Published on 12, July, 2020
Middle Aged Lady With Autism
Autism – such a common understanding now-a-days. Not in my days, especially for a female. I’m a 39 year old mother who has finally realized what’s up with her.
My whole life I have wondered why I was more solemn than my peers. I never smiled in photos, I didn’t understand why people enjoyed parties, I didn’t like birthday games, I never understood why people picked on me. I wore the latest clothes; I engaged in conversations but I never fit in. Looking back at childhood there are many regrets; why did I say that? Or why didn’t I? Some things I see I can’t help but cringe; what compelled me to spill my best friend’s secrets to the whole school? In my mind, I was helping. I wanted everyone to understand what she was going through so they would have empathy. But they weren’t like me. They didn’t have empathy for those who were hurting. I have always been a brutally honest person, even to the point where I lose the ones I love. My bestest friends always said, “Don’t ask Jessi if you don’t want to know the answer.” I feel that the cliché’ saying “Sorry not Sorry” fits here. I have always passed as “normal” at first glance. I’m a middle-class mom of two in an upper class neighborhood driving an oversized SUV with a cat and a Corgi. I look the part of soccer mom with Norma Jean blaring in the back of my head. I’ve always had a dark side – a side that most would not recognize. I love the macabre, I feel it’s beautiful and sincere. I was always drawn to those wanting, needing love. Those when my parents had a concerned look on their faces when I brought them home. You know, they just didn’t “look” like good role models. There’s something about hardcore music that pulls me and makes me feel whole. The chaos in the drum beats and seemingly random guitar slides and screaming lyrics sound like rhythmic melodies to me. I can hear the melody, the passion, the patterns, and they are soothing. When people hear screaming and noise, I hear order. I can read Shakespear and Homer better than anything else. Am I backwards? Probably, but that’s okay. My extra abilities allow me to see beyond what others can. I sense the energies of the world, I can sense presence, I can tell what my pet wants by simply asking; I see what others can’t. I once asked my best friend if she thought I was weird, she said “Absolutely, that’s why I love you”. And I was okay with that. I felt accepted. My husband said he’s always known I was crazy and that’s what attracted him to me. That’s cool, but the more I grow old the bigger the picture gets. No longer am I driven by self-inhibition but more intuition. I’m aware of my surroundings, those around me and how my behavior interacts with theirs. I feel enlightened but underappreciated. I feel content and discontent at the same time. Lonely and self-appreciated at the same time; it’s confusing.
Finding friends as a middle-aged woman is like dating – full of self-doubt and insecurity. Luckily for me, I finally found my lady – but I had to lay it all out that I’m weird, that I’m flakey, I don’t mean to be and I love her and if she will give me lenience I would love her forever. I would love fiercely and forever if she let me. Once a friend, always a friend, even after several years of noncommunication. Its working so far…
Put me in a room full of strangers and you would see a lady of composure and assurance but look inside and you would see a total freak-out. I do not do crowds nor strangers. However, I have to; my husband’s position forces me to engage in such settings and rub elbows with people that takes me two years to remember their names and faces, not because I don’t care about them but because I’m so freaked out that I completely erase everything about our encounter. I apologize when I act like I’ve met them for the first time, but it’s actually been about five times…my insides say, “oh well, they’ll get over it”. That’s the only way I can cope with my “disorder”. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. I’ve learned that with my autism I can’t linger on what others linger. I do what I do and if it’s “wrong” then what’s done is done and you can either apologize or brush it off (or both).
Living 39 years with undiagnosed Autism as a female has left me feeling vulnerable, unassured, insecure, lonely, strange, and unique. But I’m glad I finally have found validity that I’m not simply weird, I’m extraordinary; call it Autism, I call it awesome.