It was a few months before my thirtieth birthday when I was diagnosed Autistic, and soon after, I stumbled upon the term ‘NeuroDivergent. ‘ It was like a lightbulb moment, a sudden realization that explained so much about my life.
When I did not know I was Autistic (or about the other ways my brain “diverges” from the normative average), it held me back because I kept trying (and failing) to mimic the people around me, often without understanding the reasoning behind the actions I mimicked.
Something can happen to a person when their true Self is repeatedly denied (or punished).
When people constantly tell you that your experiences, needs, and perceptions are ‘wrong,’ ‘bad,’ and untrue, it can shake your confidence and make you question (or deny) your own feelings and experiences.
For thirty years, I had been living in a world that expected me to be something I wasn’t (a neurotypically average person). I’d internalized that expectation, making it my own (without even realizing I was doing it), hiding parts of myself away that created unfavorable reactions in the people around me.
Before learning the truth about my brain, when I would try to speak about my needs to people, I was told (over and over again) that I was “being too sensitive,” “complaining too much,” or “fussing about things that weren’t bothering other people.”
I was frequently advised that I needed to “complain less,” “toughen up,” and “put more effort” into things (despite already having put in the maximum amount of effort I was capable of), leading me to believe my best would never be good enough (for others or myself).
When I needed support, I found blame.
Growing up, when I sought help or support from people around me, it would often backfire (because people usually felt I shouldn’t be asking for help with things they had decided should be “easy” for me to do).
For example, in school, when the fluorescent lights were painfully bright, and I complained to the teacher that I needed sunglasses in her classroom, I was told I “was the only person complaining,” as my teacher confiscated my sunglasses because “they weren’t allowed in the building because they were a distraction to the learning environment” or when I kept going to the nurse because of headaches and was told I “had to stay in class” (because my headaches were happening every day and the nurse didn’t believe me, thinking it was because I didn’t like school – which was also true).
It’s too bad nobody thought to ask why I didn’t like school back then.
School refusals happen for a reason.
In my case, it was because my needs weren’t being met (and were being framed as a problem).
I knew I was uncomfortable in the first grade, but when I tried to speak up, I was punished and scolded for it, so I stopped.
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