true. Let’s take a look at what it really means to be autistic when it comes to facial expressions and where the challenges lie:

Autistics are not the “expressionless robots” we’re assumed to be.

We can unconsciously produce facial expressions, though it’s less frequent than neurotypicals. People around us may expect to see a facial expression only to be met with an expressionless face. When we do produce them, they can be inappropriate or ill-timed.

The “wrong” facial expressions can cause further challenges in communication. You aren’t – essentially – speaking the same language. The differences, though subtle, can make other people feel lost about your emotions.

But the challenge is…

We don’t know what our faces are doing.

I have memories of being scolded for rolling my eyes as a child. But I didn’t know that I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t annoyed or irritated. So, why did my eyes roll? Probably because I didn’t know what my face was doing.  

Unintentional eye rolling is only one of my unconscious facial expressions. Another one, my “resting face” is often confused for anger or irritation.

My face and tone of voice never clearly expressed my excitement about a new gift when I was a child. And the list goes on.

Feeling one way but being read by those around you another way is a way of life for us. We often catch ourselves apologizing for confusing people about our intention and feelings.

Like all autistic traits, the ability to produce facial expressions and their accuracy can vary from one autistic to another. Some are relatively expressionless, and others’ abilities are so similar to neurotypical expressions that a difference is hardly noticeable.

Some of us do mask our facial expressions.

As an autistic woman, I know society expects me to be more expressive and bubblier than a man. I also want to avoid being misunderstood.

“The world still has no space for eloquent women with flatter facial expressions.  I am aware that autistic men share this trait with us, but time and time again, including in my own family, I have seen this trait excused and overlooked in brilliant men.  Apparently, this sort of intensity in a man is not as threatening.” – Wendy Katz Erwin

The social expectation that women are emotional and expressive places an additional burden on autistic women to mask their non-verbal communication. A man is respected and confident if his face remains firm during a conversation. A woman, however, is thought to be rude or a bitch if she doesn’t smile.

So, like many autistic women, I actively monitor my face during social situations. At times I’m so caught up in the conversation and suddenly realize I have no idea what it looks like. I have to take a survey of everyone else’s faces and adjust mine to copy them.

“Oh, they are all smiling. I better smile, too.”

For most of my life, I thought everyone consciously monitored their faces. It’s like a tiny film director in my head – “Okay. Smile……NOW!”

This little voice calls out directions throughout an entire conversation. It’s exhausting to monitor my face while processing a conversation and saying the right things.

Apparently, neurotypicals don’t actively monitor their faces like us.    

We can’t always read facial expressions which can make masking tricky.

I can read some facial expressions but it’s a conscious process and limited to obvious expressions like smiling, laughing, and crying. Reading faces is limited to extremes or a resting face. Everything else is difficult to interpret.  

Eye contact – or lack of it – also comes into play. Every autistic has a different comfort level with eye contact. For me, it hurts to look people in the eyes, making it harder to read people’s faces.

Even with masking, we are unable to completely hide our difficulties with nonverbal communication. So, we lose friends (or can’t gain them, to begin with) and aren’t hired for jobs. Just think of the issues this can cause in an interview.

For fun, I’m throwing in the most anti-autistic career interviewing advice article. It even has a section dedicated to – dum, dum, DUM! – facial expressions. Go figure.

Obviously, there are no easy solutions beyond awareness and getting to know someone. If you’re interviewing someone with limited facial expressions, push past your initial reaction. Recognize that not everyone will be as expressive as others. Listen, instead, to their words. And if you are in a relationship with an autistic, get to know them. You will eventually understand how they share their feelings beyond facial expressions.

As autistic women, communicating is difficult, but we want to socialize and have friends and jobs. We don’t want to hide who we are all the time. For neurotypicals, communicating with an autistic isn’t easy. But communication is a two-way street. You will only discover the benefits of having an autistic coworker or friend if you make an effort.

The natural communication style for autistics tends to take a straightforward approach. We know what we want to say, and we say it. But there’s more to communicating than words for non-autistics. Words are just one piece of the puzzle, and the non-verbal communication accompanying a verbal message can significantly influence how others interpret the message.

