DAPPLED
LIGHT

At first, I thought it was a joke. On TV, autistic characters were always some awkward math geniuses, and they were always men.

"Yeah right! If I'm autistic I would not have failed physics!"

But then I found a blog written by an autistic woman. She wrote about her experience, her struggles, and how she perceived the world. As I'm reading, I had this uncanny feeling that she was talking to me. Everything she wrote resonated with me like never before. Somehow this lady saw through my disguise. "She knows me, the real me!"

I sat in bed reading everything I could find about autism, especially autism in females. By the end of the day, I knew I had to get an evaluation.

The doctor who evaluated me wore a lime green jacket and a matching pair of lime green glasses. I wonder if she chose that outfit so her patient could look at the colorful frames instead of making direct eye contact, which was precisely what I did when she uttered the seven words that changed my life,

“Alice, you are on the autistic spectrum.”

For the longest time, I assumed everyone perceives the world exactly the way I do. So the fact I struggled with basic things like communication, social awareness, and sensory processing meant I must be broken; I'm messed up. But now, I realized...no, I'm simply wired differently.

The way my brain processes information is a neurological variation. Which makes my experience with the world fundamentally different than most people's. I struggle not because I am stupid, or weak, or not trying hard enough. It is because I was forced into a box that doesn't fit me.

I was over the moon to finally have an answer. So I told everyone I met the day I got my diagnosis.

Turned out, people don't know how to react when you say, “Hey, guess what? I am autistic!”

“What? But you are so normal!”

“Oh, everyone is a little autistic.”

“Don't worry, I'm sure it's very mild.”

I don't know what kinds of response I expected, definitely not any of those. But nothing hurts as much as this one -

“Now you know what's wrong with you. Don't use it as an excuse for your problems.”

This comment crushed me to the core. I went quiet. I didn't feel safe to open up anymore.

My parents didn’t know about my diagnosis until much later due to time differences. By then, I’ve lost all my enthusiasm. I was scared and felt betrayed. So when I told them in the video call, I was stunned to hear, “How do you feel?”

I started bawling, “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me! My whole life, I’ve been angry at myself, thinking I was broken. Now everything starts to make sense. I finally have the language to understand myself. Why can't people be happy for me? How dare they think I'll use this as an excuse? Being autistic doesn't mean I have a free pass in life. I still have to “pretend” to function. It still costs me double or triple the effort to fit in. But at least maybe, I can stop doubting myself for once. I don't have to feel ashamed that I have trouble with ordinary tasks. I don't have to hate myself for thinking or reacting differently. I don't have to tell myself that I'm weak or lazy for not trying hard enough; because I am trying SO FREAKING HARD!”

I went on and on and on. My parents didn't say much. We talked, or rather, I cried for hours while my mom and dad watched through the screen. In the end, they said, “People don't know what they don't know. This is entirely new to you and everyone. Let's learn more about it so we are more prepared next time.”

They're right, of course. One month ago, I thought autism meant some know-it-all who likes trains. How can I expect others to understand when I barely know anything about it?