[Editor’s Note: This anthology was published by Girl God Books (2022).]
“Being a Neurodivergent Woman” by Kay Louise Aldred
Many people, even my closest friends and family, have no idea that I am a neurodivergent woman.
Being autistic is still new to me as I was only recently diagnosed, in November this year.
I have done a great job at camouflaging, masking, and presenting as ‘normal’. Neurodivergence was not something I had considered in relation to myself until I had children. This is ironic on many levels, most especially because I am a trained and experienced teacher and have held curriculum and pastoral leadership positions, in which I ensured that all students, from every demographic, including those who were neurodivergent, achieved their potential and felt safe, seen, and heard.
It was giving birth and rearing my own children which highlighted the ‘differences’ between me and my contemporaries, and significantly amplified the feelings I had been experiencing since childhood. Feelings of being ‘atypical’, ‘odd’ and a ‘misfit’. Mother and baby groups, children’s parties, and the PTA were mirrors which clearly reflected that I was not at all like ‘most women’. They were also the situations where I began to recognise that my two sons bucked the communal childhood trends of behaviour, thinking and preference.
I did however socialise my three children well. Despite my personal discomfort around being in social settings and making small talk, I knew the importance of doing this. They thrived academically but when my sons transitioned to secondary school, I saw the hallmarks and signs of neurodivergence – predominantly sensory processing and autism. Their diagnoses were convoluted, unnecessarily complex in their procedure and stressful. I was told by professionals that I had ‘taught them too well to be normal’ and that ‘they were coping’ so didn’t ‘need a label’. They were both eventually diagnosed a few months before university, when it became completely apparent that the transition would only happen if they had support. The ‘label’ has been very helpful for them both in understanding and representing themselves.
Their diagnoses prompted me to assess my own lifelong challenges. My husband had been affectionately calling me his ‘Aspie Wife’ for a while before the penny dropped that I may be ‘on the spectrum’. We operated as an autistic-friendly household – which helped everyone, including my apparently ‘neurotypical’ daughter (her ongoing journey of self-discovery is another story), long before I contemplated my own assessment. I looked on at both of my sons openly ‘owning’ their preferences and explaining their needs, and thought, ‘I feel and have those additional needs too but am constantly pretending I don’t’. I realised that the result of this pretence was suffering and an added burden.
That was four years ago. It is only now, aged 48 years, that I have got to the point of exhaustion and the resignation that I am not going to ‘cure myself’ or be miraculously transformed – and let me tell you I’ve tried all sorts of ways to do this including, books, therapy, and spiritual practices.
Early last year I requested a GP referral for an adult autism assessment. Regardless of the outcome, I had begun to privately identify as neurodivergent, and noticed that acknowledging this went some way to explain the lifelong loneliness, social anxiety, and chronic low mood I had experienced and offered a reason for the bullying and social rejection I had undergone – particularly as an adolescent.
On receiving the diagnosis last month, I wept. I felt numb, angry, grief stricken and elated simultaneously. Processing the magnitude of having an undiagnosed lifelong neurological and developmental ‘disability’ and coping with this alone, without reasonable adjustment, is going to take a long time. Autism is disabling in our society. And no, everyone is not a little bit neurodivergent or ‘on the spectrum’. Knowing I am autistic has brought a new level of self-compassion and self-protection. I can’t change myself or improve myself. Autistic people do not habituate – brain wiring does not change, and autism is not ‘cured’. I’m curious as to who I am unmasked and what gifts that will uncover.
Some people who know me well, will be reading and learning this about me for the first time. I wonder if this ‘coming out’ publicly in the anthology will be liberating for the many women who continue to ‘hide’ their authentic self. The spirit of this book is the celebration of neurodiversity and so I’d like to channel that now and reclaim the Rainbow Goddess that I am by declaring that:
I pretend to be interested in clothes. I’m not in the slightest bit interested. However, I’d happily wear the same thing every day – black cropped top, black pants, black vest top, black loose, jersey dungarees, black jumper, black socks with Ugg boots in winter and black sandals in summer. It’s all about utility and minimal thought. I’ve got other things I’d rather think about.
Tight clothes of any sort are a no. Why would I wear scratchy, restrictive clothing which squash up my intestines and womb and restrict breathing and digestion? Makes no sense.
I intensely dislike small talk and prefer deep, philosophical, existential, and meaningful conversation.
I find chit-chat exhausting – I don’t understand it. It’s a waste of energy.
I’m not interested at all in hairstyles, makeup, trends. I’m interested in the inner landscape of your life.