Autistics’ limited ability to grasp non-verbal communication skills can cause misunderstandings. We cause conflict and lose friendships and jobs, often not realizing why. There are many types of non-verbal communication, but the three types that have been more problematic for me growing up are paralanguage, facial expressions, and eye contact.

My earliest memories specifically address paralanguage, so I’ll start there. I’ll discuss my experience with facial expressions and eye contact in upcoming posts.

Paralanguage, a new term for me despite a long history of being confused by the concept, is the nonverbal qualities such as the natural rise and fall of the voice and tone when speaking. These things can help convey emotions and nuanced meaning behind our verbal message. However, autistics often don’t hear what our voices are doing. Many of us have a flat or monotone delivery or an unusual vocal pattern, often emphasizing sounds unexpectedly.

How many times did people tell you, “It isn’t what you say but how you say it,” as a child?

My parents often said this – or some variation – in my childhood.

I distinctly remember my mother leaning over and whispering in my ear at my birthday party. As I unwrapped my gifts, I’d thank each gift giver. But she’d say, “You don’t have to like the gift, but you do have to convince them that you like it when you say, ‘thank you.’”

I was confused. I liked my gifts. How was it possible that saying thank you meant that I didn’t? But apparently, my “thank you” wasn’t delivered with enough emotion to show my excitement.

Even in my young adult years, as I entered the workplace, coworkers told me several times that I was being rude. I had no idea why because my intention wasn’t to be rude.

I’ve tried my whole life to figure out this “tone of voice” thing, and while I can somewhat figure out other people’s tone of voice and what they mean, I do not know what my tone of voice is doing at any moment in time.

Autistic Science Person

Like many adult autistic women raised not knowing about our autism, I spent a lot of time studying other girls and women around me. I’d practice their sentences and attempt to sound like them. Society expects women to be friendly and have a pleasant voice. To compensate and avoid misunderstandings, I consciously overdo the emotion in my voice. But it feels weird and unnatural. And cheesy. It’s sooooo awkward to me.

Now, I have a checklist in my head as I open gifts. I tell myself to smile and then say, “I LOVE my GIFT!” And follow it with one reason I love the gift – just to emphasize that I love it. As I hear myself say it, it sounds so cheesy and over-the-top. I worry that over-exaggerating the emotion in my voice can be taken as sarcasm or a backhanded insult.

It takes effort and concentration. And I still don’t always get it right. My voice can rise and fall in unusual ways, emphasizing syllables that can confuse others. Autistics can identify tone in other people’s voices but not in our voices as we are speaking. (Sometimes I have to record meetings at work so I can refer back to information presented during the call. I hate listening to myself in recordings because I can pick up the unusual and over-exaggerated sounds in my voice.)

Although facial expressions don’t come naturally to me, I find they are a little more predictable and use them to help emphasize my verbal message and cover up my paralanguage mistakes. (But that’s an article for another day.)

As an autistic, I specialize in hyper-focusing. Once I’m deep into my project, I cannot quickly switch focus. It takes a good minute to do that. If someone interrupts me while I’m hyper-focused and asks a question and I don’t take to reorient my mind, I’ll respond without effort to exaggerate my tone. It’s direct and flat – and apparently, sounding rude or argumentative.

My tone of voice is the most challenging skill to mask. And, quite possibly, the biggest reason I can’t seem to keep most of my friends.

Looking back on my suddenly lost friendships, I wish they’d asked about my intention. There is nothing wrong with asking for clarity. “Hey. I was a little upset by what you just said. Did you mean it to come across as rudely as it sounded to me?”

If you have a coworker or friend who is autistic, please keep this in mind: we don’t know what our voices are doing or not doing. Please give us the benefit of the doubt and listen to our words. We usually say what we mean.

Seeking to understand goes both ways. Too often, autistics are expected to pick up the total weight of adapting to a non-autistic communication style. But it’s a two-way street. 

Although everyone stims to some degree, it’s necessary for autistics. Stimming helps us regulate our emotions and relieve anxiety. But in the workplace, our stims can distract coworkers – drawing unwanted and unnecessary attention.

