Wouldn’t it be nice….

I have some privilege, I’m white. I also lack privilege, I’m a trans woman and neurodivergent.

Whether I am privileged or not privileged, I suppose is an open question. Some will say I had male privilege in the past, and some will disagree. It’s an open question but you know what. I don’t have the capacity to really consider it at the moment.

It would be nice to be able to spend the energy thinking about it.

I don’t have that privilege though.

My days are spent dealing with more pressing concerns.

Like, for example:

Can I make rent this week.

Can I buy food this week.

Will I be safe walking down the street.

These are all pressing and immediate concerns in my life. In one sense I am lucky to be living in the country I do, where there is a welfare safety net of sorts. And don’t get me wrong I do appreciate it. I really do.

But the reality is, that safety net is far from adequate.

The amount I receive is an amount where rent is 50%, and it really can be a case of do I pay rent, do I buy my meds, or do I buy my food this week.

This is not really meant to be a sob story but a story of what it can be like. And it shouldn’t be like this.

But it is.

I have two degrees. I’m intelligent, numerate, literate. Yet work eludes me. And while work eludes me then so does so much more.

Last week I attended a group for trans women, at suburban hotel. It was great, worthwhile, and all, but the venue made it prohibitive and what I paid to eat there meant funds became even more tight than usual. The question of eating, making rent and so forth became even more critical.

Again, I don’t want to sound like a sob story. I don’t mean to and if I do I am sorry. But, at the same time this is my reality.

The workforce participation rate according to our national statistics body for autistic people is 41%. That’s not full time work that is just any work. I’ve had jobs, I’Ve started careers, until now they’ve come to naught.

Naught because of a lack of understanding and acceptance of my neurological reality. We make accomodations for people in wheelchairs to get into buildings and so forth, but for some reason we as a society refuse to make accomodations for the way neurodivergent people communicate and work in social constructs.

This is no sob story as I said, but, wouldn’t it be nice to not have to worry about making rent, where the next meal is coming from, being able to clothe yourself and able to purchase needed meds.

Yes wouldn’t it be nice!

Maybe it’s actually burn out.

Autistic burnout. It’s a phrase that is used quite a bit. Often in tandem with shut down and even at times connected with a meltdown. In the sense that all of them are response or reaction to living as an autistic in a neurotypical world then it is probably right to connect them. I’m pretty sure though they are all a bit different.

It’s occurred to me more recently that when I self-destructed in my last real job that whilst that moment of destruction was at some level a meltdown, the fallout and result was a much longer term response of shut down or burn out.

Amythest Schaber explains shut downs here

And burnout here

In my experience it seems that I was shutting down in the shorter term to cope on a day to day level, and yet over the much longer term, I was really experiencing burnout. I had worked for a little over 2 years in an office environment. It was busy, I had some responsibility for some other people, I had many competing demands for my time. I spoke to many people a day on the telephone in both support and sales aspects of the business I was working for. I worked long hours, I was never free from the job as emails, text messages and phone calls never stopped at the end of the working day or week. These even occurred regularly in vacation times. I was working overtime passing, keeping it together.

Overall I was doing a good job, the business was doing well and all my requirements were being met. Unfortunately, though it was never enough, and this was compounded by an employer who micromanaged everything to the nth degree. This meant that in a lot of my project based work I engaged in as part of my role, I was never able to finish or complete things. One of those roles, for example, was updating the company website. I was the only one in the company with any HTML knowledge and was regularly required to make changes. These changes were so often over micromanaged that I found myself in a state of despair.

An example was in a change of a banner on the website. A new banner created, sent for approval, approved by the boss. I would then make the change to the site. Half an hour later I would receive a call or an email saying they needed the colour changed or the font changed. It was a perpetual state of never being able to finish anything. This was coupled with my employer regularly calling to have me do some particularly urgent task. This, of course, meant changing up what I was doing and working on the urgent thing. That in itself can be really difficult for autistics and Luna Lindsey explores this concept in Spline Theory here.

In and of itself those changes to urgent things were difficult enough, but I had been somehow managing them. It became apparent in time though that I was somehow meant to still have completed the same amount of normal work task. None of this made sense and it utterly exhausted me.

I can see in reflection that I pretty much went into multiple shutdowns over the time I was there at this position, however, what I didn’t really recognise until more recently was that I had in fact gone into burnout.

