Chapter 9 - Conclusion

• CONCLUSION
  • Integration
    • Key Qualities of the Redemptive Self
    • Values-Based Integration

CONCLUSION

Integration

Before I knew I was Autistic, I was profoundly alienated in every possible sense. I was at odds with myself, unable to understand why normal life felt so perplexing and imprisoning to me. I was detached from the world, with no trust in others or in my own potential to connect and be understood. Because I was so alone, my identity was also completely unmoored. I had no community to anchor myself within. I had no idea I was transgender, no idea I was disabled, and couldn’t articulate what I wanted out of life. Internally, I was fractured, a series of faked personalities and protective shields that kept people at a distance. I could only drop the shield when I was alone, but even in my solitude I was miserable and confused. I was all defense mechanisms, with nothing left inside worth defending.

When a masked Autistic person lacks self-knowledge or any kind of broad social acceptance, they are often forced to conceive of themselves as compartmentalized, inconsistent parts. Here is the person I have to be at work, and the person I must be at home. These are the things I fantasize about doing but can’t tell anybody about. Here are the drugs that keep my energy levels up, and the lies I tell to be entertaining at parties. These are the tension-defusing distractions I’ll deploy when someone begins to suspect there’s something off about me. We don’t get the chance to come together into a unified whole that we can name or understand, or that others can see and love. Some sides of us go unacknowledged entirely, because they don’t serve our broader goal of remaining as inoffensive and safe as possible.

In the transgender community, we have a term for the fragile, confused state many of us inhabit before we recognize our gender identity and decide to come out: it’s called being in “egg mode.” An egg is a trans person who is either too isolated from the trans community or too enveloped in denial to be able to acknowledge who they are. When you’re in egg mode, you feel ill at ease and out of place, without any clue why. You avoid considering certain painful desires that lurk inside you, because confronting them would shatter the fake cisgender identity you built in order to survive. When I was in egg mode, I wore a lot of flowing dresses and low-cut tops because I believed I was too “womanly” to ever look good in the androgynous clothing I actually wanted to wear. I thought my body had doomed me to forever be a curvaceous woman. Everywhere I went people repeatedly told me I was incredibly womanly and talked a lot about how “fertile” I looked. Family, friends, and even complete strangers did their damnedest to convince me I owed society my womanhood. My self-hatred and society’s rejection completely distorted the way I saw myself. Once I finally broke through that resistance and started dressing the way I liked and speaking in a lower tone of voice, I realized I had been lied to. I actually looked and felt great as an androgynous trans person. I hadn’t lost anything by giving up the façade. I was just free.

In my experience, being a masked Autistic is eerily similar to being in the closet about being gay or trans. It’s a painful state of self-loathing and denial that warps your inner experience. Though it often feels like being “crazy,” it’s not actually an internal neurosis. It’s caused by society’s repeated, often violent insistence you are not who you say you are, and that any evidence to the contrary is shameful.

Before I knew I was Autistic, I imposed a lot of rules on myself, to help me “pass” as neurotypical. One of them was that I could never buy a piece of furniture I couldn’t move by myself. Self-sufficiency meant I could pack up and leave at any time. To ask for help or to lead a richly interdependent life would be akin to painting the words weak and pathetic on my body in bright crimson letters. I lived in such a way that no help was required.

I slept on an air mattress. I made a “dresser” for myself out of milk crates I’d stolen from behind the grocery store by my house. I kept my small TV on the floor. These measures also fulfilled another rule I’d set for myself: that I should spend as little money as possible, and sacrifice comfort in the name of frugality. The more money I socked away, the more self-sufficient I was, and the less disastrous it would be if I got fired due to awkwardness or burnout. This same logic fed into my eating disorder and social isolation. Life as a person who didn’t eat, drink, or ever leave the house very much was cheap and low-risk. I would survive by making myself smaller and smaller. I wondered why I was so unhappy and uncomfortable all the time, why I stomped around the house sobbing for hours, but could not recognize that my compulsive self-denial was contributing to my misery.

