mental health

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Life After Diagnosis

Phenomenology is the study of first-person experiences and sensations that give life more meaning. When we were discussing this topic in class I immediately thought about how much my experience and perspective on my life shifted after my adult autism diagnosis. After the diagnosis I began to look back at my life and pick out moments and traits that, in hindsight made so much sense with me being autistic. But before the diagnosis, were just a confused, muddled mess. I remember thinking back on basically every interaction I had ever had and wondering if I would have reacted differently had I known. They say ignorance is bliss, but in all reality the not knowing led me to become a traumatized, jaded individual. The world isn’t built for autistic folk, and imagine going about your life wondering why you are facing barriers and roadblocks at every turn and not even knowing why. It messes with your sense of self and you begin to think something is deeply wrong with you. I am still having to unlearn that one. Yay for therapy!

Something that you do when you spend your whole life not knowing you’re autistic, is you get really good at masking. I was able to play the part semi-well and be sociable, friendly, and well-mannered. And when I got older I became even better. But when you learn that you are autistic, that mask begins to crack. It crumbles away and you are left with a messy, soupy, puddle of sensory issues, lack of social awareness, and fixations. It’s extremely common for adults who are diagnosed with autism to regress in a lot of their skills once they find out about their diagnosis. After holding themselves together by the seat of their pants their whole lives, their whole world is turned topsy turvy. This is what happened to me. It’s taken me years to reacclimate to my new way of perceiving the world, and myself. Slowly I’ve built myself back up and created a new, stronger identity. Diagnosis saved my life.

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to my mind

dear,

it’s been so long since i’ve last written to you.

have you missed me? i’ve missed you. terribly, terribly so. i look in our bathroom mirror (the one that you would let your body draw smiley faces on when the glass fogged from a too-hot shower, remember?) and see you again. we share the same eye-bags and bright, big eyes that are hard to miss. i think that is one of my favorite things about you two.

i wish i could give you a hug right now.

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My Invisible Disability

(Trigger Warning: mention of ABA therapy) 

Although I haven’t formally been diagnosed with autism, the understanding is that if you feel as though you have autism you should treat yourself as if you have autism. As the Stevenson article discussed the infantilization of autism erases the existence of autistic adults. But, here I am an autistic adult. I can discuss my experiences with autism. 

I did not have any experience with ABA therapy. At best it seems controversial at worst it looks problematic. As we discussed in class if we have adult autistic representation in the ways of them talking about their experience with ABA therapy and how destructive it can be. Then, this would lead to a capitalist problem, in that, it would lead to the multibillion-dollar industry of ABA therapy to its demise. 

Growing up I would stim, have trouble with eye contact, not understand or be able to read emotions, and was just in general weird. Not to associate negatively with the word weird just like atypical, not a part of the norm, not “normal.” Whatever that means. No one noticed. Maybe I became really good at masking? Later in life, I thought I had ADHD, another invisible disability, this explained the stimming, but not the other symptoms. But, here I am an autistic adult. And I’m confused about what I should do in the future. A diagnosis is much too costly and I don’t know if it would help. I guess I will just be emboldened by community. 

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Looking Good and Surviving the Struggle

As a Black woman, I feel like I’m always pushing myself to do better whether it’s excelling in school, handling multiple jobs, or meeting life’s demands. But along with all of this, society expects me to stay strong, composed, and, above all, to “look good” no matter the circumstances. “Being Black and Looking Good While Chronically Ill” reminded me of how “looking good” often makes people overlook the emotional struggle behind the polished surface. While I don’t have a chronic illness, I can definitely relate to the pressure of presenting a flawless image for everyone else’s comfort. The burden of “looking good” isn’t just about appearance, it’s about hiding our real selves. We’re expected to show up as perfect versions of ourselves, and anything less risks being judged or dismissed. The emotional toll this takes is real. It’s draining to keep up a facade of strength when, inside, I’m just trying to survive like everyone else. I sometimes wonder: If I let my guard down and show my vulnerable side, will people still see me as capable? Or will they think I’m less valuable because I no longer fit the image they’re comfortable with?