The thing that has been occurring to me the most in recent times is that it has actually taken me some years to come out of that burnout and it is really only in recent months that this has occurred. As Amythest says in their video the only healing for burnout is time. Sometimes it is a lot more time than expected.

But then again I think it makes sense that it has taken so long too. After what was in effect more than two years of strenuous effort in passing and managing the whole situation, a few years experiencing the resulting burnout seems legitimate to me.

Personally, the biggest factor has been in motivation to do the normal stuff of life. The idea of actually getting a job again has seemed utterly unattainable. It has been only in the realisation that just in these last few months that such a thing again seems possible that I was, in fact, experiencing a prolonged burnout.

I am pretty convinced then that the takeaway of all this is to be gentle with yourself or your autistic loved ones. This should go without saying, but if they are experiencing burnout this is all the more important. The amount of time it might take is unknown and unpredictable, but I suspect has some connection with the level of stress and overload the effort put in the and the length of time it went on for.

Autistic Burnout seems to be a very under-researched area. It’s time, I suggest that some good researchers took it on and helped us to better understand it, of course with the help of actually autistic people on their research teams.

Shouldn’t you be writing that book?

well Yes I should be writing that book. That book that seems like it is going to happen, really going to happen. That sense I had that something about my life might just be worth writing about.

I sent my initial proposal to a publisher this week and they are keen to speak with me and sent me a proforma with all these bits to fill in. This whole crazy idea is suddenly becoming real, or at least potentially real.

But here’s the thing, I basically have a Phd in screwing things up for myself. I have lots of ways of doing it, meltdown with the boss is a pretty regular occurrence when I am working. But the most prevalent thing in my arsenal is that procrastination thing. Putting it off, finding other things to do like writing this piece istead of writing chapters for the book and getting into the proforma thing. At times I get myself so busy in doing those other things that the real things, the important things, the things that are going to make a difference in mine and perhaps others lives seem to just flitter away or run through my hands like grains of sand slipping between my fingers.

So then shouldn’t I be writing that book. Well the short answer is a definitive yes, but the loges one is a yes, but, kind of answer. Yes I should, but fear of failure, anxiety and worry about if it will really happen can be really debilitating. And then there is just this whole thing of maybe I’m just imagining that this could happen. Maybe I am just in a kind of fantasy land that I can bring enough words together to make an actual book happen.

And so here I am on my little blog musing about it. Instead of doing it I’m doing something different. Oh what a surprise.

It does occur to me though that those of us who are neurodivergent, those of us with mental health issues, and those with other chronic conditions might just be an expert at doing this procrastinating thing too. I know I’ve come across some that are. It makes me wonder about the source of it. The source that makes me in a sense run from doing things that can be wonderful and successful and do other shit that just doesn’t really have that factor to it.

I mean I am aware I can write a reasonable Essay, a reasonable blog article type piece, but can I actually pull it all together and make the transition from part time blogger to actual author. I know others have done it and I stand in awe of them and hope I can do it too.

I do thin though that part of the whole distraction thing is that there are all those messages than run around and around within from the past. Those messages that say you are hopeless, never amount to anything, dumb, naughty and lazy to name a few. I wonder if others who struggle to keep the focus on the things that will bring success and good things to life have those same kind of messages. It seems to me that they are pretty common messages for those of us that went through large parts of their lives as undiagnosed autistic.

I wonder…

But really shouldn’t you be writing that book?

Just Imagine

Just Imagine.

The month of April is in full swing and both negative and positive stories of autism abound. Unfortunately, the major ones and the ones that seem to get the most oxygen are the negative ones.

Stories of punctuated with words like suffering, epidemic, terrible, horrible, destruction and so forth abound in these negative stories and narrative.

This is not the story of Autism. In reality, the story of Autism is the story of humanity. It’s always been there with us. It will always be there with us. In short, it’s a part of the human condition. Not that I am saying everyone is a little bit autistic, heaven forbid I would utter such words. But it is part of the human condition because, in truth, we are always coming into contact with autistic people. This is true today, it was true in the past and it will be true in the future.

So the burning question is why is it we are so bent out of shape about it. Films are made, false research is done, lies are told all to try and demonise autism and autistic people.

But why, it’s always been there and always will be.

