My raw, early stages of self-diagnosis

Photo by Uday Mittal on Unsplash

Do you know someone who is autistic? Do you picture someone like Rain Man? Or someone like me?

I’m Chris. I’m a smart, smiley, eye-contact-making, happily married father of four. Do I seem autistic?

The answer is no. I don’t think many people would suspect me of being autistic.

During thirteen years of therapy, counseling, and coaching no one even mentioned autism or ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder).

That is, not until a few weeks ago. I am working with a new therapist and during our onboarding she asked if I had ever taken any ASD self-tests. I hadn’t, so I did.

The results of multiple tests scored me in the moderate to high probability range. Not in the ‘obviously and incredibly autistic’ range, but some were in the high middle. ‘Not neurotypical’, as they say.

What cued my new therapist (whom I consider to be one of, if not the best I’ve had so far) is something I said about loving myself. Well, there were many things she cued in on, but this was the one that did it for me.

I was explaining how every therapist asks me if I love myself. I explained that I do love myself. Often to the point of feeling narcissistic. But only when it is just me. As soon as I transfer from ‘just me’ to ‘interacting with other people out there in the world’ it all breaks down.

While I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t see my value and realize how great I am, I always assume no one else does.

Another element was my lack of emotional intelligence. When therapists ask me what I need or how I feel, I stare at them blankly. I honestly don’t know what that means.

Or at least I didn’t. Another big issue is what psychoanalysts call ‘masking’. Masking is what it sounds like. It describes how we put on ‘masks’ when we interact with others. Other therapists have described me as being a people-pleaser or even codependent. Masking sounds so much less shameful.

Yes, I mask. And I’m damned good at it. I spend a lot, and I mean a lot, of time and energy reading people and my environment to try and understand what people want and don’t want. It’s a coping mechanism. And it’s exhausting. I’m sure you understand because I think we all do it to some degree.

So when I say being autistic feels better than therapy this is what I mean:

Whereas a ‘diagnosis’ of codependency, being inauthentic, being a people-pleaser, or generally caring a lot about what people think about you makes me feel BAD, being labelled as autistic does not.

My former experiences in therapy generally made me feel like something was wrong with me.

Being autistic makes me feel like there is nothing wrong with me.

I’m just different — no value judgment. No shame.

My first therapist used Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). It is a standard method of talk therapy that helps people convert their ‘irrational’ or ‘inaccurate’ beliefs to more accurate and truthful thoughts. In my experience, CBT often oversimplifies complex and ingrained neurological and psychological systems and can be deeply embodied in our personality. I was able to understand CBT intellectually — it made sense — but I was never able to actually change my beliefs. Not in the least.

So CBT left me feeling ashamed. I felt like not being able to change myself using this ‘industry standard’ approach provided more evidence that there was something wrong with me. In short, therapy made me feel worse about myself in many ways.

This continued for years with me trying hard to convince myself that I had learned, only to have my old beliefs continue to automatically occur when triggered or stressed. I kept doing the same thing, over and over again. And each time my shame compounded.

This happened with other modalities besides CBT, and therapy continued to be difficult for me. But I didn’t know what else to do because I still wanted help.

Eventually, I discovered some techniques that helped including Internal Family Systems, EMDR, and tapping. These techniques are more somatic, designed to stimulate bodily sensations, rather than intellectual, and were much more helpful to me.

While somatic techniques were helpful, I found that simply meditating (which I do anyway) was just as helpful. I couldn’t justify spending 135 USD per session to have someone help me meditate. Frugality is one of my limiting beliefs and one of the reasons I change therapists every few years is to take a break from spending money.

Recently, after taking a long break from therapy for financial reasons, I started back up again with my current therapist. Though we have only worked together a few sessions, we have arrived at Autism and neurodivergence. Though still fresh and raw, this feels better than any experience to date.

My dilemma now is, so what? What happens after one self-diagnoses as Autistic? What does being neurodivergent mean with respect to living one’s life? What do I do?

The strength of my feelings about being Autistic is so strong that I want to do something. I feel compelled to do something. In fact, I feel like my entire life is culminating in this one focal point. Like the entirety of my being and purpose is surrounding this issue. My history of feeling different. My struggles to coexist with my fellow humans. The dissonance I feel when my masked experiences don’t fully deliver feelings of inclusion.

I’ve always known I was different, and the possibility of being Autistic is the first thing that has made me feel ok with that.

Yet I am worried and concerned moving forward. Despite the ‘what do I do’ questions, I am stuck in the ‘am I screwing up’.

My fears are twofold:

1. I worry that I am doing that thing I do where I get really excited about something only to have my enthusiasm fade once I realize it doesn’t quite explain things as well as I thought initially. I get into things with a hard passion and often lose interest. I don’t want to realize in a week or so that I don’t really feel aligned with being Autistic. I don’t think that is the case, but I do have that history.
2. I worry I will somehow diminish the value of being autistic for people with ASD or other neurological diagnoses. I am what people ten years ago would have called ‘high functioning’. Again, it would not cross your mind that I might be Autistic. I’m a pro, remember?

Knowing myself, I am currently on pause. I am waiting for life to unfold. To give me a clue about the future. I am also waiting until my next therapy appointment to have this discussion there. But I wanted to share my story with a more neutral audience. To get it out. Medium is good for that.

You see, as a podcaster, I feel galvanized to focus future episodes on neurodivergence, my story, and how my first 150 episodes all led me to Autism. I honestly feel like my entire life has led me here. I want to rebrand completely. It would be an easy transition as I can clearly see how the entirety of my podcasting and writing career has led me here. If you check out my podcast, blog, or other Medium articles, it might also be clear to you.

But the above concerns are keeping me stalled, temporarily. Though a diagnosis is not a big deal, this is important. I wonder how many of you can relate? Thank you for listening.