The pressure to always be strong is exhausting. In “You Are Not Entitled to Our Deaths”, the author talks about how society demands marginalized people, especially Black women, to sacrifice their own needs for the comfort of others. This really resonated with me because I’ve felt that exact pressure to hold it all together, no matter how much it costs me. But through these readings, I’m starting to realize that real strength doesn’t mean hiding my true self. It’s about showing both my resilience and vulnerability. Let’s stop pretending to be perfect. True strength lies in embracing both our power and our humanity—because we are enough, exactly as we are. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to stop pretending for others and start living for ourselves.

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Stigma on Mental Illness

In my freshman year of high school when I was either 14 or 15 years old, my mom found out I had depression. Long story short it was through a situation that happened at school and they had to inform my mom about it. Let’s just say that things didn’t go the best. But for a backstory, I grew up in an Ethiopian household which included my mom, sister, and aunt. It is pretty common for most Ethiopian households to be religious, as religion is deeply rooted in the Ethiopian culture. Although my mom and family have always included me in our religious practices and have taken me to church since I was a kid. I have always felt conflicted when it came to our religion (but that’s a whole other story). But going back to high school, when my mom found out I had depression the school had recommended I get a therapist, which I did. The only thing is that since the second I had gotten the therapist, my mom was against the idea. She kept on telling me that therapy would not help me and would say something along the lines of “Just pray and you will feel better” or “Jesus will help you”. This honestly made me feel more of a burden and I felt that something was wrong with me and that I was causing my mom stress and suffering. So after a while of doing therapy and my mom’s persistence, I finally gave up on therapy.

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I wish I could give myself a lobotomy

This is gonna be a word salad but it’s actually crazy navigating this world as a person with anger issues, bpd, anemia and autism. I know, girl pick a struggle. To give you a little glimpse into my life. Being anemic is weird. As stated in class, people only think disabilities you can see are valid. And don’t get me wrong if I’m being honest I don’t consider being anemic disabling but maybe I don’t consider it disabling because of that subconscious bias as well. As someone with anemia one thing I do ( as well as others) is when I get up too fast my vision gets fuzzy like I’m seeing circles and static and I have to lean over and sit sometimes even lay down. One could argue that that is disabling. And I could see why because that affects me when I’m working (as a receptionist I’ve had to do that sometimes) when I’m at a conference or meeting or babysitting just anything in life.

Read more: I wish I could give myself a lobotomy

Don’t get me started on having bpd- I sorry un-medicated and untreated bpd. And yes you guessed it ( that is because of finding a psychiatrist and therapist that will take our parent’s insurance). It affects every aspect of my life as well but especially my relationships with other human beings. People think they are accepting and “woke” until your friend goes off and becomes satans right hand man in an argument and then 25 minutes later is like “bro remember this lmfaooooo” like NOTHING happened. I’ve lost friends over it. And I’m not okay with it. I’m not. I’m not gonna sit here and lie to you guys and be like it’s whatever it’s there loss. No my feelings are hurt and I wish I didn’t have this in my brain. It’s almost kinda debilitating. But idk it feels wrong to call it debilitating because that feels reserved for things like schizophrenia, Down syndrome, paralysis etc… I wish I could just take a pick and fix my brain and be normal. Yes I said it. Don’t believe these people- having mental illnesses is not normal and that’s okay. It’s not a bad word.