Masking also alienated me from everyone I loved. I never allowed myself to become vulnerable with anybody, to share any of the anger, frustration, dysphoria, or obsessive yearning that roiled inside me. When safe people made overtures to connect with me, I swatted them away and iced them out. Friends asked me how I was doing, and I responded with hostility. They tried to show me physical affection and I froze up. When I was breaking down physical and mentally, I did all I could to continue seeming stony and strong. Even my most accepting loved ones had no choice but to love a half version of me. I had almost no sense of who I was, either. When I had free time, I just sat alone in my room and stared at the wall or mindlessly scrolled online.

All of this also slowly began to change the day I sat down in a hot tub with my cousin at an amusement park, and heard his theory that everyone in our family was Autistic. I wasn’t ready for the information at first. But the moment I heard the word applied to my relatives, I couldn’t stop attaching it to myself. All my life I’d been a jumble of disconnected parts, but now an image of myself, and a name for what I was experiencing, was finally coming together.

The opposite of alienation is integration, a psychological sense of connection and wholeness.¹ People whose identities are integrated can see a through-line connecting the many selves they have been across various times and places. Every human being changes over time, of course, and alters their behavior depending on the situation or setting they’re in. There is no static “true self” that stops adapting and changing. To a masked Autistic person, this fact can be really disturbing, because we may lack a consistent “story” to tell ourselves about who we really are. Our personalities are just means to an end, externally motivated rather than driven by some internal force or desire. Someone with an integrated identity isn’t disturbed by change and variance, though, because they see a connection that endures across the many people they have been: core values that persist across their life span, and a narrative of personal growth that explains how they moved from the person they once were, to who they are today.²

Research (particularly decades of work by psychologists Dan McAdams and Jonathan Adler) has found that people who have integrated self-concepts are generally quite adaptable, resilient, and self-forgiving. They are able to develop new skills and pivot when life becomes challenging. They see themselves as the protagonists of their life story. They’re also more likely to experience post-traumatic growth, understanding painful past experiences as something that helped make them into a resilient person who can help others, rather than viewing it as a terrible “contamination” that ruined their lives or weakened them.³ In particular, McAdams and colleagues have observed that as people develop in maturity or recover from trauma, they tend to craft a redemptive narrative about themselves. A redemptive view of the self tends to highlight a few key qualities:

Key Qualities of the Redemptive Self⁴

• Generative: Works to improve the world, or benefit future generations
• Sensitive: Cares about the needs of others, and is concerned by social injustice
• Committed to Values: Develops their own set of core beliefs and values, which guide their behavior throughout their lifetime
• Balances Independence with Connection: Has a strong sense of one’s own agency and power, but also connects meaningfully with other people and recognizes we are all interdependent

It’s striking to me how compatible the redemptive self is with the process of unmasking. The redemptive self essentially is an unmasked Autistic self: unashamed of one’s sensitivity, profoundly committed to one’s values, passionately driven by the causes ones cares about, strong enough to self-advocate, and vulnerable enough to seek connection and aid. A person with an integrated, redemptive sense of self knows who they are, and isn’t ashamed of it. They’re able to resolve life’s tensions in an authentic way that honors their feelings and personal ethics.

In McAdams and Adler’s work (and related work by others), there is no one path a person must take to develop an integrated or redemptive sense of who they are. Narrative therapy has been found to be beneficial for those who want to reexamine the stories they tell themselves about their lives and their past, and cast them in a new light.⁵ And some initial evidence suggests narrative therapy can be beneficial for Autistic people struggling with social anxiety or communication challenges.⁶ However, the redemptive self also can arise organically, as a person comes to understand themselves and to forge healthy, supportive bonds. In my own life, I know that meeting other Autistic people and learning to understand what Autism is naturally led to me writing a new “story” about my past and who I was.

The final stage of Heather Morgan’s values-based integration exercise is to sum up your core values in about three to five words, and contemplate how each of those values connects to one another to create a cohesive whole. To this end, Heather frequently encourages clients to draw how their values interlock with one another, using whatever visual metaphor suits them best.⁷ One client of Heather’s drew each of their five values (Openness, Acceptance, Achievement, Leveling Up, and Captivation) as separate strings on a guitar. Each could be activated and “played” on its own, but it’s only when each of the values join together in a resonant harmony that they make the best music. Another person listed their values (Compassion, Community, Creativity, Integrity, Intrinsic Worth, and Justice) as distinct colors in a rainbow. Another saw their values each as separate spokes on a bicycle wheel, all supporting one another and making forward movement possible. These metaphors reflect how Heather’s clients see their principles connecting to one another, and aids them in contemplating their life as a whole greater than its underlying parts.

