Removing The Mask

Word Count: 990

Advisory Warning: Adult language

Well, I guess I’d better start by introducing myself. I’m Georgina, a young(ish) woman from the UK, and at the tender age of 29, I discovered that I have autism.

Now, you may be thinking “But Georgina, how did you not know you’re autistic until now?”

Sounds a bit silly really, doesn’t it? But I assure you, there are hundreds, no, thousands, HUNDREDS of thousands in fact, going through the same thing. The thing is, back when us roughly-30-somethings were children, the knowledge and support for this sort of thing simply wasn’t around. At least, not in the capacity it is today. There was no spectrum as we know it. Autism was considered a one-size fits all, in which those who displayed severe symptoms were autistic, and those who didn’t, were not. But now we know better. Now we know there is a whole array of different symptoms, and each person has individual needs unique to them.

With females in particular, it is typical that they mask their symptoms around other people. They plaster on a happy smile, put on their “people” voice, and go about the usual small talk. “Hi, how are you?”, “Good thanks, you?”, “Good thanks.” I, personally, have that one down to a science – after many uncomfortable attempts, mind you.

The fact is, it’s understandable that so many of us are only realising this about ourselves now. We simply didn’t know. We didn’t know why we found so much of our life to be a struggle, when others seemed to be getting on just fine. We were just told we were weird, lazy, dramatic, and whatever else.

That sort of leads me into my own personal experience with this. How did I come to the realisation that I’d been living with an invisible disability all my life?

Well, socialising has always been a struggle. I’ve never had many friends, and when I have, I’ve only really had one at any one time. It’s not that I don’t enjoy socialising with others, but bloody hell it’s hard sometimes. Having to know how much eye contact to give somebody – enough for the other person to know you’re listening, but not so much that you give them the creeps. Having to know when it’s your turn to speak. Having to know when they’re making a joke and when they’re serious. Having to know what to do with your hands, whether to cross your arms or have them at your sides. Having to focus on what they’re saying, instead of every other noise going on around you. And that’s just one-to-one, never mind when you’re in a group.

Apparently, this stuff is pretty easy for neurotypical folks. Just a regular part of their day that they don’t pay any mind. But for me, it is downright exhausting, because a fair amount of my energy goes into every tiny little bit of that conversation. I’ve had a lot of stumbles, a lot of awkward interactions. I’ve even gotten into trouble, made people angry for “rolling my eyes” or “pulling a face” at them when they were talking to me. In my head, I was just simply breaking eye contact. I thought that was normal. Did the eye contact not make them uncomfortable? No, I guess not.

Aside from the social stuff, there are all sorts of other little things that I didn’t realise were linked to autism. Finding normal day-to-day situations overwhelming (going to the supermarket is a particular difficulty of mine), very intense interests that pretty much take over my whole life, etc etc. I plan on going into more details on these in later posts, but essentially, the more I read about autism, the more I started thinking “Hang on… that sounds an awful lot like me”.

It wasn’t until last year, however, that I went from “Hang on… that sounds an awful lot like me” to “Holy shit! I have autism!” This came following some major difficulties with my mental health. Work had been extremely difficult for me from the moment I got my first job, and I had essentially worked myself into the ground without even realising it. From 2020 until 2022, I was also studying for a degree alongside work. Ultimately, I had to drop out, because I was far too exhausted all the time to do both. I was severely burnt out. This burn out pushed me to look into my difficulties a little deeper. After having the odd little thought over a few years that I might be autistic, I took the RAADS-R test and scored 152. With that particular test, if you score anything above 65, you are very likely to be autistic. I can’t say I was particularly surprised by my scoring.

Around the same time, it was discovered that my darling niece has ADHD. Did you know that neurodivergence is typically hereditary? Neither did I, until then.

This only pushed me to look into this more, and after extensive research, I concluded that I do in fact, have autism. It just explains so much.

So, that brings us to now. Due to the constant struggle of work, I unfortunately had to leave my job with nothing else lined up. A month later, my 8-year long relationship dissolved, meaning that for the first time in my life, I’m living alone (well, I have a dog, and whilst he’s exceptionally good at keeping my mental health in check, I don’t think he’ll be helping me pay my rent).

No job. No degree. No relationship. Talk about a clean slate…

What a perfect opportunity to start this blog. To write about my journey of recovery, and self-discovery. A completely fresh start, in which I will seek out a formal diagnosis, try to navigate the world of work in a way that works for me, and learn to remove the mask I’ve been wearing all these years. Let’s see how this goes, shall we?