Read more: I wish I could give myself a lobotomy

And to TOP IT ALL OFF god just had to make me neurodivergent as the final touch. Everyone in my family is neurodivergent. From my mom to my dad to me and my little sister. Shit we think the dog is too 💀. But it’s so crazy cuz the reason my parents (mainly my dad) never had anything done about it was because not just because they didn’t have the money, but also the community they’re in. It’s already bad enough society is so 👀 about being autistic and then you have the black community which is like worse towards people who are different. For lots of black people who have autism/neurodivergent or physical disabilities, our first and main bullies are the people who look like us, talk like us, dress like us, worship like us. It’s so alienating. Don’t worry it’s gotten better because of the newer generations but it’s just like damn can we catch a break . It’s a good thing this is not an on paper assignment cuz there’d be tears stains all along the page😹.

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GAD and Emotional Labor — A Full-Time Job

Earlier today, I had to go grocery shopping. I was missing a few things around my apartment, and naturally had to make a quick stop at the Giant near campus to grab a couple of things. The trip itself didn’t take more than 30 minutes, and despite the crowds in the store, I had no issue finding and purchasing everything I needed.

By the time I returned to my apartment, my heart rate was averaging 120, I was covered in stress sweat, and I felt like my brain was scrambled eggs, just like the one “Your Brain on Drugs” ad — except my brain was just on tons of stress hormones.

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Hidden disabilities tend to stay hidden (TW!! mental health, issues with healthcare, descriptions of dissociation, family issues, brief mention of fatphobia)

I’ve spent the majority of my life disabled, but no one would ever know it. Except, maybe, if the way I twist and writhe around trying to soothe my pain has been a bother to you. Maybe my dead stares and sudden confusion about what is happening around me have been weird to you. But would these even be clocked as me being someone who is disabled, or just as someone who is a nuisance to those around me?

Read more: Hidden disabilities tend to stay hidden (TW!! mental health, issues with healthcare, descriptions of dissociation, family issues, brief mention of fatphobia)

I had horrible back pain as a kid. Doctors eventually took me seriously and said that I, a 13-year-old, would have to undergo major surgery to correct a 50+ degree curvature of my spine. This is done so with metal rods and screws put into my back. Yes, I can usually feel them.

Did this help the pain though? Absolutely not. The amount of time I have suffered with debilitating chronic pain and all the doctors and specialists I’ve seen have had no success in relieving my pain.

Would people know it? Absolutely not. My parents raised me to shut my mouth and deal with it. To push on no matter how bad it hurt. So I did, and I did, and I did. Dear god, my body is so sad about that.

Years go by, each adding new things. Your insane muscle tension from your surgery is causing you severe migraines? Sorry hun, good luck, and take some Tylenol (that’s hilarious) You’ve had weird severe migraines your whole life too?? We aren’t really gonna look into that at all actually. Your retina is detached, and you need to have surgery to insert a scleral buckle in your eye to reattach it but we also have no clue what caused it so good luck. You’re autoimmune. You have fibromyalgia, you have rheumatoid arthritis. Oh, this medicine isn’t helping your pain??? Wow, that’s weird. Let’s raise your dose (spoiler alert: that won’t help either). It hurts, but it’s invisible. No one knows. But it brings me shame. I hate telling people I have physical limitations, especially as a fat person. People usually give me that once over, like yeah. sureeee. you’re just a lazy bitch. So guess what I do!!! Exactly what my parents raised me to do. Fuck it hurts.

Did I mention these are only the physical ones?

Plethora of mental illnesses I could list on and on, but I’ll focus on the most stigmatized one. I struggle so badly with dissociative identity disorder (DID). Yes. I am ACTUALLY diagnosed. TikTok has absolutely just taken DID and ran with it. So much fake-claiming etc etc etc. I hate telling people I’m a system, I always feel insane and stupid and like I’m lying!! Really though, I can’t make up how terrifying and debilitating it is. I can’t make up how it feels to wake up and realize we are driving and to not have a single clue where we’re going or that we even left the house. I can’t describe how hard it is to deal with the episodes of no escape. I stay trapped, only heavily emotional parts fronting. Scout is causing us to only feel like a vessel. Nothing is real, you’re not real, this is a dream. Max is angry and we need him to not lash out, Ace is hysterically crying, Remy is having insane sensory overload, and Shiloh and Sadie are scared and are having flashbacks, triggering Ace to be hysterical again. Others are desperately trying to help, but get so drained and dissociative. Minutes. Hours. Days. I don’t really ever know how much time passes. I never know who I am. My brain literally feels like it’s buzzing with how much we switch and how much people are opinionated and talking over one another. We have meltdowns picking out clothes, music, makeup, ANYTHING because it is so hard to satisfy everyone and if someone is upset, Max will front and be mean. We don’t want that. Anxiety. Who can front? No one. Everyone is so burnt out. The body is tired. What the fuck do we do?

