Autism and Transition

Late-Life Diagnosed Autistic Woman

I used to think that I was great at transitions. After all, I did triathlon and one of my best skills was moving through the literal transitions from sport to sport with speed. In less than one minute, I could go from bike to run or from swim to bike. I was great at this, right? No problem here.

What I thought I was bad at: change. I dreaded change. This was what I thought.

I thought for so long that I had only autistic traits of neurodiversity and none of the “bad” ADHD traits of neurodiversity. The last few years has been a revelation to me of how much that was just part of my own ableism, this idea that I only had the traits I personally (and my family of origin) thought were good and not any “bad” traits.

I thought of myself as being very good at all executive function skills. Because these were the skills that I saw valued in my family of origin and by society at large. These were the skills of being a “functional adult.” You show up to work. On time. You work hard, fully focused, for the entire time you are at work. When you go home, you continue to work in the back of your mind. You never rest because you don’t need rest or relaxation.

But this was never really true. It was just that I was lying to myself because that was the way that I could survive the life that I was forced into. What was really going on was that I saw that the only way to make myself appear of value and worthy in a society I definitely did not fit into was to self-flagellate from an incredibly early age and to be constantly vigilant about time management tasks. And when I wasn’t able to achieve that, to lie to myself about whether or not I was good at these tasks.

For instance, even though I tried so very hard to be on time to everything, I was, like my father, constantly late. My children all know this and have tried periodically to inform me of the reality. But because I had such judgment about being on time, I didn’t believe this information they offered. What I told myself was that I had been late on only one occasion, or that when I was late, it was because I didn’t care about being on time. What I couldn’t admit to was any kind of time blindness or inability to be on time because of a disability. I had to hustle and deny reality in order to not see my own “failings” because those were unacceptable.

Several autism therapists have told me that I was doing ABA on myself starting in elementary school in order to try to do some measure of fitting in to survive the atmosphere of bullying that was not just other children—it was nearly every adult and child in my life telling me that I was built wrong and punishing me daily for it. So I learned to check simple things in the mirror every day. Did I brush my hair? Did I brush my teeth? Did I put my clothes on right? Did I find something that matched?

And as I grew older, every criticism that was verbalized to me was one that I added to my incredibly long list of things that I checked to make sure that when I was in public, I was going to “pass” as normal. Hint: I never passed as normal, but I occasionally achieved a status of not as weird as some other people who would end up being the target of the inevitable bullying instead of me.

I reached adulthood and believed that I was very good at accomplishing things. And I was. I bullied myself into being good at things I was not naturally good at. I was constantly on alert because I made myself into a machine of perfection that was never good enough. What happened to me was what happened to many high-functioning autists and particularly women. We just pushed and pushed and pushed. Until we couldn’t do it anymore in our thirties or forties or fifties and we hit classic autistic burnout and started to see what we never allowed ourselves to see before: that we weren’t perfect and that it hurt to keep trying at that level.

Now maybe I can finally allow myself to see the truth about who I am without that bullying voice having free reign in my head. I am trying to learn to honor my weaknesses and to stop pushing myself every day until I hurt. And then to also see that there are good things about the way that I naturally am and maybe I don’t need to hide so much from all of that and can embrace it.

So what I think now is true is that I don’t like transition and that I am actually really good at change, as long as I honor my need for a longer transition. Sometimes, yes, a years long transition phase.

What is the difference between being bad at change and being good at change and bad at transition? I think the difference is that as an autistic person, I am good at seeing the breadth and depth of the change and fully embracing all of the parts—which is why I am “resistant to change” as the diagnosis goes. Sure. I am resistant to change as an autist. But also, I don’t do partial change. I do the whole big thing. I don’t skimp on change. It’s just that it takes a really long time and I’m starting to see that in some ways, maybe that is an advantage and not a bad thing. Maybe autism isn’t something I have to bully myself out of, but something that can just be what it is.