I’m not one to engage routines for the sake of discipline. As the guitarist Robert Fripp said, “Discipline is never an end in itself, only a means to an end.” So while I won’t make a practice of something just cuz, one thing I have done over the last few years is take time to remind myself of all that I’m grateful for and Thanksgiving is nothing if not an extra large helping of gratitude.
I share this because when gratitude becomes a practice, you begin to tire of recycling the same old stuff: Your kids, that amazing bike in the garage, the last Adam Sandler movie (not really).
As a result, I’ve found myself reaching for things that at first glance, I might not feel especially happy about. But gratitude isn’t about like or happiness. Gratitude is our recognition of the value of something within our lives. Think about any of the great novels through literature, or even any of the great films of Hollywood. The hero needs an antagonist in order to be the hero. I doubt that Chief Brody would express gratitude for the Great White Shark that made Jaws one of the great films of all time, but without that shark as antagonist, Brody would never have become the hero to millions of viewers. Certainly Steven Spielburg is grateful for that shark.
And that’s where I’m going: gratitude for the antagonist.
Okay, that was the easy part. Here’s the hard part: I’m taking this Thanksgiving to articulate my gratitude for a journey I’ve been on since July. A journey in which I’ve come to know a lifelong antagonist. I’m not sure which verb to employ here: I’ll try a few: I’ve learned, I’ve realized, I’ve come to understand, I experienced an epiphany … that I am autistic.
Coming to grips with this has not been fun, or easy. I forget if I’m 18 or 19 books in at this point, but the reality of my wiring, my situation, my past, is impossible to ignore. I arrived at my self-diagnosis after undertaking a deep personal inventory; I created a Google doc and listed every real-world example of my behavior that matches known traits of autism. It sits at five pages in 12 point type. Allow me to add that I probably wouldn’t take my word as gospel, but eight years ago as I was scoring an ADHD assessment for my eldest son I began to recognize traits in myself and after I finished scoring him, I went through and scored myself on a separate sheet of paper and upon completion concluded I should go see a professional for a formal assessment. The psychiatrist, upon learning the backstory to my appointment laughed and said, “I think we can say you have ADHD; the question is, what do you want to do about it?”
So, when it comes to self-diagnosis, I submit that as my bona fides.
One of the truisms of autism is that, “If you’ve met one person with autism, you’ve met one person with autism.” We who are autistic are all different. Indeed, my particular constellation of traits wouldn’t have been considered autism 30 years ago according to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual—the bible of psychologists and psychiatrists.
One of the reasons that recognizing my autism eluded me for decades comes from our description of autism as being on a spectrum. No one is simply more or less autistic. This isn’t like height. Some autistic people speak in a monotone that makes Spock sound like Bones McCoy, and they think with such a pure logic they can seem alien. I’m the opposite of that. I feel everything intensely. This quality explains why I chose life as a writer, but it also means that out in public, I often encounter situations in which I’d pay money for a volume knob on my senses. Such abilities make up the core of an artist’s talent, but to a single dad trying to navigate a workplace populated with neurotypical people, daily life is a minefield.
Autism explains so much of my past, so many situations I didn’t understand, so many times when I found myself trying to hide who I was so that I would be better accepted. I mean, to me, it helps explain why sometimes my work has not connected with our readers and sometimes I hit the nail exactly on the head. On those occasions when I tap into universal experiences, I have a distinct talent for articulating feelings that many of us hold, but often haven’t figured out how to articulate to ourselves. But sometimes, I head off down a road that’s interesting to me, with no one sitting on my wheel.
I first began to suspect I was autistic, back in July, after reading an article about signs of autism in adults in which I went nine for nine on the listed traits. The gravity of this revelation in my life seems only to grow with time. I didn’t know, initially, that I’d already exceeded the life expectancy for autistic people. Due to the prevalence of suicide among autistic people, the life expectancy of an autistic person is shockingly low.
