There's No One "Right" Brain in Neurodiversity

Growing up autistic in a non-autistic world often meant feeling perpetually alone. Once I knew I was different, I felt separate from everyone else and nothing would ever make me like anyone else.  I felt no one would ever understand me, much less help me shed my shitty self-esteem. If no one else was like me, how could anyone "get" me? And no matter what I was ever told by anyone, I felt that being autistic was akin to being lesser. Being autistic meant being more trouble to everyone else. And worst of all, being autistic was wrong.

In other words, I really, really wish I knew about neurodiversity a lot sooner than I did.

The Hesitant Anglophile, or How England Helped Me Come Into My Own

I don't think it's a stretch to say Americans have longstanding obsession with the United Kingdom. It probably comes from the fact that the US was one of their former colonies and the first to fight them for independence, but we've never truly separated ourselves from the UK. Our histories are intrinsically entwined and we've always been dependent on establishing some kind of alliance together, for better and for worse. And if Hollywood trends are anything to go by, the next generation of popular actors and shows are coming exclusively from the British Isles. America has British fever, and it's probably never going to go away.

I cannot claim to be exempt from this rule, as the title of this post suggests. Ever since I was a child I have attempted to perfect the golden standards of the British accent. (Last time I checked, someone told me I sounded more Australian than English.) I watched Monty Python and Eddie Izzard on repeat throughout my teen years. I have an unhealthy obsession with British television from Doctor Who to Luther to My Mad Fat Diary. Many of my favorite actors, singers, and bands are British (including my celebrity crush, who I'd rather not name here). I've always been fascinated with British history as the sort of real trendsetters of Europe - particularly the Tudor era where Henry VIII and his descendants pretty much began modern England with petty marriage politics and paranoia. Many of my favorite plays come from England, from Shakespeare to George Bernard Shaw. I can't escape it - I will forever be fascinated with the United Kingdom.

The key world here is "fascinated". Whenever I hear someone say they're an Anglophile, I generally find that they think the sun shines out of the UK's ass. And if life has taught me anything, the grass is always greener on the other side. I recognize the United Kingdom has some serious issues - I don't understand how anything gets done in their parliamentary system, there's major class divisions affecting their current political and cultural landscapes for the worse, and they gave us Fifty Shades of Grey. No place is perfect, just as no one can be perfect themselves.

That all being said, I still adore the United Kingdom. And the reason why is that life has given me two major opportunities to love the nation - a theater partnership with a British theater school and a semester aboard in undergrad. And those experiences have truly helped me come into my own.

A Spectrum of Highs and Lows in College: Accommodation, Education, and Socialization in Undergrad

I left my previous post about my college career in a second start to school. The first six months of undergraduate education was spent on medical leave pending adjustment to the academic and general living rigors of higher education. It was not how I wanted to spend the majority of my freshman year, but it was what it was. It forced me to re-evaluate what I wanted and what I wanted was confidence to prove I could handle college. So I returned to northern California with a steely determination to make it through upper academia far from familial support and create the best undergraduate experience possible.

How did I do? Pretty damn well considering that previous hiccup.

The "Unlikely" Combination of Autism, Social Work, and Empathy

I almost ruined this past Thanksgiving because of a news story.

The day itself was fine - all the guests showed up, the food was good, nobody got in each others' faces about hot-button issues (a miracle considering the Ferguson protests dominated the news cycle at the time), and I managed to get along with everyone perfectly well. As far as family events went, it was a good one.

Bu after the meal was over and the guests left, I checked my Tumblr feed and saw a  story about two British policemen facing charges for chasing and assaulting an autistic Pakistani man.

My entire demeanor changed from being okay to sobbing beyond belief. I couldn't believe the cruelty these men had afflicted on a person I didn't even know. That story combined with the Ferguson coverage made me upset at people's cruelty and it all spilled out in tears. A family member found me crying and while she understood how I could be affected by such a story, she was perturbed that I would let a news story would make me break down.

In short, I may have let my empathy take over to the point of unhealthy display.

A Spectrum of Highs and Lows in College, The Rocky Start

I recently participated in a University of California study about autistic people who went to college and/or graduate school. In that study, I was asked about where I went, what my living situation was, my social life, and the best and hardest parts of my years in higher academia. Prior to then, I had looked back on my undergraduate years with a fondness and nostalgia of time well-spent. But when forced to be completely honest with a stranger, I realized it had been far more difficult and trying than I had thought it to be.



Truth be told, being autistic and in college is incredibly tough. But if there's anything I learned, it's not impossible and can have some real benefits. So as my overall career in academia comes to a close, let me describe my college life over a series of posts.



While it doesn't seem like there's an upside to learning you're autistic long after your diagnosis, not knowing meant that I never believed I couldn't have a fairly "normal" life. I didn't think that there wasn't anything I couldn't do if I put my mind to it. And a "normal" life meant that I could go to college, specifically a four-year university program, right out of high school. And being someone who took to academia well, it didn't seem like an unrealistic goal.

I prepared myself as best as I could for what I thought was to come. I took honors and AP classes and applied myself as best as I could. I threw myself into extracurriculars like marching band, orchestra, theater, and my temple's youth group and actually had fun with them. I challenged myself to apply to as many schools as I thought I was qualified for. And while I got more rejections than I would've liked, I ended up getting into four schools.



I was excited for college. I was eager to engage in higher learning and live away from my parents. I had chosen to go to school in northern California - seven hundred miles away from home - and felt that the change of scenery would help me become independent. And I was optimistic that I would have a full social life beyond the confines of high school, especially since I got into a special honors program for my mandated college writing class and would be living among others in that same program.



Needless to say, it was much harder than I thought it'd be. Especially in the first year.

Music is My Boyfriend, My Girlfriend, and Autistically Powerful

I have almost 13,000 songs in my iTunes library.

You read that right. 13,000 songs.

You're probably wondering who the hell could listen to that much music in one lifetime. Well, I can. Or at least I can listen to my playlist of favorite songs over and over again. That playlist has over 2,000 songs and grows by the day. Put it on shuffle and I could always hear something different over five and a half days and not get bored. I constantly search for the newest and most interesting stuff and make playlists upon playlists of my findings. It pumps me up when I need encouragement and calms me down in times of trouble. And from the Walkman to the gift from the gods known as the iPod, I've never gone anywhere my music to listen to.

It's common for autistic people to have an incredible amount of passion in their favorite subjects to the point of developing expertise in them. This is known as having a "special interest", leading to autistic people being called "little professors". Like all things considering autism, it isn't universal across the spectrum but I've seen it more than enough times to understand how people come to that conclusion. I've got a plethora of these "special interests", and while I wouldn't call myself a genius in any of them I certainly keep up with them a bit more than your average bear.

But music isn't what I'd call a special interest of mine. I'm not a musician, although I have played piano and clarinet in the past. Music just helps me understand life and the world as we know it.

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.