Not all workplaces are a safe environment for autistics to be our authentic selves. Our social challenges often cause our coworkers to exclude us, so we don’t need another “quirk” to make us stand out any further.   

But blocking our need to stim is harmful to our mental health. So, we need to find stims that meet our needs but won’t distract coworkers.

Many of my stims are distracting, including biting my nails, pulling on my hair, rearranging objects on my desk, and cracking my knuckles. I’ve worked in an office environment on and off again for 20 years. Throughout this time, I’ve looked for more appropriate ways to stim without being so distracting.

I want to share them in case someone else needs an idea. If you have an alternative stim that you use in the workplace to avoid being a distraction, please feel free to share in the comments!

So, on we go:

Play-Doh

This one really helps me avoid the urge to bite my nails. I hide the small container in a drawer and pull out enough to roll around my fingertips while thinking at my desk. 

It’s quiet and moldable. A larger piece can act as a stress ball. A small amount can roll around between my fingertips. And when someone catches me with the Play-Doh, I tell them it’s my stress ball alternative. It seems to work, and they shrug it off because everyone can understand the need for a stress ball at the office.

I can make my blob of Play-Doh as big or small as I need it to be, which keeps it adaptable to my needs at that moment. A small piece can easily be smuggled into a meeting rolled around in my hand under the conference table.

Long Necklace

I have a long necklace with two metal leaf pendants. This necklace does wonders for meetings. It’s the perfect length to avoid drawing attention when people are looking at me. But I do have to be careful not to jingle them. Unfortunately, they don’t go with every outfit I wear. So, limitations. At least on the fashion front.

Also, because they are metal, they are not suitable for aggressive stimming. It becomes loud. When my anxiety skyrockets, I need something more moldable – like Play-Doh.

Blankets

I keep a small soft blanket at my desk. Rubbing the fabric and “petting” can relieve my anxiety and help me focus. The great thing about having a blanket at the office is that every woman has one! Offices tend to be too cold for women, so having a blanket at your desk doesn’t make you “weird” or “childish.”

Sweaters

For meetings, sweaters are fantastic. Under the table, I roll the threads and hems in my fingers. Since many sweaters have thicker threads, it’s easier to roll the thick seams around. I especially like my cardigan for this reason.

Meetings are always an overstimulating environment with the lights, people talking, the need to process the verbal conversation, thinking through social cues, reading the presentation, and bodies sitting near you. It’s overwhelming. The room can feel like it’s closing in on you; heaven forbid someone asks you a question when you weren’t expecting it.

Stimming in meetings is necessary; we need something to help channel the anxiety.

Doodling/Calligraphy

Years ago, when I taught high school, many of my students found doodling effective. Not so for me. I never liked doodling until I discovered calligraphy. Now, I’m not a calligraphy expert. In all honesty, I’m still a beginner. But I enjoy it enough to do it in my notebook during meetings. Calligraphy became my doodling and lifesaver. For most meeting attendees, it looks like I’m taking notes. And, frankly, even if someone knew what I was writing, doodling is a widely accepted practice for focusing during meetings. I have yet to have anyone get upset by it.

My notebook is filled with keywords from meetings and my kids’ names written in calligraphy. Calligraphy was a game-changer for me. I can do it as vigorously as I need. The more stressful the meeting, the more I can doodle in my notebook.

Calligraphy requires that I slow down and focus.

Chairs

I love rocking in chairs. Rocking is one of the more common stims for autistics. Thankfully, many types of office chairs can handle a slight rocking. My office chair doesn’t rock, but it does swivel nicely! I’ll grab my desk with both hands and swivel back and forth.

This may become distracting during a meeting, though. So, reserving this action for your desk might be more appropriate if you aren’t in an overly exposed cubicle setup.

These are just a few of the stims I’ve discovered work for me. They help me relieve my anxiety while avoiding the stims that distract others. (No one wants to sit across a conference table and watch a woman gnawing on her fingernails like a hyena with its prey! Gross!)

Have a stim to add to this list? Feel free to share it in the comments.

When sharing my autism diagnosis, it’s not unusual that I hear a variation of this phrase: “We’re all a little autistic.” (I distinctly remember my boss using this exact phrase.)

