Towards the end of 2019, in my mid-40s, I had myself clinically assessed to see if I am autistic. I had watched Rain Man in the late 1980s – my mid-teens - but never thought that the image that Dustin Hoffman projected applied to me (although I did feel some solidarity with his character and envied the character’s savant abilities).
In my 30s I read Donna Williams' autobiography, "Nobody Nowhere" detailing her experience as a woman who was ‘late diagnosed’ (an umbrella term for anyone who isn’t diagnosed until they are essentially an adult) and only was assessed after someone else suggested that she might be. She talked about things that I recognised in myself.
It still took almost a decade before I decided to find out if I was officially ‘in the club’.
I was delighted to find out that I am, not just that I thought I was. It means I may legitimately make the claim to be autistic. It also puts a whole stack of my experiences into context – the puzzle pieces have started to fall into place.
I told my psychologist that despite the official literature, I do not
see being autistic as a disorder or a disability (although I recognise that for
some it can be). I see it as a diffability
– a different ability.
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