I have a secret, one I’ve kept hidden for most of my life. It’s not that I’m autistic—though that’s part of it. It’s not that I struggle with social cues, or sensory overload, or masking.
My biggest secret is this: I’m smart.
That probably doesn’t sound like much of a confession. But for me, it’s huge.
Why I Hide My Intelligence
Growing up, I learned that being smart wasn’t always a good thing. Teachers praised me for my grades but scolded me for correcting them in class. Kids called me a “know-it-all” and left me out of their games. Even my family, well-meaning as they were, told me to “tone it down” or “let others have a turn.”
So, I started hiding it.
I pretended not to know the answers in class, even when I was bursting with them. I avoided conversations about my special interests, afraid of being called “obsessive.” I learned to laugh at jokes I didn’t find funny, nod at ideas I didn’t agree with, and stay quiet even when I had something important to say.
By the time I reached adulthood, hiding my intelligence had become second nature.
What Hiding Looks Like Now
Even now, I downplay my intelligence in social situations. I use simple language instead of the precise terms I want to use. I let others steer conversations, even when I know more about the topic. I tell self-deprecating jokes to make myself seem less intimidating.
It’s not that I don’t want people to know I’m smart. It’s that I’ve learned the hard way how people react when they realize it.
The Problem with “You’re Too Smart for This”
One of the most frustrating things about being autistic and smart is hearing people say, “You’re too smart for this.”
“You’re too smart to forget things like that.”
“You’re too smart to not know how to do this.”
“You’re too smart to be struggling with this.”
What they don’t understand is that intelligence doesn’t erase my challenges. I can have a high IQ and struggle to remember verbal instructions. I can write complex essays and forget to pay my bills. I can be brilliant in some areas and completely lost in others.
When Being Smart Feels Like a Curse
There’s a saying: If you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life thinking it’s stupid.
For most of my life, I felt like that fish. People saw my intelligence and assumed I should excel at everything. But I’m not a tree-climber—I’m a swimmer. And in a world designed for climbers, that difference feels like a failure.
How I Embrace My Intelligence
Lately, I’ve been working on owning my intelligence. It’s not easy—I still catch myself downplaying it, still worry about being judged. But here’s what I’m learning:
- It’s Okay to Shine. Hiding my intelligence doesn’t make the world better. Letting it shine might.
- Special Interests Are Strengths. My deep dives into topics like history and neurodiversity aren’t “obsessions”—they’re passions.
- I’m Not for Everyone. Not everyone will appreciate my intelligence, and that’s okay. I don’t have to dim myself to make others comfortable.
Visual Snapshot
I’m writing this from my small, book-filled office. The walls are lined with shelves overflowing with novels, history books, and notebooks full of half-finished ideas. My desk is cluttered with pens, sticky notes, and my laptop.
The room smells faintly of coffee and vanilla from the candle burning on the windowsill. My cat is curled up on a stack of papers, oblivious to the chaos around her. It’s a quiet, cozy space where I can let my brain roam freely—no hiding, no masking, just me.
FAQ
Q: Does being smart make autism easier?
A: Not really. Intelligence helps in some areas, but it doesn’t erase challenges like sensory issues, social struggles, or executive dysfunction.
Q: Why do you hide your intelligence?
A: Years of negative experiences taught me that being smart can make people uncomfortable. Hiding it felt safer, even if it wasn’t authentic.
Q: How can I support an autistic person who’s smart?
A: Acknowledge their intelligence without setting unrealistic expectations. Celebrate their strengths while also recognizing their challenges.
Final Thoughts
My intelligence isn’t a secret anymore. It’s a part of who I am—just like my autism, my creativity, and my struggles.
If you’re smart and autistic, know this: you don’t have to hide. You don’t have to shrink yourself to make others comfortable. You deserve to take up space, to speak your mind, to be unapologetically you.
And if you need me, I’ll be here—writing, learning, and finally letting myself shine.