Here is some space for you to explore how your own values relate to one another. To complete this exercise, you’ll want to revisit the Values-Based Integration exercises from the Introduction, Chapter 5, and Chapter 7.

Values-Based Integration

Putting Your Values Together

1. Reexamine the Key Moments of your life that you described in the introduction to this book, and the 3 to 5 core values you identified as essential to those moments back in Chapter 5.

• List those values here. Ideally, you want to aim to identify three to five distinct values:

2. In the space below, write down a definition for each of your values. This should be a personal definition, not a dictionary definition. You want to identify specifically what each value means to you.

• Value:

• What this value means to me:

• Value:

• What this value means to me:

• Value:

• What this value means to me:

• Value:

• What this value means to me:

• Value:

• What this value means to me:

3. Finally, draw an image that represents your values and how they connect with one another. This image might represent a hobby or an experience that is important to you, or it might evoke one of the key moments where you felt particularly alive. The goal is to create an image that connects all of your values together, and helps you envision and remember all of them.

To download this chart, go to http://prhlink.com/9780593235249a010.

A person’s values don’t all have to be equally weighted as they are in these example metaphors. You could draw one particularly important value (say, Love) as a pillar on which the others rest, or draw one value as a wide umbrella that covers and protects the rest. One client of Heather’s drew three of their values as spokes on an anchor, with their fourth value as the hook connecting the anchor to the “boat” of their life.

I took several months to guide myself through Heather Morgan’s values-based integration process, as I was working on an early draft of this book. I considered carefully what the key moments were in my past that had made me feel truly alive. The interviews I conducted with other Autistic people and the research I did helped guide my self-reflection. Ultimately, I recalled a wide array of powerful moments in my past where I felt fully alive and realized as a person, and those moments made it clear to me what my core values were. I thought it might be worthwhile to share them here as an example:

• Value #1: Candor

• What this value means to me: Honestly sharing how I feel and the way I see things. Sharing observations that might not be convenient, but which are true and important to hear. Being honest with myself about who I am, who I enjoy spending time with, and what I want out of life. Speaking out when I see someone being mistreated.

• Value #2: Courage

• What this value means to me: Trusting my intuition and being willing to take risks. Standing up for my beliefs even when they are unpopular. Enthusiastically, passionately saying “yes” to the things that I want, instead of searching for excuses to say “no.” Letting my emotions be loud and bold. Taking up space, and taking a huge, hungry bite out of life.

• Value #3: Inspiration

• What this value means to me: Observing the world around me, filling myself up with ideas, and sharing my thoughts and passions with the world. Listening to my own creative drive and bursts of insight. Being a light that can guide others, by empowering people to do what is best for themselves.

• Value #4: Passion

• What this value means to me: Giving myself the space to feel things deeply. Making time to be sad, angry, resentful, or joyous. No longer filtering emotions based on how others might receive them. Being unashamed of who I am, pursuing the things I desire that feel good, and letting myself leave the situations that distress me.

Stepping back and taking a look at my key memories and core values, I can see that I’m a dynamic, powerful, clear-headed person who is always growing, and who has risen up to defend the people and ideas that matter to me many times. I am so different from the inept, powerless, clueless, needy figure that I have always worried abled people might see me as. I’m also nothing like the frigid, passive intellectual I’ve often masked myself as.

This exercise also made it painfully clear just how much my old, masked life blocked me and kept me dissatisfied. Alone in my apartment, socializing with no one, I had no room to inspire others or to express myself. I was so afraid of upsetting other people that I didn’t risk standing up for what I believed in and didn’t indulge in anything that gave me pleasure. It was my attempt at a neurotypical persona that failed me—the real me was a beautiful person who deserved so much more.

