I need to talk about autism. I’m still coming to terms with what it means to be an autistic person especially because, as the saying goes, if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.

I’m writing this blog for two reasons, though. One is because in my latest novel, I’m intentionally exploring several autism coded characters who are on different points on the autism spectrum, but I’m also writing this because I just had a traumatic flashback that given what I know about myself now, puts it into focus, into such sharp relief, that I want to share my experiences in the hopes that I might be able to help at least one other person out there who might be suffering in silence right now.

Generally speaking one of the unique traits of being autistic is extremely strong pattern recognition. We are very, very good at seeing problems others either don’t, or don’t want to, see, and we aren’t afraid to point them out. The counter balance to this ability - again generally speaking, as everyone’s experience is different, is that we tend to develop a deep passion for special interests. Some people call it obsessions, but I wouldn’t go that far.

We care deeply about the things we care deeply about, and for me, in high school my senior year, I was getting really into Irish and folk music in general. I grew up listening to Peter Paul and Mary, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, and discovered I really liked the sound of the tin whistle when I was 17 or so. This is important for later.

I was the musical savant. I was the one who could hear a piece of music and play it back to you. This wasn’t a talent or a superpower. It was me spending HOURS practicing every single day until I could identify what note was being played and play it back to you because I’m blind, and couldn’t read the sheet music provided, so I improvised.

I didn’t complain or ask for help because growing up, I was constantly being told I’m too sensitive, or I think too much, or I’m too this or that, so I learned to keep my problems, my struggles, to myself. That’s what we call masking. And I was GREAT at it. Right up until I wasn’t.

I actually received the John Phillips Sousa award for marching band, and the Strings club award for guitar my senior year of high school, and after 7 years of band everyone including me, just knew I was going to make it big in college, join the jazz band and really break out, and then I met the music director of my college on club recruitment day. The first thing out of his mouth was, “What can you do for me?”

And I stupidly opened with “Oh I’ve been super into Irish folk lately” and before I even had a CHANCE to talk about my awards in traditional music, he SCREAMS at me.

“I don’t NEED an Irish musician in my programs, sorry,” and walks away. He wouldn’t even listen to anything else I had to say.

My heart was so completely broken, I was so completely crushed, and, importantly, I was dealing with so much stress, depression, and absolute burnout from constantly masking, pretending I wasn’t “weird” or “too sensitive” or “Too shy”, trying to be everything everyone else wanted me to be except for myself, and it all unraveled.

I spiraled into depression. I dropped out of college and withdrew from the world because I was utterly convinced that I was the problem, that I was somehow fundamentally broken, hopeless and useless.

10 years passed after that incident, and I started blogging on this fun little website called TopShelf. All of a sudden, after 10 years, I found people who appreciated me as I was. I could make people smile or laugh through my words, and I slowly began to find my voice and start writing.

I received some very harsh, but very needed advice from the likes of Holly Hart and Angela Rasch to whom I am eternally grateful to this very day. Their writing advice changed my life, and put me on the trajectory to writing “Becoming Robin”. They kept me from writing what I thought others wanted to see, and instead, writing the story *I* wanted to see.

I only very recently learned that I am autistic. I already knew I had ADHD but that wasn’t the full story. There were just so, so many unanswered questions like the story I just told you earlier. I’m still learning, growing, finding my way. But if any of this resonates with anyone, please know you are NOT alone. You’re not weird, you’re not broken, and you’re not too sensitive. Sensitivity, empathy, is a superpower, and do not ever let anyone tell you it isn’t.

The most important thing I want people to take away from this blog post though is that autism is NOT a disease. It’s not a curse. It’s not something to be pitied, no matter how hard that one angry militant neurotypical mom on facebook screams at you because her autistic child can’t do x y z and “isn’t normal.”

Expecting autistic people to be exactly like neurotypicals s like expecting a baseball player to be amazing at golf immediately because they both involve swinging a big stick. It doesn’t work that way. The baseball player can become great at golf, but they have to learn, and so does the autistic brain. We have to do things our way, but that doesnt’ mean we can’t do them.

If you are reading this, and you want to learn more about the autism spectrum, whether because you’re curious, or because something resonated with you, I highly recommend Mom on the Spectrum on youtube. It’s through her videos that I’ve begun to understand myself better and to finally find some answers.

Mom on the Spectrum on YouTube