“You talk about autism all the time. Are you obsessed with it or something?”
I’ve heard this line more times than I can count—usually from people who don’t understand what it’s like to live in a world that isn’t built for you.
It’s not obsession; it’s survival. Autism isn’t a topic I can file away and revisit on special occasions—it’s the lens through which I experience everything, from the way I eat breakfast to the way I navigate work meetings.
If I seem “obsessed,” it’s because autism shapes every part of my life.
The Real Reason I Talk About Autism So Much
- It Helps Me Process:
- Writing about autism, talking about it, and learning from others helps me make sense of my experiences. It’s how I connect the dots and figure out how to move forward.
- It’s a Form of Advocacy:
- By sharing my story, I hope to challenge stereotypes, educate others, and make the world a little more accommodating for people like me.
- It’s Survival, Not Obsession:
- If I don’t actively address the challenges autism brings, I can’t manage them effectively. Talking about autism isn’t indulgent—it’s necessary.
A Moment That Changed My Perspective
I remember sitting in a staff meeting, feeling overwhelmed by the fluorescent lights, the hum of the air conditioner, and the rapid-fire discussion happening around me.
I wanted to raise my hand and say, “Can we slow down? This is too much.” But I stayed silent.
Later that day, I wrote a blog post about the experience, hoping someone out there might understand. The comments flooded in: “I’ve been there.” “Thank you for saying this.”
That was the moment I realized that sharing my story wasn’t just cathartic—it was vital.
What People Misunderstand About Autism “Obsession”
- It’s Not All About Me:
- Talking about autism isn’t narcissistic; it’s about creating a dialogue that helps others feel less alone.
- It’s Not a Phase:
- Autism isn’t something I can “get over” or move on from—it’s a lifelong journey of understanding and adaptation.
- It’s Not Optional:
- If I ignore autism, I ignore the very tools and strategies that help me navigate the world.
What I Wish People Knew
- I’m Not Complaining:
- When I talk about autism, I’m not looking for pity—I’m trying to create understanding.
- I’m Not Trying to Be Different:
- I’m just trying to be myself in a world that often demands conformity.
- I’m Not Alone:
- For every person who thinks I talk about autism too much, there are dozens who find comfort in my words.
A Literary Tie-In
Virginia Woolf once wrote, “I am rooted, but I flow.” That’s how I feel about autism—it’s a core part of who I am, but it also pushes me to grow, adapt, and find new ways to thrive.
FAQ
Q: How do you respond to people who say you’re obsessed?
A: I explain that autism isn’t just a topic—it’s my reality. Talking about it helps me survive and connect with others.
Q: What if someone doesn’t understand?
A: Not everyone will get it, and that’s okay. My goal isn’t to convince everyone, but to reach those who are willing to listen.
“You Don’t See My Autism Because I’m Exhausted From Hiding It”
“You don’t look autistic.”
If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard this, I’d have enough to buy all the noise-canceling headphones in the world.
The truth is, people don’t see my autism because I spend an incredible amount of energy hiding it. Masking is a survival strategy I’ve used for years, but it comes at a cost.
What Is Masking?
Masking is when autistic people suppress their natural behaviors—like stimming, speaking directly, or showing discomfort—in order to fit into neurotypical environments.
It’s exhausting, unsustainable, and often leads to burnout.
Why I Mask
- To Avoid Judgment:
- People often misunderstand autistic behaviors, so I mask to avoid stares, comments, or outright rejection.
- To Keep the Peace:
- Masking helps me navigate social and professional settings without drawing unwanted attention.
- To Feel Safe:
- In a world that isn’t always kind to autistic people, masking can feel like a form of self-protection.
A Day in the Life of Masking
Imagine walking into a room and instantly cataloging every sound, smell, and light source. Imagine calculating the “right” amount of eye contact, the “appropriate” facial expression, and the “normal” tone of voice to use in conversation.
Now imagine doing that for eight hours straight, every single day.
That’s what masking feels like.
The Hidden Cost of Masking
- Burnout:
- Constantly pretending to be someone I’m not drains my energy and leaves me feeling empty.
- Loss of Identity:
- When I mask too much, I start to lose touch with who I really am.
- Mental Health Struggles:
- The pressure to mask contributes to anxiety, depression, and feelings of isolation.
What I Wish People Knew About Masking
- It’s Not a Compliment:
- Saying, “You don’t look autistic,” dismisses the effort I put into navigating a world that wasn’t built for me.
- It’s Not Sustainable:
- Masking might help me survive in the short term, but it’s not a long-term solution.
- It’s Not Who I Am:
- The person you see when I’m masking isn’t the full, authentic version of me.