Um, no. Of course, not everyone is a little autistic. If everyone is, then there wouldn’t be a need for a diagnosis, would there? Autism would be the norm. But it’s not. It’s called the autistic spectrum disorder (ASD) for a reason – it’s a spectrum of autistic traits collectively representative of autistics, not neurotypicals.

Usually, comments like this are directed toward autistics whose traits present mildly and are highly skilled at masking them. 

But responses such as this only belittle us by dismissing our autistic experiences. Essentially, the person is saying that they don’t believe that our experience is any different than others. 

Some people may have good intentions behind using this response. By declaring that everyone has similar lived experiences, they hope to show an understanding of our struggles. Perhaps it’s an attempt to say, “I know what you are going through. I have social anxiety, too, so I can relate!” 

Whether they don’t believe us or are misguided in their efforts to relate, falsely claiming that everyone is on the spectrum is harmful to autistics. 

The dismissive nature of the response can cause us not to seek out the support we need. Because everyone is “a little autistic,” we experience similar struggles. Since everyone can overcome them without support, we are expected to do the same.

It can also lead us to question our diagnosis – specifically for late-diagnosis autistics. We’ve spent so much of our lives living with imposter syndrome because of the need to mask our traits. Too often, our ability to mask is fused with our true selves. We’ve pretended to be someone else for so long that it becomes difficult to distinguish ourselves from the mask. 

If everyone else is a little like me, then am I really autistic?

We need to remember this: neurotypicals see the mask and not the struggles behind the mask. To the outside world, the authentic autistic is the imposter because that is the side of us they have not seen. While for us, the mask is the imposter and our autistic traits are a part of our authentic selves.  

Yes, a neurotypical can indeed have one or two overlapping symptoms – but that doesn’t mean they are on the autistic spectrum. Anyone can be diagnosed with OCD or social anxiety, or a sensory issue. But these diagnoses are separate from autism. 

As stated by the Center for Disease Control, “To meet diagnostic criteria for ASD according to DSM-5, a child must have persistent deficits in each of three areas of social communication and interaction…plus at least two of four types of restricted, repetitive behaviors…” 

To be diagnosed with autism, you must exhibit a collection of autistic traits. Although each autistic has a different autistic trait profile (because, you know, it’s a spectrum), we still need to exhibit a collection of traits within the categories identified in the DSM to be diagnosed with ASD. 

So, let’s take a look at social anxiety. You can be autistic and have social anxiety…or just have social anxiety. 

The autistic trait is the limited ability to pick up on non-verbal social cues like tone, body language, and facial expressions. This can cause an autistic person to have social anxiety. A neurotypical person can have social anxiety but not be autistic. The trigger for neurotypical social anxiety is usually the fear of being judged. 

Healthline states that “while some symptoms between [ASD] and social anxiety, like social behaviors, may overlap, [Rochelle] Whittaker [Ph.D.] emphasizes that the causes of the symptoms are not the same.”

So, why do neurotypicals believe everyone is on the spectrum somewhere? 

They may not see the level of nuance in the distinction between autism and other overlapping symptoms. Quite simply, it comes down to a limited understanding of autism. 

To be honest, I’m not sure they intend to be insulting. As I stated before, they are expressing, albeit poorly, the discrepancy between what they see (the masking) and the autistic traits. Or it’s their attempt to make us feel connected: others can relate to our struggles. 

Either way, don’t allow someone else’s disbelief to make you feel like an imposter. You are the only person that knows where you end, and the mask begins. Only you know your lived experiences. 

If you can, take this opportunity to educate them on autism. Explain why they didn’t “notice” your traits and why everyone isn’t somewhere on the spectrum. Hopefully, they are open to learning more. 

Ultimately, every person’s lived experience is different from our own. We need to be open to giving space for each person to represent themselves authentically and not dismiss their experiences in disbelief or in a misguided attempt to relate. It isn’t limited to interacting with autistics; it’s for anyone with an unseen disability or condition. Many conditions and disabilities can not be seen. But we need to listen to and believe the person living with it.

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.