I haven’t publicized my neurodivergent identity due to the shame and pejoratives that comes with disclosure of anything related to mental health. People would interpret me through the lens of my “disorders” rather than meeting me. The stereotypes of my identity would lead to discrimination, so I am terrified for others to know that I am autistic. Even typing out “I am autistic” brings on a deep-rooted nausea at the pit of my stomach. What would be the impact on my relationships and career? I imagine I’d be met with disbelief and incredulousness, and I’m not really prepared to deal with the dissenting opinions and invalidations. People read stories about other autists like Stephen Wiltshire or they’ve seen Rain Man and generalize that to the autistic lived experience. I want to be my own person, devoid of assumptions derived from labels.

I’ve changed significantly over the course of my life, so a lot of my autistic “traits” are context dependent - they depend on the time of day, the season, the year, the place I’m in, the people around me, the situation, and so on. I might seem neurotypical while having a one-on-one conversation with you about building a private practice and affirming neurodiversity, but put me in the cacophony of a group cocktail hour with no clear conversational direction, and I’ll probably seem aloof. Sometimes I look back on myself as a child and wonder if that was really me, because when I was younger, it was pretty obvious that I was autistic, exhibiting all those cluster A and B characteristics. And now it seems I’ve grown out of a lot of those stereotypical “autistic” ways of being through a painful and unending metamorphosis. That autistic person is still in there, just less noticeable to non-discerning eyes, more nuanced, and highly masked.

Hopefully, some of this is relatable and makes someone out there feel a bit less alone, because sometimes it feels like I’m the only one who has these thoughts. Even within the neurodivergent community, I consider myself to be an outcast. They created their own set of norms with an inner circle - the popular and most relatable, attractive, and personable - and I’m left on the outside, in the margins of the marginalized, because I don’t really fit in to their definition of neurodivergent either. And it’s like I’m not even allowed to enter, shut out from where I’m supposed to feel welcomed.

I want to connect with people, but humans are alien to me. Even the people who are purportedly “divergent” are peculiar and unrelatable. There are few people with whom I feel connected, but when it happens, it’s wonderful, sort of like finding that cult classic movie from the 80’s that only a few people can appreciate. I want to connect with others – I’m yearning for it. At my best, other people will feel very connected to me, but I rarely feel it is reciprocated. I’ve learned to adapt, but I’m always trapped within myself. It’s like I’m feigning this connection and no one notices, and I’m terrified that at some point, people will come to find out. I’m an imposter in my own person, sort of like a bystander to my own personality. I’m fairly adept at presenting myself as the person others either expect or desire - I’ve spent my entire life doing so in order to avoid blacklists.

I’ve built up observation and mimicking skills over the years, which I’ve only recently recognized to be aspects of masking. Over time I learned how to build out a personality based on what the situation calls for, and this became my default. I mask so much I’ve become a chameleon, struggling through myriad identity crises, especially when you consider that I can get caught up in a “special interest” and hyper focus on it. It’s strange to look back to all the identities I’ve “tried on” and how easy it is to get back to them as needed. My true identity is so buried beneath mask after mask after mask, like a babushka doll, buried in there somewhere, but rarely would I trust others to reveal the shame of my figuratively disfigured face. It’s too risky and it’s unclear if I have permission. People really do not want me to be myself. I almost always regret lifting the mask, because when I allow that sort of vulnerability, others show contempt and disgust for what’s been revealed. The result? I’ve learned to quickly assess the needs of others so that I can shift focus away from myself and meet their needs. Unfortunately, this also means that I am always sacrificing my needs in support of others.

I don’t really feel like I belong anywhere because I’m just pretending to fit in or cloaking in the background. I don’t belong to any groups or friendship circles. I sometimes wonder if I even exist at all because of how frequently I’m just ignored, which leads to a deep sense of loneliness. A paranoia often emerges, like everyone else is in on something, that they know things that I don’t, and I am too naïve to really get it. I have to work excessively to understand what’s going on in social environments and it seems like it’s so obvious and intuitive for everyone else.

I have to plan out how I am going to behave in social situations. It’s a way to build predictability into the environment so I can feel some semblance of safety. I acknowledge that it’s controlling and restrictive, but it helps. I’ve practiced and have a pretty good idea of what to do to get the result I want. I’ve extensively studied the construction of a conversation and even written-out practice dialogues.

I have to know everything possible because it feels so awkward when I don’t know what’s going on. I’m aware that this is an impossible task. However, my preparation can at times lead to confidence, because I’ve spent so much time listening, documenting, and practicing, that every conversation is sort of like a chess match that I’ve already studied. I have collections of dialogue stored and filed away on my Google Drive. Once I hear the opening of a conversation and the next few turns, I can intuit the trajectory. I can forecast the next seven moves from my opponent, which is what makes small talk so banal and meaningless. I can get very bored listening to someone and may just walk away, because if I don’t, I internally panic. I’ve been masking panic attacks for many years, especially in group and professional settings.

