I have Asperger’s Syndrome as known as high-functioning autism. While I always knew that something was different about me, it wasn’t until last year, at the age of 39, that I finally received a formal diagnosis.

In observing other girls – when I was growing up – and women, I learn how to copy the social niceties. In my mind exists an instruction manual I’ve built over time. In social situations, I flip through the manual and follow the instructions. It is an exceedingly difficult and conscious process.

Obsessively, I rehearse social situations before I encounter them.

I pretend to be something I am not. I mask.

Masking is when a person purposely hides their autistic symptoms to conform to societal norms. If you know an autistic individual, work with them, or are one, you are probably familiar with this term.

Though my effort to mask myself is often successful, it is not infallible. Cracks inevitably appear; the truth finds its way to the surface. I slip up.

Because of the effort to mask, depression, exhaustion, and anxiety are constant companions.

This cycle is a vicious and exhausting one.  No matter how successful I become at masking myself, I only find myself in mental and emotional anguish. The more an Aspie masks, the larger the toll on their mental health.

And this leads me to this website. As I searched for inspiration in naming this site, my thoughts always led me back to masking. Or, more specifically, the conflict between who I am as a person with Asperger’s and what the world around me feels I should be.

While the Asperger’s diagnosis helps me understand why I am the way I am, accepting it isn’t as easy as an actor yanking off a mask at the end of a play and calling it a day. Society expects the mask, not the autistic traits.

And so, this is the reason I have named my website To Aspie or Not to Aspie. Just as masks hide the identity of actors on stage, my mask hides my Asperger’s to some degree.

We pretend to be “normal” to our own detriment. There is no cure for autism. The conflict comes in how to balance the world and ourselves. This is what I want to explore for myself and other late-diagnosed women. Sharing our stories and lessons can help each other as we learn to navigate our worlds.

Welcome to my journey! It always helps to know that we are not alone in our struggles, which is why I would love to hear from other adult autistic women. 

Rocking myself, I sang “My Favorite Things” between whimpers as tears mingled with the warm water puddling around my feet.

I was having an autistic meltdown though I didn’t know it at the time.

An autistic meltdown is unnerving. It is usually brought on by overstimulation, whether by stress, changes in routine, lights, sounds, socializing, etc. The only way to deal with it is to let it run its course.

I’ve had meltdowns all my life but never twice a day for five days in a row. They were persistent.

When COVID-19 came to Texas, our overworked and understaffed communications department was flung out of our ordinary world. And I was unable to cope.  

When the offices and schools closed, my husband had to close his small business. While it was a big hit to our finances, it did mean he had the time to handle virtual learning for our son and ensure I didn’t die of starvation.

For the first two months of the lockdown, I worked remotely all day, every day – no weekends off. I marked my time by the plates of food my husband shoved between my keyboard and me at mealtime.

Although everyone else on the team was exhausted and stressed, they handled things in stride. Or they just handled it. But I didn’t.

I’ve struggled all my life to make and keep friends, socialize, manage the stress of a full-time job, and motherhood. Always, failure nipped at my heels, and depression reigned supreme.

I am different and unable to adequately function in a world that seems so foreign to me.

While I suspected for quite sometime before the pandemic that I was on the autistic spectrum, I was conflicted about pursuing a formal diagnosis.

But COVID-19’s force majeure on an unsuspecting me was too much. Already holding myself by threads, I decided it was time. It was time to confirm what I already suspected.

I scheduled the necessary appointments, took the tests, and received the diagnosis: Asperger’s Syndrome (aka high-functioning autism).

As the diagnosis was read to me, nothing magical happened. No light bulbs went off. No fairies sang. No rainbows danced over my house. And nothing inside me changed. I still have meltdowns and struggle with a stressful work environment. A “How to Survive the World as an Aspie” manual didn’t come with the diagnosis.

But one thing the diagnosis did come with – understanding. This is me. And I felt for the first time in my life I had the license just to be me. Finally, at the age of 39, I was able to look in the mirror and introduce myself…to myself. Finally, I understand why I am the way I am. And now I have something to work with.

It turns out understanding yourself is a powerful tool when living life. I only hope I can put it to good use.

Why did you seek a diagnosis? Did it change your perspective? I’d love to hear from other women diagnosed with autism. If you are willing, please share in the comments below!

Sensory Overload

During pregnancy, my changing body sent my sensory issues into overload. My body was all wrong. My skin hurt when touched; clothes felt foreign on me. And the overload never turned off. Day after day, I could not find relief from the overstimulation placed on my own body.

Once my son arrived, a new set of challenges emerged. Between the crying, feeding, and constant touching, my need for routine and recovery from the sensory overload went into a tailspin.

Motherhood Multitasking

Juggling the needs of this very dependent baby with other life responsibilities was like juggling 20 baseballs and riding a unicycle – at the same time. Something was always falling. And, worse, sometimes I don’t even notice when it does. That is how difficult it is to keep up. In a recent study, only 51% of autistic mothers feel they are able to handle parental multitasking compared to 94% of non-autistic mothers.

How many times did this mommy cry along with her baby? Too many to count.

Guilt

Several friends became mothers around the same time, but they didn’t seem to have the same issues. They questioned why I felt the way I did. Their response always involved a version of “you are overreacting” or “you are exaggerating.”

At the time, I didn’t know I had Asperger’s Syndrome (AS) or the specific struggles I would encounter because of it. All I knew was that I wasn’t built to be a mother. I couldn’t handle it. I was a failure.

The pressure to handle motherhood like the neurotypical women in my life was constant.

Guilt weighed on me. I love this child, but I couldn’t be a mother. How could that happen? How could I not be what he needs? I believed that my son was better off without me. Autistic mothers are more likely to experience postpartum depression according to the same study.

Knowledge is Power

Had I known that I was an Aspie, perhaps my husband and I would have been more prepared for the challenges.

There is extraordinarily little research on autistic mothers. After Googling “autistic mothers,” most of what is coughed up by the Google-gods are articles on mothers raising autistic children.

But the few studies that do exist, suggest that the challenges for autistic mothers are exponentially greater with the increased risk of postpartum depression, the lack of support systems, and difficultly juggling parental multitasking.

But knowing your limitations and preparing for them is essential to enjoying motherhood.

Work with your partner to ensure you have time to walk away from the sensory overload.

Take the time to focus on yourself by indulging in your self-interests, meditate, or soak in a warm bath. Whatever you do, be sure you are uninterrupted, and you can clear your mind.

Remember that no one is a perfect parent. Let the chores go if you need a break. Share the workload with your partner. (It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t do the dishes “correctly.”)

Find a support system, even if it is online, and don’t be afraid to ask for help.

And, most importantly, if you are experiencing depression seek professional help.

Although my children are older now, receiving my diagnosis has helped me tremendously. I have a better understanding of myself and how I approach relationships with my children. Because of it, I’m a better mother.