or, being a woman (mostly), queer, and autistic. Self-diagnosing, and the fear of the official medical stamp. CW for mention of the r-slur.

Firstly, I hope everyone is doing as well as you can. I’ve been doing a lot more reflection, myself, and thinking about the future. Fun topics, assuredly. In this post, I wanted to verbalize my own, and I’m sure many others’ feelings on being autistic in the current climate.

I was not recognized as autistic, until I took an AP Psych course in my sophomore year of high school, (2017/2018, to age myself.) I saw the criteria for autism and literally went ‘hm. That all seems average, though. Can’t be me though, I’m able to take care of myself.” Consider me shocked when, not even months later, I entered the worst burnout state I’d ever been in – not in school, though. I still kept up my grades, still socialized well, but at home, I did nothing but scroll on the internet, or play one particular game until my eyes burned. I was lonely, and I couldn’t understand what the hell happened. 

But I still couldn’t be autistic, right? I’m excelling where it matters. I’m not a burden on anyone else. Ignoring the fact that consistently throughout my entire life, my family referred to me as retarded –

• “Why are you acting so retarded?” 
• “Don’t do that, you retard.” 
• “Aw, you’re serious? You’re our little retard in the family.” 

I couldn’t be autistic, I was purposefully refusing gender norms – I’m non-binary, of course. I couldn’t be, I have friends (who would treat me as a pet- one even did so at one of my more recent birthday parties, or make me the butt of the joke.) I couldn’t be, statistics show it’s a ‘boys’ disorder. 

It wasn’t until I was deep in that burnout that I got content online, tagged #ActuallyAutistic. This post suggested getting fidgets, and I did so. It helped- but only because I wanted it to. A weighted blanket helped. But again, only because I wanted it to. Nothing that actually helped me wasn’t because I was autistic, it was just because I’d been doing SO much research (…another sign in and of itself) that I was fooling myself. Then, came the reflection of my childhood, lots of tears, anger, and all that fun. I found a cool site; Embrace Autism, that was a huge part of what convinced me that I still ‘deserved’ to go to college- the infantilization of myself was ingrained deep, despite not having the label.

Needless to say, I’m no longer in denial – I even got unofficial testing done at the health center here, and was told, “I can’t diagnose you, but I would say you are probably extremely highly likely autistic.” But… I think that’s where this ends. At least for a few years. I don’t need accommodations to succeed, I have a support system at home to help with the things I do need aid with. What would an official diagnosis give me? Another figurative target on my back. We’re an ‘epidemic’, we’re a social media trend, and we’re not to be taken seriously. Being queer, being connected to womanhood, I’m already terribly at risk. There’s no reason to add another one in the eyes of the government, the medical system, and anyone doubting my passions and my ability to do good work.

What I can do, though, is focus on community. My work in the Women’s Center, creating a Neurodiversity club, and connecting with other autistic adults at UMBC, allows me this. I can give space to those who feel like they don’t have it, and encourage change and progress. It’s not over until (drumroll) there’s a tomorrow with tears. Having Darcie be our guest speaker during class enlightened me to a lot of things I also re-read his research paper that was published in the UMBC review, and I feel like it’s actually, truly possible to do what I want, even though it’ll be difficult.