What usually happens is that I’m taking in so much that I am silenced and appear withdrawn from the conversation. But just because I am not responding doesn’t mean I don’t understand or am not paying attention. Sometimes it can be tough to form a response in the moment, so I go silent. It’s that dreaded awkward silence where I’m having a mini-panic attack on the inside, but my face is completely blank and distant. In those moments, my mind is racing. And if my response is curt, don’t assume extensive thought didn’t go into it. Assume my language is chosen with precision and many iterations of responding have likely gone through my head in order to carefully choose my final response.

When I try to be a bold raconteur, it comes off as maladroit and circuitous, and then I’m dismissed. Sometimes while stumbling through my ramblings, I’ll become exceedingly aware that I’m speaking out loud and somewhat dissociate. And it’s a very strange feeling, because there’s this dialectic of wanting to feel heard, yet feeling so awkward when people actually pay attention to what I have to say without interruption or hijacking the conversation. Typically, no one listens and I’m shut out, and if they do listen, it’s with the intention to respond with defensiveness or anger. I try to meet the social expectations, but often fail because it takes so much effort. I’m constantly analyzing whether or not I’m making a social faux pas, and as soon as I let my guard down, I’m under attack for being rude. I am not allowed to just be, because apparently that’s unexpected and unacceptable behavior. I always say the wrong thing and get in trouble, so I’ve learned to stay to the background and keep my mouth shut. It is more comfortable and safer to sit back as a passive participant and watch everything unfold as if on a movie screen.

A lot of what drives my interactions is conditioning based on this history of social punishment. Sometimes when I get in trouble, I’m completely confused and unsure how to remedy the situation because I’m certain I did nothing to deserve punishment. The moral standards seem inconsistent. And so, I’m worried about making a mistake in the future because I just didn’t know the rule existed in the first place and it’s difficult to ascertain and predict these abstract and arbitrary social expectations. A lot of the rules are not intuitive to me, so it requires a lot of attention and work to follow them. This doesn’t necessarily mean I intend to follow all the rules, but I’d like to know the ones that are out there. Often, I don’t find out until it’s too late, so I get confused and frustrated. And others are frustrated with me.

I may seem like an introvert based on what you can observe in my behavior, but really, I’m just introspective. I love being around people, but they are so exhausting. It can be difficult to explain this desire to be close and connected with people, but also distant. It’s another one of these dialectics that I’m trying to manage, and considering my all-or-nothing way of being, I can quickly vacillate between equilibrium and panic due to the presence of people. People are terrifying for me. I work well when they  are at a safe distance, just present and not interacting with me, which allows me to sit back and observe. Sometimes I seem irritable because someone interrupted one of my introspective meditations, and it’s difficult to transition away from my thoughts in that instant. Imagine a cup of water filled to brim, so every time a droplet of water is added, the capillary action holding it all together at the top of the glass falters and everything flows over the sides. Interruptions feel like a pipette is being held over me and just dropping so much more than I can handle, yet sometimes I’m panicking and could use the rescue from another person. But I also don’t feel deserving of the support.

Oftentimes I don’t feel I’m worthy of friendship because I’m too awkward or did something I wasn’t supposed to do. I don't invite people to spend time with me because I don’t believe that it’s worthwhile for them. It’s difficult to maintain relationships with other people because I’m so limited in how many people I can interact with and commit to at a time. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about you if I haven’t spoken to you in months or even years. This may appear narcissistic and self-centered, but actually I’m pretty empathic, sensitive, and caring. I carry so much guilt and shame, falling short of being good enough for relationships because I’m not always showing these prosocial qualities. And no one notices because I’m hiding it. I’m just expected to do everything the right way even though much of what goes into maintaining relationships feels unnatural. It’s hard to pay attention to so many things, so it’s possible you won’t hear from me for six months at a time and I didn’t even notice it’s been that long. I likely would pick up exactly where we left off and expect that nothing has changed. My mind would automatically suggest to me that you are the exact age and in the same place in life as when I first met you. It gives the impression that I just stopped caring, but that’s just how my brain operates.

I hope this gives others a bit more insight into the neurodivergent mind. I also recognize that this is just one perspective, so please don’t generalize my experience to others. However, I also hope this can help others feel less alone. There are others out there living hidden beneath a complex, fabricated persona that was built for the outside world with the purpose of remaining incognito to avoid ostracization. And I’ll remain anonymous until it’s safe to come out.