“It’s hard a lot of the time to know what I’m supposed to be paying attention to, what’s relevant to that particular conversation. I have to sift through all of the data and consciously keep track of what matters, and what doesn’t.”
Part of my imposter syndrome probably has to do with the fact that, in the ’80s, an autism diagnosis didn’t exist for kids like me: I was considered merely an academically gifted, artistic, shy little girl. My autistic traits were explained away or overlooked.
I wish people would stop saying things that pin autistic traits to a wall and imply they are permanent. They’re not. Autistics can have nuanced, complicated relationships with humor, empathy, social needs and so on.
I bring a bag of things to do—a book, a journal and pen, a music player and headphones—for when I need to chill out. If I get too overwhelmed, I take a walk in the cold air. When I take enough breaks to disengage, I can enjoy spending time together with large groups of relatives!
Literally speaking, I guess I am slow. My verbal processing—both receptive and expressive—is impaired to the point that I often need more time than the average person to understand or respond to someone.
On Chanukah accommodations: “All those candles A had carefully placed and lit, he blew them out. Technically that’s a no-no in Jewish rituals. But we march to the beat of our own little yiddishe drummer boy around here, and eternal or not a flame is still a flame.”
I started playing tuba at twelve, but passing for non-autistic is my longest running show. It takes more practice to fake facial expressions than make a forty-pound horn play sixteenth notes.
I am very grateful to have this new piece of information about myself. I don’t consider my diagnosis to be an answer to all my life’s problems, nor do I consider it to be a deficit. What I see it as is a new lens to see my behavior through.
My particular form of prosopagnosia (facial blindness) includes inability to recognize faces and names. For example, every year I dreaded our family reunion and the inevitable awkwardness of seeing cousins and aunts and uncles and having no idea what their names were.