Whatever happened to treat all humans as humans. If that was the case then it would be possible then that all humans could find their unique place in the world, minus the labels of dysfunction and disorder.

Wouldn’t that be grand?

But no we are so ingrained in a pathologised model of human existence that, an unattainable for any single person, an ideal of normal exists. It really is unattainable because humans are human and all have their own foibles and idiosyncrasies. Or perhaps more simply we all are just individuals.

Just imagine though if we redrafted our world, our societies expectations, our educational philosophies our political landscape so that neurology just wasn’t that important.

Just imagine if we just treated each other as the unique and individual humans we are.

Just imagine, that person that needed the extra quiet in the workplace would be able to have it. That person that needed the ramp to get in and out would get it, that person in need of more back support would get that ergonomics assessment. And so it would go on.

Imagine that, a world that accommodated each other.

Imagine that, a world that accepted difference as difference and not something wrong.

Imagine a world where a true neurodiversity paradigm could exist.

We have a long way to go to ever get there, but I remain ever hopeful.

Just Imagine.

The month of April is in full swing and both negative and positive stories of autism abound. Unfortunately the major ones, and the ones that seem to get the most oxygen are the negative ones.

Stories of punctuated with words like suffering, epidemic, terrible, horrible, destruction and so forth abound in these negative stories and and narrative.

This is not the story of Autism. In reality the story of Autism is the story of humanity. It’s always been there with us. It will always be there with us. In short, it’s a part of the human condition. Not that I am saying everyone is a little bit autistic, heaven forbid I would utter such words. But it is part of the human condition because, in truth, we are always coming into contact with autistic people. This is true today, it was true in the past and it will be true in the future.

So the burning question is why is it we are so bent out of shape about it. Films are made, false research is done, lies are told all to try and demonise autism and autistic people.

But why, it’s always been there and always will be.

Whatever happened to treating all humans as humans. If that was the case then it would be possible then that all humans could find their unique place in the world, minus the labels of disfunction and disorder.

Wouldn’t that be grand.

But no we are so ingrained in a pathologised model of human existence that, an unattainable for any single person, ideal of normal exists. It really is unattainable because humans are human and all have their own foibles and idiosyncrasies. Or perhaps more simply we all are just individuals.

Just imagine though if we redrafted our world, our societies expectations, our educational philosophies our political landscape so that neurology just wasn’t that important.

Just imagine if we just treated each other as the unique and individual humans we are.

Imagine that, a world that accommodated each other.

Imagine that, a world that accepted difference as difference and not something wrong.

Imagine a world where a true neurodiversity paradigm could exist.

We have a long way to go to ever get there, but I remain ever hopeful.

Unexpected but good things…

Discovery and then acceptance of being autistic was a real forward step for me in accepting myself as a person, and, in hindsight a real step to uncovering my repressed true gender and transness.

As I discovered that I was autistic so many things fell into space and I was able to make sense of so many things about my life and how they made sense now. This was a switch in outlook for me, because, whilst there was always an inner dialogue for me of feeling different and speaking that to myself there was also a sense of wrongness, badness, and uselessness at negotiating the world.

Diagnosis was like a light at the end of the tunnel, and it wasn’t the onncoming train at the other end.

Oh there was so much to learn, mistakes to make, other autistics to hurt and upset, for which I am truly ashamed and sorry about. But it was in a sense a moment of clarity. A moment where all the dots lined up and a line could be drawn easily connecting them together. Not as perfectly straight line but a line nonetheless.

First belief, then acceptance, then celebration and embracing of being different not less. Touchstone moments. Moments that meant something intensely important.

The years of school walking through a fog suddenly had some meaning and reasoning behind it.

The difficulty with friendships, social interactions, missing so many cues all of a sudden it wasn’t just failure it was neurology.

The intense stress when faced with a multiplicity of sound sources suddenly wasn’t weird but just the way I was.

The way I would attempt to create order and categorising, the way I would create little stims with my hands, though I didn’t know that’s what they were.

All of this suddenly made sense. It all had a reason. Actions had a purpose, and even the bullying, though i’m not in anyway excusing it, made sense because, you know, we humans are pretty horrible at accepting difference.

So Imagine my surprise when after coming out trans, starting hormone therapy and living in my true gender identity that suddenly a bunch of that stuff didn’t seem to have the same impact.