The ideal result of this exercise is to help an Autistic person trust themselves more. And looking back, I can’t think of a single time when I’ve regretted a decision guided by candor, confidence, inspiration, or passion. Every time I’ve cut through polite bullshit, quit an unfulfilling job, said yes to a random invitation, spoken out, or suddenly gotten an impulse tattoo, it’s felt incredible. Like coming up after a lifetime underwater, finally able to take fortifying gasps of fresh air. On the flip side, I can recall countless bad and regrettable decisions I’ve made that were motivated by fear, inhibition, or a desire to be polite. Every single time I’ve apologized for an outburst, downplayed a need, said yes to a job that wasn’t a good fit for me, or tolerated a friendship that wasn’t respectful, it’s left me feeling soul-sick and anxious. It’s never helped me sustain a meaningful connection. All it’s done is waste my time and fill me with resentment. It’s always been better to be myself, no matter the cost.

When I think of how my four values integrate into a larger whole, I picture a shield. When I transitioned, I chose the name Devon in part because it means defender. When I was in the closet (about both my transness and my Autism) I used to be shrinking and defensive. My whole existence was an apology for who I really was. Now I draw strength from who I truly am, and I aim to be a shield for others: a steadfast, brave presence that confronts the world head-on, and tries to shelter those who need it. My values protect me and the people I care about. I used to believe that my mask protected me, but really it just weighed me down. Honoring my values does the exact opposite. It places my most Autistic traits front and center and lets them lead me into battle, rather than hiding them away. I am thankful now for the person I am, and I know others are thankful to know that person, too. And in the course of coming into an Autistic identity, I have met so many people who have gone along a similar path toward self-acceptance and openness, finally feeling free, integrated, and attuned to their values after years of a false, fear-driven performance. I want the same things for you.

I don’t want to pretend that life as an out Autistic person is effortless. Ableism is a powerful force of oppression. There are plenty of Autistics who are never fully able to unmask. Some of us are in such perilous positions that opening up is too dangerous. Some Autistics conclude it is better to find small pockets of acceptance where they can get it, and maintain their mask everywhere else, rather than risk homelessness, police violence, relational abuse, or forced institutionalization by taking their mask off. For them, systemic social change is needed, as is a significant improvement of life circumstances.

A majority of Autistic people are underemployed and suffer from exploitation, isolation, and poverty. For masked Autistics who are women, transgender, Black, in poverty, or multiply marginalized, it’s especially dangerous to think about dropping the mask. Even for those of us who have the freedom to radically unmask ourselves, there is still a lot of social judgment and the pain of past trauma to wrestle with. A single person asserting their self-worth isn’t enough to overcome these forces. A world that embraces neurodiversity would, by definition, be a place where all people, cultures, and ways of being receive the same level of dignity, autonomy, and respect. However, for Autistics seeking to achieve widespread acceptance and justice, unmasking represents both an essential step forward, and a way to stay sane while the world remains unjust. I’ve witnessed firsthand how much an Autistic person can socially and psychologically blossom once they escape an unsafe situation and find an accepting community. I’ve gone through that exact process myself. We will never be able to build a more neurodiverse society if we do not name our common struggles, form community ties with one another, and loudly declare that our way of functioning isn’t broken or bad. Much of the neurotypical world still wants to “cure” us of our difference, using genetic therapies and screening tools that would prevent more of us from being born, and abusive therapeutic methods that train us, like dogs, to become more compliant. Even those of us who have not been forced through formal Autism treatment are still manipulated and pressured, day by day, into becoming smaller, softer, more agreeable versions of ourselves.

To unmask is to lay bare a proud face of noncompliance, to refuse to buckle under the weight of neurotypical demands. It’s an act of bold activism as well as a declaration of self-worth. To unmask is to refuse to be silenced, to stop being compartmentalized and hidden away, and to stand powerfully in our wholeness alongside other disabled and marginalized folks. Together we can stand strong and free, shielded by the powerful, radical acceptance that comes only when we know who we are, and with the recognition that we never had anything to hide.

To all the Autistics I met online, Before I knew who I was. Your friendship provided an oasis when I was at my most miserably adrift.