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. 

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!

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. 

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.

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.