This is part 12 in the “I Think I Might Be Autistic” series.
The decision to pursue a diagnosis was difficult to make. There were times when I doubted my choice. Was it necessary to have a professional diagnosis? Would it make a difference?
Having gone through the process, the answer to both questions is yes. I have a strong need for closure. I don’t deal well with gray areas and uncertainty. That piece of paper that says, “299.80 Asperger’s Syndrome” closes off an avenue of doubt for me.
It also allows me to say this: if you think you’re an aspie or autistic–if you’ve done the research and talked to other people on the spectrum and see yourself in them, if you’ve identified a long list of autistic traits in yourself and come to the conclusion that ASD describes your particular set of neurological differences–then you are very likely correct. With or without an official-looking paper diagnosis, I think we are our own best judges of our neurology.
So, yes, getting diagnosed was worth the time, effort and expense for me. Yes, I’m fortunate to be in a position to have access to the resources I needed to pursue it. Yes, I also believe that self-diagnosis can be valid.
One of the reasons I’ve written in detail about the process is because I know that not everyone can afford or has access to a diagnosis. Not everyone is ready to pursue getting diagnosed. Not everyone has the executive function or the emotional resources to run the gauntlet of medical and mental health providers. Not everyone needs or wants a formal diagnosis.
But I think everyone who has bothered to read 11,000+ words of this series probably shares my interest in self-discovery. We know that we’re different and we want to know why and how and what that means. I spent less than 8 hours with the people who diagnosed me, but I’ve spent hundreds and hundreds of hours researching and writing about being autistic. That, ultimately, is what matters most to me.
My diagnosis, though it allowed me to put one set of questions to bed, has raised plenty of others.
These aren’t questions I can answer conclusively, even today.
Time to Change?
Once the newness of the diagnosis began to wear off, I was faced with the question of what to do with this new knowledge. I have a 10-page report from the neuropsychologist listing my cognitive strengths and weaknesses. I’ve become more familiar with and conscious of the areas where I struggle.
I’ve been told, not for the first time, that therapy would be beneficial. It’s an idea that I keep kicking to the back of the line, intent instead on rigorous self-examination. Like everything else I write about here, that’s my personal choice and not necessarily one that’s going to be right for anyone else. I’m not even sure if it’s entirely right for me.
Slowly, I’ve been working at making specific changes. I’ve written about being more flexible, allowing myself to stim more, trying to reduce my insomnia and nightmares, learning to translate from aspie to NT and back, and exploring my emotions.
I’ve also written about the things I’ve decided need accepting rather than changing: my lack of empathy, my anxiety, my tactile defensiveness, my love of being alone. My litmus test for change vs. acceptance is simple: is the cost of changing this thing higher than the benefit I’ll gain from the change?
Some changes require little more than mindfulness or occasional reminders; other changes require me to move out of my comfort zone and face some hard truths. The outcome–or at least the goal–is that I struggle less with some aspect of my life. Those are the good changes, the ones I’m eager to make.
Other changes feel pointless to me. These are often the changes that would make other people more comfortable by making me seem less odd. With all of the things I could be working on, I don’t see the point of investing my limited energy in those types of changes.
In fact, since getting diagnosed, I’ve become more echolalic, more stimmy, less conscious of censoring myself. I’ve become gentler and more compassionate with myself. I push myself less; cut myself slack where I wouldn’t have before. Not because I see myself as disabled, but because I see myself as a person in need of care.
I never really gave much thought to self-care before. I often demanded a level of performance and perfection from myself that I wouldn’t have expected from another person. I was so busy pushing myself to be better, to get things right, that I often neglected to be kind to myself.<
Perhaps that’s the biggest change I’ve made so far: I’ve resolved to be kind to myself.
Obviously, these are very personal decisions. The constellation of things that I choose to work on changing is unique to me. It continues to shift and grow. There are days when I think, “screw this, why should I change anything?” There are days when I think it would be nice to be “normal” for a day, to not have to struggle so much with simple things.
Then there are days when being autistic recedes into the background, not because I’m less autistic, but because I’m more comfortably autistic. Little by little, I feel myself healing old wounds, integrating the shiny new realizations, and becoming more myself.
That’s the best change of all.
Up Next: Disclosure
Musings of an Aspie 