The Curious Case of Autistic Impostor Syndrome

When I first learned I have autism, it felt like a simultaneous blessing and a curse. As I have previously wrote, I spent most of my childhood feeling like an outsider due to things I couldn't control and figured I was slowly going mad because no one would give me a straight answer of why I was the way I was. So it's easy to imagine that the news of my diagnosis was a huge relief in the sense that all my questions were answered. It was, but it also came with the cost of learning that I was not and never will be "normal" because of all the challenges I had. And with not being "normal", my life would always be harder than most people's.

In spite of this, I'm often told I'm a "success story". I made my way through school being fully mainstreamed into honors and AP classes, graduated from college in four years, and received a Masters in Social Work from a prestigious university. I have a good steady job where people appreciate my contributions and have made headway into participating in the disability community of Los Angeles. I live on my own, I don't excessively struggle with money management, and I have good friends and family I can depend on. At the risk of sounding arrogant, it does seem like I am a "success".

So why do I constantly feel like I'm barely keeping it together and what I do isn't nearly enough?

Am I Thirty, Flirty, and Thriving Yet?

Come the 8th of April, I will enter my fourth decade on this planet we call Earth. The closer I get to that fateful day, I find myself thinking of the 2004 movie "13 Going on 30". In that thirteen year-old movie (ha), an awkward burgeoning teenager wishes she could be "thirty and flirty and thriving" and through the power of magical realism finds herself in a future thirty year-old self only to find what she wants as a teen isn't all that's cracked up to be. It's never been a movie I particularly enjoyed, but as I get older, the theme of wanting something for your future self and ending up in a place you didn't expect has been especially relevant to my life. What I wanted as a child didn't pan out and what I have now leaves me wondering how I got there and if it's the right place for me.

I guess you could say that as a kid, I too hoped I would be "thirty, flirty, and thriving". And while I didn't quite get what I wanted as a kid, maybe I ended up with something better.

Those Overwhelming Feels of Being Autistic

If one of the biggest characteristics of being human is having many emotional states, there seems to be this weird idea that autistic people have an innate inability to understand or express emotions. This would in turn lead autistic people to become hard to connect to, let alone engage with other people. It's kinda like Spock from the original Star Trek series - a purely logical creature who has to constantly ask his crew-mates why human beings interact the ways that they do. Spock isn't a cold-hearted Vulcan with no regard to people's feelings, he just doesn't understand humanity and its workings on a fundamental level.

I find this to be a completely unfair  assumption. It assumes autistic people don't have feelings nor can express them, and that we're cold people at best if not downright heartless. Having trouble processing feelings and understanding others' emotional expressions doesn't make us cruel, unfeeling people that can't connect to others. It simply means that we need understanding as to how things are the way they are so we can bond better with others. No one on Star Trek shuns Spock for his lack of understanding emotions - they help him by answering his inquiries to the point where Spock is accepted and forms deep attachments to his crew, especially Captain Kirk.

And as for me personally? I'm not emotionless. If anything, my emotions have dictated my entire life.

Turning to Face the Change

I spent this New Years visiting one of my closest friends in San Francisco. It was a great five days (despite having a nasty stomach bug the day I arrived) and it felt good to see her, as the distance between us (her in San Fran and me in Los Angeles) makes that kind of engagement rare. And it was exactly what I wanted it to be - low key, relaxed, and just shooting the shit with a really good friend in one of my favorite cities on earth.

We talked a lot about our respective years during that week and it got me thinking a lot about transition. The two of us have spent the last few years in graduate school pursuing degrees designed to groom us for specific professions so a lot of our lives have revolved around school and all the elements that come with it. But with me graduating last year and her about to graduate this year, we have come to terms with that leaving school means no longer depending on certain beats to center our lives. After graduation, you have to make it on your own.

One of the most consistent things said about autistic people is that they're adverse to change. Any disruption to things or patterns we understand throws us into a tailspin of frustration and chaos, convention says. I can't claim to speak for every autistic person on the planet, but I'm kinda in the not-cool-with-change camp. Why should I be? I make an effort to keep things consistent in a way that works for me. I like having certain things I can count on. Any change to that throws me for a loop to a point where I have major trouble processing it.

But change is an inevitable part of life. To avoid change is futile. And I can attest to that as 2015 was the year of huge change that was hard to adjust to.

A Very Merry Autistic Holiday?

It's no secret that large gatherings of any level can be incredibly overwhelming for those on the autism spectrum. There's so much happening on both social and sensory levels that it gets stressful just thinking about it. There's the sheer amount of people in the immediate vicinity, the high expectation to talk to all of them in the right way, the preparation of the event in question, how to present yourself...it's all kinda much for anyone to handle. And if you're autistic, it's downright terrifying.

On top of being autistic, I have a ton of social anxiety. While it looks like I can increasingly handle myself well enough in group settings, I'm riddled with fear that I have no idea what I'm doing. Am I connecting with enough people? Am I engaged enough in the conversation? Am I hogging conversation too much? Am I maintaining the appropriate amount of eye contact? Nodding in the right places? Truly listening to people? All these things people take for granted requires a tremendous amount of thinking and planning, and it's so overwhelming just writing it gives me the shivers.

And what's a hallmark of the winter holiday season? Social gatherings, particularly holiday parties and family time. The two most stressful situations for almost anyone, let alone for someone who innately has trouble socializing to begin with.

How Many Spoons Does It Take To Live A Productive Life?