Being social is somehow easier — I mean even the desire to be social is hugely enhanced.

Being able to connect with my emotions and express empathy seems to be more accessible.

Communication doesn’t seem as fraught. And, I think that just maybe I might even be a bit better at picking up some of those cues that I always missed.

Clearly this is just one transwoman’s experience and idea. And of course there is no empirical evidence, just my feelings and insights about myself. I think they are valid, when it comes to myself. I wouldn’t think of expressing that these things will happen to any autistic person who comes out with their sexuality or gender divergence.

To say such a thing would be utterly presumptuous and the height of personal arrogance.

On the upside though, I am left with a sense of feeling better about myself, more positive about negotiating the world and connecting with other humans. It’s a somewhat strange but wonderful feeling.

I am left wondering though. What I wonder is whether this is a result of hormonal change or just a result of self realisation and actualisations .

Is it that aspects being autistic were heightened or more intense due to a hormonal wrongness which are being adjusted as my hormonal balance becomes what it should be?

Or is it more about the reality of coming out, owning my true self, living my true self and transitioning, enabled some kind of change in intensity of autism stuff.

I am left wondering I don’t have an answer really, or even a real theory about it. But would I do know is that it is a surprise to me.

A wonderful unexpected surprise.

It’s not that I am less autistic, it’s just that how my autistic life interacts with the world and the people in it is a little bit different to how it was.

It is unexpected but good I think!

Trans Prevalence in the autistic community.

The prevalence of gender divergent or gender non-conforming people in the autism community is apparently a larger prevalence than in the non-autistic or non neurodivergent community. Research in this area is still somewhat sparse, but we are beginning to see more research happening into gender diversity. This is a good thing. Spectrum News published a piece that gives some good information and general understanding of where things are at, or at least were at the time it was published.

Seemingly, an autistic person is up to 7.5 times more likely to express a gender divergence than an non-autistic person. I find this incredibly interesting. As a trans woman and an autistic person there really was no other option than to explore and express my trans reality and begin the process of transition.

Many of my non neurodivergent friends and aquiantences in particular have expressed surprise and shock at my coming out and transition. I guess that is to be expected. Whilst neurodivergent friends and acquaintances have expressed surprise that my transition has been fairly quick in nature, there seems to be more of a consensus that it isn’t so weird or shocking, but, in fact an act of living out truth. An act of matching up what’s inside and what’s outside.

In recent times I’ve been wondering about this whole idea of more prevalence in the neurodivergent communities. Is it really the case I wonder or is it really that neurodivergent people are more likely or able to actually explore, think, and investigate their feelings about gender difference in a way that non neurodevergent people are not.

Is this, to use an autism stereotype, an autistic super power. And what do I mean by this. Well I think, that, this, just might be something about social constraints, or lack of them, or at least a situation of being less constrained by them.

I mean, there are so many examples we see where autistic people are portrayed in such ways where they don’t get or seem to not care for the social rules and constraints at all. You know, telling the truth about a thing when it is expected that we actually tell a lie or a less than the truth because that’s what you do when you deal with people.

Like that archetypal question from the woman asking their male partner – does my bum look big in this – socially there is no real correct answer except a socially safe one of no. But many autistics, I know I would struggle not to, would answer with an honest response of what they thought.

There is no doubt that coming out trans and transitioning is a socially massive thing to do. It is an act that breaks so many social constraints, that it really is an action taken against the social norms, because to act any other way would be to live a lie.

In a way Pandora’s box has been opened and it can’t just be shut and the stuff be shoved back in and ignored. I think, and maybe I’m being a bit presumptuous, but, I do think that neurotypical people are just more likely to be too concerned with the social rules and repercussions to do so.

Obviously not every trans and gender divergent person is autistic and therefore it’s not a reality that neurotypical person will investigate their feelings of self and gender and how that all fits together with their socialised gender and assigned sex. But the greater prevalence just might be an indicator that not being beholden to social constraints allows us to investigate and then identify our true gender expression.

Or could it be that all of this is really true because in reality being gender divergent is in fact just another expression of neurodivergence.

Whatever the case, it has me wondering, and I hope it has others wondering too as I think it would be a potent area of investigation and research.

