Sometimes a book can make you cry with laughter so much that you have to stop reading it in public for fear of appearing unwell and in need of intervention. Other times a book can make you sob with sadness to a point where you feel numb from the overwhelming distress. Occasionally, a book can inspire. It can teach you something about your past, your present, your future, and who you are at your core.
Rarely does a book do all of these things. Strong Female Character by Fern Brady is such a life-changing book it’s hard to put into words.
The book is (largely) about Fern’s autism journey. Most of it is about living with undiagnosed autism. And while much of it is about being a woman with autism, and Fern’s path has been very different to my own, her story significantly resonates with me in a way that has truly shaken me.
So, thanks to Fern, I feel like I need to admit things myself. And to you.
My Weird Week
The same week I was diagnosed with later stage head and neck cancer, I was also diagnosed with Fibro, and in completely unrelated timing, autism. That’s some serious mind-**** stuff to process in a just a few days.
Of these life-changing things, weirdly, the autism one was the one that shook me the most. And this feels very much like me finally being brave enough to admit it.
Masking (a life of trying to be someone, or something, else)
I was 49 at the time of diagnosis. I grew up in a world very different to the one today.
Fern made me fully realise the cost of ‘masking’ – the intensive process of trying to understand the world around me, and more importantly, trying to behave and act in a way that is considered being ‘normal’ or expected.
I guess I have felt, since childhood, like an alien visiting Earth where you don’t know the language, the customs, the rules that everyone else is inherently born with, or somehow learns. Back when I was a kid, things were far harder than today. I didn’t even hear the word autism until decades later, let alone understand it. I guess my upbringing was in a strong, God-fearing religious teaching school, almost certainly teaching that wouldn’t be permitted today. This was an education system and environment of low tolerance, of heavy bullying, of physical violence, of oppression, contempt and downright hatred for anyone who didn’t fit in. When I left school, work, at that time, wasn’t much better. Just a continuation of the same themes. Conformity. Toxic masculinity. Forcing you to be anyone but who you actually are – these were all minute-by-minute demands and expectations. It was scary. It was like a horror film trying to navigate it all.
My masking has been off the scale for the largest part of five decades. And while I am blessed beyond reason with my parents, my family, with work, with many things in life people don’t have, I think I’ve come to the painful conclusion that this life of intense masking has taken a massive toll on me.
My living with autism is often softened with love, with kindness, with being around supportive people. The core of what makes me feel somewhat human. Helped immeasurably more recently by the various writing communities. Still, I sometimes get overwhelmed.
Ever Had a Dodgy Laptop?
So what’s it like for me? It’s almost too hard to put into words.
It’s like an ancient laptop trying to run a thousand tabs on browser most days. Some days, it’s like the machine is older, and the tabs run into thousands, and the keyboard is melting.
That spinning wheel of buffering with bad internet connection – that’s me, most of the time, most days. Often at night as well.
That blue-screen of death – from which there is no escape other than shutting down – rebooting and hoping for the best. That’s also me when things get too much.
Too many tasks at the same time gives me a feeling like I’ve become someone else. Some creature crawling inside me, angry it’s been woken rudely. Sensory overload (lighting, sounds, smells, busy places, too much visual movement – just some examples), is like trying to play pinball with a single flipper, strobe lights blinding you, while you’re trying to keep twenty ball bearings in play. I love talking to people, but too many at the same time can overload my senses, especially in busy places. Sometimes even being around the same people I love dearly can wipe me of energy (not their fault, and entirely a symptom of my condition). I realise these things now.
Sometimes I rely far too much on digital communication as it simplifies the sensory load. I can do things that surprise me, like attending social events and not only masking well, but coming away feeling like people might have actually enjoyed my company. I have given speeches in fancy places, to hundreds of people and seemingly did a great job.
But these are things that come far from naturally. They take weeks of thought, of over processing, of checking Google maps, of investigating room layout photos, of research and practising. Of printing multiple things. Of checking timetables. Contingencies. All of this is exhausting before I even set foot in a place. Then… afterwards, I might be on a high because I did something that is amazing (to me), but energy levels might not recover for weeks afterwards.
I mention all this for a few reasons.
I think I owe it to myself to be kinder and have fewer expectations of myself. If, for example, you invite me to a social catch-up (or I even suggest it), then I’m suddenly doubting going – it’s almost certainty overload and nothing to do with you. I’m 99.9% certain I’d love to catch up, but that nagging 0.1% of me knows it’s going to come at a cost, and I’ll be stressing almost full time that I’ll say or do something wrong. Which is how I spend almost all of my waking and sleeping hours thinking about. I think it’s a misconception that people with autism don’t care about social ‘norms’ – I think they care too much. Often to the point of overthinking, melt-down, shut-down, or simply saying things they regret the minute it’s said. This is cyclical. It’s a continuous process. It never really goes away. I’m not sure about others, but I intensely fear looking like an idiot. Saying or doing something wrong. Of not fitting in or being mocked.
If I’m too enthusiastic about something, it’s probably because I’m bottling things up. I trust you. I feel like I can talk to you, and you’ll listen. Sorry if this ever makes you feel odd or regret spending time with me.
Autism and the Query Process
Right now, the autism is hard to deal with and it’s more than just getting older and dealing with more stuff.
I’m very much someone who follows rules. I find comfort and certainty in them. I am someone who spends almost all of their time trying to work out social rules, relationships, and dynamics. I’m someone who has a massive fear of feeling like an outsider (see upbringing and autism mix for rationale). To be in this space is something that is beyond torture for me.
Sending manuscripts to agents is tough for anyone. But tough for someone with autism in a way that seems disproportionate and unnecessarily painful. Putting your work out there, and tailoring every query is exhausting. Every query takes a piece of my soul with it. Being rejected is part of the deal – I get that. But being ignored without even a form rejection feels like I’m transported back at school fighting full time just to be acknowledged as being worthy to exist.
I think, perhaps, this is why this part of the journey has been so hard on me.
It’s crushing. It’s like watching yourself implode, repeatedly. And I’m not sure why it needs to be this way. Surely things need to be a little easier. A little less… intensive and cruel.
It’s probably unwise to mention all this, but it is what it is. Getting this far in a creative journey (especially the one I’ve been on) feels like a million flaming hurdles, then you get to the end of your creative marathon for someone to open a sinkhole at the finish line.
Wrapping Up
I’m incredibly grateful for my PhD. It’s distracting me, and I have something outside of family and work to focus positive energy on. But this agent and query business combined with the autism continual overload has almost made me sick again. Surely there has to be a better way? And for all the promises of the industry changing, it feels like it has a very long way to travel still. Which makes me sad.
I’m so grateful for my support network. I’ll keep plugging away, trying new things, but this felt like a good time to evaluate, to be kind to myself, to admit how hard things are, to be thankful, to look forward to a positive outcome for my creative pathway. Even if it’s much harder than I thought, and I’m not someone to give up easily.
Much gratitude to the tiny number of people that knew and kept it secret. Equal gratitude to those that didn’t know and have taken me under their wing and treated me like some strange member of their family.
Thank you for your love, support, understanding, kindness and acceptance – M
Metropolitan Dreams 