I’ve been trying to have this conversation with my therapist for a while now: “Do you think I’m autistic? I remember when the possibility first entered my mind, it was because someone else brought it up.” “Do you think you’re on the spectrum?” “I don’t know,” I replied and then spent that spring semester researching the possibility. I called a friend from undergrad whose background was in special education.
“The question is not whether you have autism or are on the autism spectrum, but how you understand yourself and find a place that’s the best fit for you.”
I remember her saying to take all the time I needed with that process and not feel pressured to place myself in any sort of box. She mentioned how I didn’t sound so scared anymore about the possibility of being autistic. As I read books and essays about autistic women’s experiences, they resonated with my own. I made a series of Venn diagrams and journaled as I attempted to make sense of how these overarching narratives fit together.
I remember looking for the right words to describe myself — “Aspergirl, quirky, or socially different.” I didn’t want to call myself autistic if I didn’t meet the diagnostic criteria (which at that point would have been under DSM-IV, although I knew Aspergers would be absorbed into the autism spectrum that summer). Aspergirl was a self-identifier that seemed consistent with my experiences of not quite fitting and missing social nuances. It was a label noting difference, not deficit.
I’ve lived in this overarching narrative — that I was an Aspergirl (probably autistic young woman – but only self-identified) for the last year or so. I found a community of like-minded women who shared their lives through blog entries and tweets. And yet part of me wonders if I’m actually autistic — maybe I’m just anxious, so I feel awkward in social situations and miss others’ cues because I can’t see past myself.
“Do you think I’m autistic? You’d mentioned when I first started seeing you that my social confusion could just be due to my anxiety, but why does that identity resonate with me?”
“I can’t tell you who you are. We could talk about autistic traits, and you’re familiar with the diagnostic criteria. But I think you’re trying to figure out what being autistic means — to you, your experience, who you’ll be, in the becoming.”
I’m reminded of those Venn diagrams covered with notes about my interpersonal history and longstanding observations. It’s in the overlap where things make sense — familial trauma, Aspergirl self, and generalized anxiety intermingle on a sheet of notebook paper.
“I felt like someone had to call me that for it to be so — to claim that identity [as a poet]. I have the authority to claim that identity for myself.” – writing group facilitator on labeling oneself
“If you want to further explore the possibility that you’re on the autism spectrum, there’s a clinic nearby campus where I can refer you — but I also don’t want you to feel limited by a label. Remember this is a sacred space where you’re free to determine who you are.”
So for now, this is where I am, pondering these overlapping, overarching narratives, knowing that identity isn’t static.