This is Genetic (Part 2)*

*This post is part of a series of reflections written as I explored my neurodivergence prior to diagnosis. Originally written July 2023.

I should be writing about this but I haven’t been. I’ve been doing what I guess my _autistic (I want to whisper this) brain does and try to hold every detail at the same importance in my head. You’d think I’d have learned by now that I just need to fucking write it down. Or at least take a voice or speech-to-text note.

I’m a victim of my own able-ism, and if I hadn’t been, maybe I would have figured this out by now. But, maybe if I knew it before, it would have broken me.

All things in their time, I suppose.

I have been very concerned about becoming like [singular them]. It feels weird to call [them] [name], so I don’t. It’s too formal and I grew up with a false sense of how close we were. Maybe I’m holding on to some fantasy of what they really are to me.

But in fact, they are my nemesis but my closest ally (??!!). Yes that word just came out of my mouth.

They are my ally in that they and I are eerily alike. I think they knew my whole life that we are just the same. It’s why they respect my boundaries and it’s why they still keep in touch with me and tries their hardest to not piss me off. Because I’m an extension of them.

And if they’re autistic, which I really really think, then that means I probably am, too. It’s sad that this realization had to come out of me being literally afraid that I would become like them. So much so that I was trying to do things to not become like them, thus denying my true nature.

I actually owe it to our new rescue dog, Freya, for this realization. Because when we got her only a few months ago, I really did not want to change my routine and what suited me for her well being. She’s grown on me now and we are bonded… like things have clicked.. but I found myself detaching from her and holding her at arm’s length. 

I think because of the work I’ve done in therapy, I’m more apt to accept change and new things and a creature who relies on me for her very life and well being. It’s not been easy though.

But in those nights I’d wake up thinking, what the hell did we just do adopting another dog so soon after Missy, I would simultaneously, and I mean have a parallel thought process going on, that damn it, Elizabeth, you’re just like them.

On the plane to Seattle, I downloaded Unmasking Autism by Devon Price and read it yet again, thankful for 5G on the tarmac. And this time I read it, I saw myself. I was horrified and relieved and voracious to have this huge hidden truth dawn on me. It was like the sun rising in the east, casting beautiful colors across the sky. You know it’s going to happen every morning, but can be surprising and awe-inspiring just the same.

So then with this new lens of…. (autism)… (disability)… (genetic predisposition)… I have been looking back at my life. I look back many many years ago to when I spent the night at my friend’s house, and I distinctly remember insisting on alphabetizing her Beanie Babies.

Who the fuck does that. What 12-year-old girl does that. Did she tell her mom later that I was weird and she didn’t want me to come over again? Did her mom tell her, Elizabeth is special and has it rough at home so be nice, ok?

And then I think, were all my friends pity friends? And then I think… well at this point it doesn’t fucking matter, does it? We’re all almost 40, and I was weird. I am weird. I will always be weird.

I took the online assessments.. many of them, many times. They popped hot. But I won’t be seeking diagnosis. I was a little frustrated when I (finally) told Aaron… I found the best, but not perfect, time to disclose this new discovery… and the first thing he said after “ok” was “what are you going to do about it?” as if he kind of already knew or maybe didn’t take me seriously or it was the same thing to him too, a sunrise.

I don’t want to go through yet another harrowing medical journey full of doctors who don’t listen, hatcheting my way through a dense forest until I find someone who gives a fuck. As it turns out, women with autism are missed.. a lot.. because of how well we learn to mask.

And that makes me think, well maybe since they saw themselves in me, they made sure to equip me with the skills they knew I’d need. They celebrated how verbal I was, how smart, my accomplishments, they pushed me to develop my fine motor skills with sewing and piano and band. 

Overall I feel pretty okay walking through this. I will be looking forward to therapy but not in a desperate way. Like for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can handle this. It is a long-awaited framework that explains pretty much everything.

It’s pretty much a miracle that I was able to get the fuck out of my toxic and abusive work environment, and I think it was harder for me than maybe for others… but also easier in a lot of ways. I have been accommodating myself and giving myself the support I need to do what I need to do in life.

(A note that self-diagnosis / self-identification is valid. More research about how autism / ADHD presents in folks other than white AMAB [assigned male at birth] needs to be done. Pursuing a diagnosis can be costly or near impossible for some folks. And it wasn’t until 2013 that someone could be diagnosed with both, per the DSM-V TR. If you think you might be autistic, ADHD, or both [commonly referred to as “AuDHD” and emerging research suggests it’s a neurotype of its own] be easy on yourself and avail yourself of resources to aid in your own self-discovery.)