I have no evidence or research that confirms this, so it is clearly just my thoughts, opinion and musings, but I think that we neurodivergent people are just more likely to actually examine the stuff that comes out of the box rather than ignore it because socially that is the prudent or wise thing to do.

But those memories…

But those memories, you know the ones, you can find them, we all have them don’t we? somewhere, they are there. You know the ones, the memories that show childhood was idyllic, fun and carefree. That’s childhood isn’t it. Isn’t that how we all experienced it? Sure it is.

But those memories, they aren’t the whole story, they aren’t even a bit of the story really. There is so much more to it, they are embedded with meaning that is incredibly potent and strong and impact and effect everything.

We all know the story, childhood is carefree. Childhood is full of fun and games and happily ever afters. It’s full of great family moments, togetherness. It’s all Beaver Cleaver, My Three Sons, Family Ties and Different Strokes or the Brady Bunch. Families where parents were rational, caring and listening. Friends that, sure, had their difference but in the end they worked them out and friendships prevailed; you know like when Peter Brady took on the Bully or when Jan Brady had to get braces on her teeth.

But those memories. Life is not Kevin and Winny and the fucking wonder years though.

I can’t deny it, I did have fun times, times of playing with friends and even family times that weren’t totally shit. I can’t deny that fact. It happened. Hours of cricket was played on the driveway. Bike riding around the suburbs with neighbours and friends, and even camping trips and trips to the beach that really were filled with joy.

But those memories. They don’t exist in isolation. They just don’t. It’s just not possible to remember those memories without the shit also rising up and being remembered.

And I am sure we all had some shit go down too. It’s just completely untenable that anyone truly had an idyllic childhood that didn’t include some shit. Some irredeemable lost friendships, some deep hurt from family. To pretend that anyone walked through childhood into adulthood without any shit sticking is just some kind of misplaced belief.

But those memories. Yeah, that shit, it is a lot more thickly planted on to the memories for some of us.

For some of us, almost every moment is layered with some form of disappointment, sadness, hurt and pain. I say this, not to be all, you know, woe is me, but just to try and highlight that it really is different for some of us.

My father was and remains, to my knowledge, a horrible man. My Mother, began as a gentle young woman, but somehow, became a hardened nasty person after living with my father for a while. That’s not to say they didn’t ensure I was fed and clothed and so forth. Yes, I received those basic needs. I even grew up with a pretty reasonable level of privilege you know. I am a white person in a country in the beginnings of shaking off the racist White Australia Policy. You know, we had the house in the suburbs, we had most of the toys and gadgets that supplied a level of social and economic privilege.

That was the surface of course. I existed in my home in a sense of living life dodging the bullets. I lived that childhood as a undiagnosed autistic repressed transgirl. And you know what it was more than a little bit shit. Parenting in my home was an act of enforcing the parents iron will in whatever way was necessary. Whatever that included was perfectly acceptable. Statements like “because I’m the mum, that’s why” were potent with meaning that implied disagree and you will pay a high price. On my right knuckle I bare a small scar from one of these moments. Religious statements like”spare the rod and spoil the child” were used as justifications for physical punishments that were nothing short of physical abuse.

Those memories but. Yes I remember childhood. I had some great times. I suspect we all did. Those memories though, will always be potent, they will always be seared with other memories.

That of course is true for all of us. For me they are seared with emotional, physical, verbal and sexual abuse. I can’t get pretend that is not the case, it just is.

But those memories. Yes, it would be wonderful if calls to a golden age of childhood as the best years of our lives was a fair call. But for some it’s a call to not the best but the worst years of our lives.

But those memories…

# Courageous, really?

# Courageous, really?

There is not another way to see it, my life has been turned upside down and inside out since coming out. Acts of coming out are often seen to be courageous, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels more like navigating an abandoned unmapped mine field. One false step and an explosion occurs.

That explosion is, of course, metaphorical. But it could be almost literal in the sense, that real people, real actions, real feeling and real pain are involved. That explosion also can be totally internal, but again, real pain and real feeling are involved.

Just like a real minefield you never quite know when you’re treading on safe and when you’re treading on exploding terrain.

Coming out as a trans woman for me, was not so much an act of courage but an act of truth. An act that of truth that couldn’t be avoided any longer, it couldn’t be repressed any longer, it had to be pursued.