I keep my mouth shut.

So how do I take care of myself if no one really tends to know the extent of the shit I deal with?

I don’t.

My parents raised me to shut my mouth and deal with it. To push on no matter how bad it hurt. So I did, and I did, and I did.

Dear god, my body, and my mind, is so fucked because of that.

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Smile for the customers

After learning what emotional labor is from Julie Beck It really made me think about all of the times I had to be at work with the heaviest heart from my personal problems but I had to show up and be happy for a person I have never met before.

Honestly I think the idea of emotional labor is a two way street it’s good but bad all at the same time. Because it puts so much strain on a worker’s mindset to show up for their job when they have a lot of things going on in their head and then don’t let there be a rude customer because it just makes it ten times worse.

This relates to my story very well recently with my server job. About three weeks ago I was going through something that really broke my mental down and everyone knows when your mental isn’t up to par you won’t be up to par. So I had this one guy who wanted more water so of course me doing my job I was going to refill his drink regardless but the man kept using his fingers in a come here motion every time he needed water and of course I let it slide when I first saw it because I just thought that maybe he’s doing it because he thought we didn’t notice his cup but after filling up the cup the man had the nerve to shoo me away and not say a word to me not even a thank you and that really annoyed me. It got to the point I had to stop serving him all together just because of it but I couldn’t do that all night because the requirements of a customer service type worker is to make sure the customer is happy and it is always said that we need to keep a smile on our face.

I guess the point of this blog is that if you need a break try to find a way to take that break because if not you just gonna blow up on a person that didn’t deserve it or maybe they did. Also employers should stop putting the customer is always right rule on their employees and should pay attention to how badly we can be treated just because the customer thinks they have the right.

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Medical Terminology and the Patriarchy

I learned about this in another class and found it to be very relevant to this class. In general, Emily Martin’s The Egg and the Sperm: How Science Has Constructed a Romance Based on Stereotypical Male-Female Roles, talks about how the language in medical textbooks reinforces patriarchal views of men’s and women’s roles in reproduction. Enjoy!

In Emily Martin’s The Egg and the Sperm, she asserts that even when we learn about basic biology, such as eggs and sperm, these notions from the patriarchy are reinforced. This subtle but very deliberate assertion is intentional. It reinforces gender norms and says that the sperm is dominant while the egg is submissive. The sperm travels through the female reproductive system and penetrates the egg. This is very much a Western idea. Now, modern research has found that the egg is the dominant one. Instead of the sperm penetrating the egg, the egg, “traps the sperm and prevents their escape.” (Martin, pg. 493)

The reason these narratives are so problematic is because it devalues the egg’s role in reproduction and, in doing so, reduces the whole female reproductive system and women in general and vice versa. Other things also reinforce this. Like how menstruation is viewed as a failure. The language medical textbooks show menstruation, “as a chaotic disintegration of form, complementing the many texts that describe it as “ceasing,” “dying,” “losing,” “denuding, “expelling. ” (Martin, pg. 486) As if a women’s role is purely reproductive and she is deemed useless or otherized when she is dealing with a completely normal biological function.

Reference

Martin, Emily. “The egg and the sperm: How science has constructed a romance based on stereotypical male-female roles.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, vol. 16, no. 3, Apr. 1991, pp. 485–501, https://doi.org/10.1086/494680.