Finally, I Know: Reflections of an Adult Autism Spectrum Diagnosis

Social anxiety and awkwardness. Obsessive interest in obscure and abstract topics. Lack of feeling. Sensory sensitivity. All of these I have known myself to have since I was a child. Yet, I was never diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum.

This summer, I finally sought out and found a licensed professional who was qualified to diagnose if I was on the autism spectrum. After an interview, and a full day of testing, she was able to confirm that I did indeed fall on the autism spectrum. I was level 1, what was once classified as Asperger’s.

My journey of self-discovery seriously began when my son was diagnosed. He was just short of his fourth birthday when he was tested and confirmed to be on the spectrum. My wife read the common traits associated with autism, turned towards me, and stated, “This sounds like you.”

As she described the behaviors of someone on the spectrum, I had to admit that did sound like me. Moreover, as I examined my formative years, odd behaviors stood out as confirmation that I was probably on the spectrum.

After that, I mentioned my initial self-diagnosis to a dear friend, who works in special education, she enthusiastically confirmed that I was probably correct. This only encouraged me to push forward seriously exploring how and when I could be professionally diagnosed.

Back in the 80’s, they didn’t diagnose as they do today. I am certain that had I grown up in this date and time, I would have been easily diagnosed.

For instance, I was plugging my ears during thunderstorms into my teenage years. I couldn’t go to 4th of July celebrations because of the fireworks. Fortunately, I’ve outgrown most aversion to loud noises. Back then, my parents just reasoned that I had “sensitive ears.”

Food textures always bothered me. I couldn’t (still can’t eat) mushrooms because of their mushy, slimy texture. Pulp in orange juice and lemonade is difficult to drink. I don’t like unripe bananas (too chalky), apples in winter (too mealy), oranges (if they are too dry).

Wrestling with my brother as a child, if he put his chin right into my back, I would writhe in discomfort. In later years, we joked about how he could gain my compliance just by threatening to put his chin on me. Reading on the bed with my children, I must gently move their elbows off me when they decide to rest them on my sternum.

I was always socially awkward in school. My appearance was slovenly. My clothes were wrinkly. I acted strange. I said the wrong words at the wrong time. Eye contact was difficult. Being in a large group of people made me uncomfortable as did mingling. To this day, whenever I can bring a book along with me to something, I bring it as a crutch. I don’t want to be in a position that I appear to have nothing to do, and no one is talking with me. A book is a crutch.

On the positive side, my memory was and remains razor sharp. History was one of my favorite classes, especially soaking up the dry facts. Information that I heard or read stuck in my head. The drier the information, the better I retained it. People would always comment on the way I could remember most everything. Along with the social awkwardness, I was never unwilling to share some useless fact or share my general knowledge about a topic when brought up. Even when the conversation moved on, I would still want to educate those around me about some obscure and dull fact.

Many of those on autism spectrum exhibit ADD and ADHD tendencies. My son certainly does. He can intensely focus on something of importance to him. However, getting him to focus on other subjects (his homework, self-grooming) remains difficult. Even in school, his ability to attend to a class is capped at around twenty to twenty-five minutes before he needs a break.

Although others don’t see that as much in me, I see it in myself. I frequently tune out at meetings (faking being engaged is an artform). Conversations about mundane aspects of life bore me. I frequently am thinking about something else (literature, history, sports, early 90’s modern rock) when I am supposed to be focusing on something else.

Last, I did and still do have problems with emotional regulation. My son has meltdowns from time-to-time. I am convinced that the catalyst for his meltdowns isn’t the situation so much as the need to occasionally hit the pressure valve and relieve some tension. Occasionally, my son needs to feel upset. Earlier in his life, he would experience meltdowns that lasted for over half an hour. Not just tears but wailing and histrionics. Often, I would be the caregiver assigned to stay with him during this time. It would reach the point of embarrassment, his wailing lasted so long and was so sustained. Fortunately, his meltdowns now come fewer and far between. They are more manageable, and I have no more pity parties when the occasional tears come.

