For some of us with autism, pursuing a friendship beyond the surface superficialities imposed by polite society is fraught with difficulty and self-doubt.
It took 25 years, 5 psychiatrists, 4 diagnoses and a string of shortsighted doctors before someone realised the issue was autism – and that someone was Me.
As the world opens up for men it shrinks for women, to a space the exact size of your body and no more. Because, first and foremost, a body is all you are.
Getting a diagnosis is like finding out you’re adopted – it’s not that you’re odd and don’t fit in, you’re just part of a different family.
If people realised how hard autistics have to work to connect, they’d understand… empathy is a two-way street.
Recently, the mere anticipation of writing has resulted in instant mental paralysis, until this morning when I spilt an entire cup of coffee - the second in a fortnight. To put it succinctly, I lost my shit.
With a lump in my throat I described my beautiful, clever, mischievous daughter and discussed all the ways we could help make her future the antithesis of my past.
I don’t need to take on the responsibility for changing other people’s misconceptions. Learning to be honest and authentic - standing in my own truth – is more important right now.
These days when I relax in shavasana at the end of yoga the tears flowing into my ears are from an excess of joy not sorrow...
How much of my father’s behaviour was a result of his illness, and how much was his real personality?