“A person who is chronically disabled or ill only has a limited amount of expendable energy each day. The spoon theory uses a metaphor of spoons to turn energy into a measurable concept. A person living with chronic illness or disability only has a certain number of spoons in their possession each day, and every small action a person takes can result in a lost spoon. Once a person loses a spoon, it is very hard to get that back until after a full night’s sleep. Simple actions like getting out of bed, taking a shower, walking, and driving can require enormous amounts of energy that people don’t have.“

Quoted from thespoontheory ‘s faq



There are times where I have about zero energy to do just about anything. For example, I'll want to go to the gym and work out, but the muscles in my legs have weakened where I can barely walk. I'll want to write in my journal or on this blog but can't work up the mental capacity to think of anything. I've also gotten physically and emotionally overwhelmed during family trips in humid or tropical climates, despite really loving the vacation itself. I recently barely had enough energy to slice limes and set the dinner table for my father's birthday, in spite of wanting to contribute more to the festivities. I've never quite known why this keeps happening to me and has been a reoccurring source of frustration for me and everyone I know.

Then I discovered Spoon Theory.

Coined by Christine Miserandino of "But You Don't Look Sick", spoon theory postulates the challenges disabled or chronically physically or mentally ill people face presents them with a limit to energy and possibilities to get through the various facets or life than others do. Ergo, every performable task has to be carefully thought out as to what is feasible for that person to do each day and how to deal with every possible scenario. Time and energy has to be thought out in a way many people would never think about. It's not being lazy, it's being strategic given a cap of mental and physical ability.

There's a lot to consider with spoon theory as it pertains to me. I have a lot of energy and capacity to do a lot of things that other autistics might not. I can withstand a lot of sensory sensations (I can wear a variety of fabrics, I can handle exercise as long as I drink a lot of water, I can stand hot weather with an abundance of fans or air conditioning, I love being hugged), I can care for myself (I cook, shower, clean, engage in self-care), and engage in a variety of activities like work and social activities. But I do often find myself limited by the amount of energy I have to do many of the aforementioned given the day and time.  I've taken more mental health days from work and school than the average person, I feel limited in exercising my cooking skills, and I don't have the capacity to follow multiple conversations with multiple participants. And it manifests itself in physical weakness and mental and emotional exhaustion.

I'm trying the find ways where I don't exhaust myself doing certain activities. And it's only been recently that I've found any sort of success. If I have to move a lot of heavy objects over a long period of time, I have to take frequent rest breaks so I don't go into meltdown mode. When I train, I know that I can only jog two short laps without my knees buckling down. During large family dinners, I often need to leave the gathering to lie down and rest away from others so I can clear my head and let my stomach rest. All of this is done to make sure I don't exhaust myself, even if I feel like I need to do more. And I'm lucky that I have family and friends who understand and let me do this - no one wants to see me when my limits have been pushed.

As much I like to define myself by what I'm able to do rather than what I'm unable to do, it's critical for people to recognize other's limits disabled or otherwise. Not everyone has the same amount of ability to do things as others and recognizing that leads to greater understanding of others' experiences. If empathy is defined as understanding and valuing other people's personal perspectives and experiences, then understanding others' limitations is a great exercise in practicing empathy. And practicing empathy is critical to progressive growth in the world.

I'm definitely able to do a lot but I have a limited amount of spoons to do it. The more people understand and respect that, the more comfortable I and others will feel operating in the world at our own pace.

My Pop Culture Autistic Journey

I'm a self-described pop culture junkie. Ever since I was a child, I have been addicted to movies, television, theater, and music. I'd watch "The Wizard of Oz" and "Fantasia" ad nauseum, blast out the local pop music radio station in my room, glued myself to Nickelodeon's SNICK every Saturday night, and keep up with the latest musical theater - all encouraged by my parents and friends. I also read a lot of books, often over and over again, ever since I was three. (I learned how to read at that age as it was the primary method of teaching me to talk.)

It should be noted that this obsession with pop culture is not unusual for girls on the autistic spectrum. In fact, it's often labeled as a "special interest" for autistic girls. I have my doubts that's true across the board but it's definitely true for me.

With that in mind, I've been thinking about autism representation in the media. We don't really think of autism being very visible in media unless it's some parents talking about "the struggle" of raising an autistic kid, an autistic person "beating the odds" to excel at something, or some tragedy involving an autistic person. (I'll probably blog my feelings on all those things later.) But I recently came across a Flavorwire article about autistic and Aspergers representation on television and while most of the characters certainly displayed traits of ASD, very few were expressly indentified as autistic or Aspergers. And all of the shows the characters came from were within the last ten years or so. Waaaaaaaaay after my childhood years.

#DearMe - It's Okay That You're Autistic

via FACT Family

For Autism Acceptance Month, I'm Learning to Self-Accept My Autism

Each year, the month of April is "reserved" for autism. It's often used to raise awareness (autism exists - congratulations, awareness has now been achieved!) but I see a growing movement for people to accept autism as it is, appropriately named Autism Acceptance Month. There's more information on it here, but I like the idea of autism acceptance. It's a positive way to show people what autism is from the autistic perspective, thus perpetuating love, respect, and a real understanding for autism as a whole. In a world full of misinformation about mental health and disabilities, I welcome Autism Acceptance Month with open arms. We need to hear and value autistic people's own stories as a legitimate source of what autism is like beyond brain neurology and blue lightbulbs.

So it's with that in mind that I talk about my personal process of autism acceptance. Or as I call it, how I'm accepting being autistic.