I also had meltdowns when I was his age over some of the most irrational circumstances. I was in tears when we wouldn’t go early to a matinee movie on a Sunday. I was terrified of not getting a seat. (Invariably, the number of people in the theater could be counted with fingers and toes). When something was out of routine, I would get upset. I didn’t like staying out past my bedtime. I was distraught the first time my brother stayed up later than usual to watch a movie (we shared a room).

I still require routine. Spontaneity never comes easy to me. I am quite agitated when I feel rushed.

My occasional emotional outbursts have affected my career. I’ve lost jobs because of meltdowns.

So, with all this evidence before me, I did research, found a great psychologist to schedule an appointment (impossibly quick. Every insurer I spoke with cautioned there was a six to nine-month wait.) She interviewed me. I came in a few weeks later for quantitative testing. A couple weeks later, I went back where I could hear their findings.

She did confirm my self-diagnosis. It was a relief. Some people expressed surprise when I disclosed it to them (on a Facebook post. I was anxious to share.) Others were not shocked at all. Again, my autism is high functioning. It is not readily apparent unlike my son’s. For periods of time, I don’t demonstrate any of the behaviors commonly associated with autism. However, invariably people notice that I seem different.

Which, I always knew I was different. Now, I have evidence. I have proof.

It is such a relief to be diagnosed. To know that what I believed for some time is verifiably correct. I am different. I can’t act normal around others because I am not.

Now, what do I do with this diagnosis? That’s the question I must face. I can’t lie and say that some of the motivation in seeking a diagnosis isn’t rooted in the fact that I want to extract a little grace from people. I try not to say the wrong things, act awkward. I know what is socially acceptable and attempt to do that. I try to take interest in other people’s mendacity when I would rather discuss the War of the Roses and the brief reign of Richard III.

I want friends, acquaintances to understand that I am different. I don’t want to be treated as an oddity or handicapped. There is a lot of positive to how I am wired. I have gifts. I use them. I am a great teacher. I know how to absorb knowledge and explain in a relatable way to others. I feel more comfortable in front of a classroom than I do talking to others in a social setting.

Again, what I am truly after is understanding. I now understand more about myself. I want others to understand me as well. I don’t expect everyone I encounter to accept me or like me. Heaven knows that I am not drawn to everyone I encounter. Just to be understood is wonderful.

A deeper question is how I square this diagnosis with becoming a better person (as an Evangelical Christian, I would refer to this as sanctification). I am wired the way that I am. I can’t change that. But I don’t think I can excuse lack of personal growth as just being on spectrum. Some aspects of life will always be a challenge for me. I may always feel awkward in a group. I may get bent out of shape over something that in reality is superfluous.

That doesn’t mean that I should just give up. Having emotional meltdowns (tears when I was younger, anger now that I am adult) is not acceptable. Not to the point that it jeopardizes my career, ruins friendships.

It is one of the great struggles that I have. I believe God created everyone with strengths and weaknesses (often linked). God desires for us to become more like Jesus. Yet, we all have areas where we are weak. I believe that in those areas, God can show Himself to be strong. Just because I struggle with a particular vice (substances, pornography, anger, judgmental spirit), God can change us. He can make his strength perfect in our weakness.

Yet, I as a believer can extend grace to others in areas where they are weak. I can show solidarity to others. For the brother or sister who are struggling with substances, I can demonstrate compassion and support, not condemnation. For the young man who can’t stop visiting websites, I can show empathy, offer accountability. For those who are judgmental, I can give grace to them too. Gently admonish them to give grace to others.

So, that is my next step. Accept the way I am wired. Accept that my mind works differently than many (most?) of the people whom I will encounter. Understand the autism spectrum and learn of ways to cope with some of the challenges that brings. Yet, also not using my diagnosis as a crutch to excuse me. God still is moving me to holiness. He can take who I am, what I have and still use if for His glory.