As I stepped out of the bookstore where I had finally bought myself a copy of the book “Unmasking Autism” by Dr. D. Price a year & a half ago, I sat on a bench in the sunshine and burst into tears. Because buying myself a copy of that book, with the very clear intention of starting to read it immediately, was the concrete, visible, tangible proof of my admitting to myself, at last, that I am autistic. Admitting it fully, deeply, beyond the occasional comment with friends about my “autistic brain”.
Two days ago, I did the testing to get evaluated for Autism & ADHD. What had started as “just a legal matter” prompted by ostracism at work, has really come to be yet another step in my self-determination. And a HUGE step at that. I hadn’t realized — or hadn’t admitted to myself — how much this evaluation, this diagnosis meant to me. Until this week.
One of my closest friends who got the diagnosis as an adult four years ago and the therapist who encouraged me to get my own evaluation have both told me that I would feel big emotions with this diagnosis — tenderness, vulnerability, joy, sadness, pain, anger. I won’t get the report from the testing for another 2-3 weeks and I’m not guaranteed to get a “positive” diagnosis (i.e., one that says that I am, in fact, autistic). But having taken the step to do the evaluation in and as of itself already feels monumental to me, and somehow I know that the result will be positive and I’m already feeling lots of those big emotions.
Today, I’m especially feeling the pain and sadness and anger for that little me who had (& still has) to endure so much in a world that wasn’t & isn’t made for them. So much pain and sadness and anger for that little child. That little child that is me, part of me.
When I was a kid, there was a book at home about the “caterpillar that turned into a butterfly”. Despite it definitely being a children’s book, with cute drawings and easy words in big lettering, it always left me feeling confused, almost uncomfortable or sad. The caterpillar turning into a butterfly actually had to disappear, die, change completely, and that baffled me but also made me very sad.
Now, as an adult, I see that I am the “caterpillar that has turned into a butterfly”. In these past few years, I have been in a chrysalis, partly isolated from the world or “real life”, slowly allowing the caterpillar to find its way and eventually turn into its “adult self”. The caterpillar wasn’t “unreal”: it was truly a being living its life, as best it could. But it had to shut down and do some internal work, sheltered within the chrysalis, in order to transform into something that could live more fully and freely. Into something that could fly.
I think that I have finally shaken off the chrysalis this past year. I’m finally the butterfly that was within me from the beginning. And I’m a beautiful butterfly.
But I still have to learn how to fly, and that will be my next big step.