But consequences. Wow, huge and in truth unanticipatable. There were some consequences I could see, and consequences I couldn’t and honestly it’s a day by day proposition.

In recent weeks the idea of trans women having male privilege seems to be the focus of the times. But to be perfectly frank, for me, this is such an irrelevance for my day to day existence, that, whilst it is an interesting topic, the bearing it has on me navigating life, maintaining some level of mental health that allows me to go about my days with some purpose, is less than minimal.

Sure, I can reflect on it, 40 odd years living as if I was a man, I am sure, often, I benefitted from that. But was it privilege, I don’t really know, I don’t think I can know. You see, I never was male, I acted it, I pretended it, but I wasn’t it. But I repressed it well, I did, I wasn’t femme, but perhaps not as well as I thought, because the go to victim of bullies I always was.

What I can say with absolute clarity, is, that, even with all the effort I went to to repress the truth of my gender, I never ever once felt like a man. Not a single time. I didn’t feel it when I married, I didn’t feel it when my children were born, I didn’t feel it when my marriages failed.

To me it seems this question of whether or not I was a beneficiary of male privilege just has no bearing on my life.

My life is subsumed by the reality of what it has been like coming out. To pursue that act of truth. And I don’t regret that pursuit and I don’t believe I ever will. But it has been extremely costly.

In coming out, I have lost my marriage, I have lost that day to day life with my children. You just can’t know how much that means to you until it’s gone.

If I am honest with myself I guess the truth is that I was absolutely blindsided by my former partner parting ways with me. I really believed, on the basis of wonderful accepting person I knew her to be, that she would accept my coming out.

I never of course thought it would be an easy bump-free ride, but I did think we would make it through. But we didn’t. And that was shocking to me, devastating to me, the thought of it still brings me to bouts of tears on a daily basis.

I wasn’t courageous, I was just following truth. I had finally, listened to my inner self and heard it. I had finally allowed myself to believe it and once that was the case there could be no other course of action than to own it, to come out and to live it.

And so I live it, negotiating that minefield each day, living my life for the first time as truly myself. Each day seems to encompass risk so great, and yet impossible not to pursue life as I now know it.

Whilst feminists debate each other about whether or not trans women like me are benefits of male privilege I go about my day, wondering how many episodes of micro-aggression I will endure, how many times I will be misgendered, whether or not I will be dead-named, and perhaps the most potent of all, how will I be accepted by those I interact with.

I will walk through shopping centres, supermarkets, local streets, always, with that lingering fear of being beaten to a pulp for simply existing. When I run the local streets and bike paths, will I be set upon for daring to be who I am.

So please, go ahead, debate, discuss and consider the idea of male privilege and trans women, but whilst you do, please try to remember that we are actual real living breathing people who fear for our physical safety every single day of our lives.

A childhood mourned for.

In April and we’ll a lot of the time really we hear of parents mourning the child they wished they had. It is an issue with ranging responses. Some understand it. Some rail against it. And that makes sense.

I’ve been thinking about the loss of my own childhood. I missed it in multiple ways. But the way I’m thinking of is the missing out on an autistic childhood.

Being able to kind of pass as not autistic meant I never got that autistic authenticity. I feel my heart longed for this.

As a consequence my childhood was that of a target for bullies but more importantly a childhood of trying.

Trying to be like the others.

Trying to do it right.

Trying to cope with sensory onslaughts.

Trying to fit in.

Trying not to talk at the wrong time.

Trying to do relationships.

It was all very trying. So very trying. And most often failing. But only just. Not failing enough that I would be taken somewhere to try and help or work stuff out. Just failing enough to be told to try harder or to be labelled useless or worthless.

Yes it was very trying. And it was exhausting. It takes its toll trying to be what you are not. Utterly exhausting.

So I mourn the loss of an authentic autistic childhood. One where my stims and my social difficulties were not problems but just the way I was, which could then have been understood.

So I mourn the childhood that wasn’t a never ending experience of trying and failing to do it right. And being alongside others that seemed to get it right so effortlessly.

That’s the childhood that I think we can mourn the loss of. Not some childhood that was never going to be.

I suppose if I could whisper in the ear of my mother or my doctor I would whisper a few things some more prominent than others but I would certainly whisper the word autism. I would whisper it again and again and again until the seed was planted and beginning to grow into finding out about me and chipping away at the wall of me just having to try.