I prefer my own company – listening to my inner guidance.
I’m fearful of humans – the aggression, hostility, abusive dynamics, sarcasm, meanness, inauthenticity.
I trust very few people. Very few people are trustworthy and transparent.
I am fiercely loyal – to those I trust and respect.
I can’t sequence – tasks, actions, to do lists. My brain is making patterns and connections about the meaning of life, justice, the universe. I may also have undiagnosed ADHD.
I have zero executive functioning skills – packing to go on holiday puts me in a flat spin. Consequently, my home is a peaceful haven where I spend the most time.
Synthetic lighting gives me a migraine – I prefer natural lighting and candles.
Synthetic smells give me a migraine – I prefer nature smells and good quality essential oils.
Perfume – NO!
Organic, nature-based products only for my skin and in my home. Coconut, shea, and rosehip oil are winners. If I don’t follow this, I have severe allergic reaction.
If I go outside in sunlight without sunglasses, I get a migraine. My favourite seasons are late autumn and winter.
I fatigue very easily. The best time of the day for me is 11am-4pm. I’m like a machine and can work those hours intensively back-to-back – productivity is high.
Attending a large social gathering will take me days to recover from. I avoid groups of more than six. No offense. I prefer one-to-one.
I have chronic motion sickness. I even get car sick driving myself. I’m a home bird. Did I tell you how delightful my home is?
Many food smells and textures make me gag. Too many to mention. I was sick after being forced to eat beef mince at nursery.
Plant-based, non-refined and non-processed foods suit my delicate digestion perfectly (and they’re great for my overall health).
Sugar, alcohol, and caffeine are not good for me in any way. I don’t need any more stimulation!
I am phobic of lifts, being in confined spaces and transport. I must know the exact route I’m taking and where the toilets are. I avoid motorways. I prefer country, scenic routes.
Shopping centres give me a migraine, feelings of panic and nausea. The smells, music, lighting! I feel green just thinking about them. I like to shop local and support creatives and small businesses.
I have dyscalculia. Numbers jump off the page. I used to hyperventilate in Maths class. On the flip side I am a word witch and genius.
My coordination is appalling. My nickname as a child was ‘Calamity Jane’. At least she was spirited – and probably Neurodiverse now that I think about it!
I carried a dictionary around with me until the internet was available on my mobile phone. I may be a creative with words, that doesn’t mean I can spell well.
Giving birth and breastfeeding were traumatising. Not knowing when the pain was coming, when to push, why the baby was crying, how to latch on, how much sleep I would get. It was hard but I did it, three times.
I don’t like being hugged. Why lunge and grab someone without asking? I prefer a heartfelt ‘hello’.
My preference is always to be alone. No expectation or working out what is going on or how to respond.
I can end up having a panic attack if neighbours are playing loud music. Why pollute the gentle, soothing sounds of nature and force me to listen to what you are listening to? Makes no sense.
Being around people who are drinking alcohol triggers fear and panic. Their behaviour changes fry my nervous system.
My ‘special interests’ are theology, spirituality, and embodiment. I’m endlessly fascinated by them.
I don’t really get you. I’ll try and can read your patterns and energy and body, but I don’t get you.
I can’t follow directions, recipes, or instructions. I prefer to freestyle and think outside of every box.
My nervous system is highly sensitive and reactive – I have a lot of ‘anxiety’ and ‘depression’ in my system, which I manage every day. It’s hard to stay alive.
I feel like no one understands who I am. I don’t really understand myself.
I don’t understand the world – even after being on earth for 48 years it still feels alien. Living is a quest.
I am detail-oriented, persistent, and obsessive in relation to my passions. I’ll research anything related to them to the greatest depth possible. As a result, I have a lot of knowledge to share (which I love doing and offer generously to those interested). I try not to ‘info-dump’ but sometimes it happens.
I am socially phobic and chronically shy. I pretend I’m not to make you feel comfortable and in the hope I seem normal.
I rarely express how I feel. I worry I will overwhelm you as I did my parents and family of origin.
I hide how I feel. See above.
I feel emotions in a big, embodied way. Somatic processing is challenging but essential and I can help others with this.
I have the same getting up and going to bed routine every single day. The routine primes and anchors my day, reassures my nervous system, and makes things easier.
I plan everything. Everything! So, I look like I’m coping, and you don’t see my overwhelm.
I see patterns everywhere – in words, shapes, nature, energy, food and in you. It’s beautiful.
Thank you for seeing me.