During high school, I was discouraged from careers that I expressed an early interest in. The available career paths were also limited. For sixteen years after graduation, I tried working regular jobs to pay bills. As each year passed, deciding on a career was repeatedly emphasized and reinforced as being important to making a living. So, I went back to college. But by this time, something felt terribly wrong.
I had no idea I was making unwanted career decisions because I was masking my undiagnosed neurodiversity. As a result of autism’s basic influence on my thinking and decision-making, a traumatic event occurred inside my mind. Instead of being able to choose on my own, I fell into a cyclical pattern of aimless employment and crippling indecision. This perfect storm would define some of the worst moments of my life.
The simplest part of my neurodivergent puzzle are the basic necessities for food, shelter, and clothing. My parents worked hard and earned a good living to provide for the family. I also worked various jobs myself. But I never felt any cognitive investment. Whenever I had to choose what I wanted to do for a living, nothing stopped the feeling of being pulled down by a void of indecision. People suggested jobs, but it was what they thought I might like or could be good at.
I hesitated out of a fear of failure and anxiety over the abrupt adjustments I would have to make. Then, almost in a backhanded way, people told me picking the right career was not important. They never figured out theirs. Yet, something was dragging me down. When my situation became desperate, I stopped applying for work and took matters into my own hands.
Eventually, I was directed through local employment agencies and career services. The first agency funded a psychological evaluation, but for whatever reason it was only partial. The psychologist I was assigned to only checked for the bare minimum of potential diagnoses. If it had been thorough, my autism would have been diagnosed two years earlier. I was then enrolled in a month of occupational workshops.
These triggered escalating sleep deprivation and two separate panic attacks. When a third agency was later tried, I took too long and was eventually sabotaged by accusations of misconduct rather than persistence or quality of service. All the while, the anchoring effect steadily dragged down my mental health. By 2023, it is no wonder I feel the depth of despair I do. As much as I hate to say it, this is not an autism-friendly society.
I specifically choose to take the Charles Xavier approach and work together because a divided society will not prosper or achieve the changes needed. We need everyone. But as of April 2023, I can no longer remain silent about the incompatibility with current society. Instead of being able to progress towards a career pursuit I wanted, I got trapped by society until I was told that no one could help me.
I have been passed from one professional to another while I have untapped creative potential. I am now powerless to stop several cognitive distortions. Unless I can be guided to a path that fulfills my neurodiversity, my future will not be guaranteed. I am not advocating scorched earth. I am pleading for accommodations that will help autistic people thrive. No one should be left behind, which includes every autistic person regardless of age.
If I had the opportunity, I would work with autism experts like Dr. Temple Grandin. If I had the means, I would start an organization that partners with autism experts worldwide to create the proactive change we need. As soon as possible. My divergent future depends on someone reading this and taking me seriously. Because if I succeed, I am bringing talented people on board with me. If I do not, I will eventually join a long list of numerical statistics.
#LetThatThinkIn
Welcome to the next Autism Experience.
Autism’s Biggest Myth Is Not Our Age.