And that brings me to another reckoning I’ve had. There’s a significant genetic component in all forms of neurodivergence, including autism. I believe that my maternal grandfather was autistic. He was a world famous philatelist—stamp collector. And I am convinced my sister, Erin, who died by suicide ten years ago this month, was autistic as well. Women with autism often follow a distinct trajectory. As teens or young adults they are diagnosed as bipolar. Later, a psychiatrist revises their diagnosis to borderline personality disorder and then, for some, the inability to comprehend modern life results in suicide. That was my sister, exactly.
Am I grateful I’m autistic? No. Anything but. It has made my life hard in ways that I’d rather not recall. So much of my life has been bewildering. So, no, not grateful for autism, but I wouldn’t choose not to be autistic. This is who I am and I like me. I just wish life were easier. I would definitely pay money for a volume knob for my perceptual system, though.
What I am grateful for is the journey that has allowed me to understand myself and to see my sister in a new, kinder, more compassionate light. Even though she’s gone, it has allowed me to connect with her in a way I hadn’t previously felt.
As we like to say, knowledge is power and it’s hard to work with something you don’t understand. I now have a better handle on both my superpower and my Kryptonite.
I also have a more traditional note of gratitude; the gratitude I have for my partner, Jennifer, and my mother. Jennifer was the first person I told when I had my earth-shaking epiphany, and my mother was the second and they have both been incredibly supportive. Without them I would not be managing this as well as I am, and I often feel I’m not managing all that well. My therapist has gone out of her way to learn about autism as I am her first autistic client. As I’ve shared this with a widening circle of friends, nearly everyone has proven to be supportive, and acceptance has proven to be the crucial ingredient to feeling connected to my community—an experience common to everyone. Feeling gratitude for that is a no-brainer.
Thanks for reading.
Thanks for sharing.
Thanks buddy.
I agree with Rezell. Thank you for sharing. I’ve been wondering about this sort of adult diagnosis for some people in my extended family. But, I haven’t found a way to bring it up, yet. Not sure if I ever will. I like how you came to be interested in this question based on what your son was going through.
Without years of therapy (that failed to identify either my ADHD or my autism), I’d never have developed the critical thinking tools to look within (being a poet helped) and recognize the traits that led to my ADHD diagnosis. Working with psychedelics allowed me to see dimensions of myself that would have been hard to comprehend, or see. Recognizing my autism did not result in the same reaction I had to my ADHD. With that, my reaction was, “Oh, huh. Wow. Okay, well that explains a lot. Ha.” After reading that article twice more, my reaction was, “Oh shit.” Diagnosing my ADHD felt like I was already on the path to dealing with it in a more positive way. It felt like part of the solution. This was just the opposite. I felt like I’d just gotten my first glimpse of the whole of Godzilla.
If you have a conversation with family members where that person’s deep interests or motivations or drive comes up, there may be an opportunity to steer the conversation in the direction of mentioning neurodivergence, broadly. I would not want to be the person trying to initiate that conversation. There’s a person in my life who I and my partner both suspect is autistic and I have zero plans to ever bring it up. That said, were my sister here today, I’d like to think I’d have the guts to bring it up with her, but maybe my courage is built on my knowledge of how things turned out.
As I think this through, I suppose the most crucial aspect is whether the individual being considered is struggling in their life and finds the world confusing, which is a telltale mark of neurodivergence; if they are looking for solutions, understanding—either for themselves or the world around them—that may be enough to bring it up. Based on my reading, it sounds like the diagnosis is rarely, if ever, a relief, though.
Patrick, thank you for your thoughtful reply. You’ve done a great job of expressing both the situation and my hesitation. I’m going to keep thinking about this one.
Hey Patrick, thanks for sharing. It can’t be easy. I hope you find solace in that we (your readers) have learned a lot from your experiences. In the last election, my state (MA) had a referendum question about legalizing psychadelics for treatment. As a result of your experiences told here, I was a definite YES on that question. Didn’t even think about it.
Thanks again.