“See this bar chart? There should be a column here,” she said.

I’m in a psychologist’s office looking at a computer monitor showing a report with three labels. Cognitive empathy. Emotional empathy. Social skills. One of them is missing a block.

“Your social skills score is zero.”

Oh.

“Your profile looks like high-masking autism and ADHD.”

Suddenly all the dots on my timeline lit up like stars and there was a bright, electric vein racing through to connect them.

I suspected ADHD. My time blindness had always been bad and it was getting worse.

I didn’t seriously think I’d match for autism. I’m not a picky eater. I’m not obsessed with numbers or stats. My newly formed hobbies don’t qualify as special interests. Do they?

But when you start to dig in, it’s all there:

Noise sensitivity. Smell sensitivity. Trouble making friends. Meltdowns in response to change. Rage blackouts. Stimming and skin picking. Constant rumination and the total inability to relax—even if I’m at the spa or on vacation.

Hyperfocus. Double-booked calendars. Being late to school so many times I got suspended for it. Losing my car keys so often my dad attached a full-sized Yoda doll to my keychain. (Big stuffie makes it harder to miss.)

Plus: Aphantasia. Low social battery. Years of exit plans and Irish goodbyes. Justice sensitivity and zero respect for authority or social hierarchy.

A lifetime of low-grade existential depression, feeling like I’m too embarrassing to be alive.

“You’re too sensitive.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Stop being so Melanie-dramatic.”
“Stop being such a perfectionist.”
“Stop making everything a moral or ethical issue.”
“That was a rude and inappropriate thing to say.”
“I never know what to expect from you.”
“I don’t trust you to follow through.”
“Have you tried using a checklist?”
“Have you tried a Pomodoro timer?”
“You just need to focus.”

But I was smart and I could read above grade-level and my GPA was okay and I graduated from college on schedule. Why couldn’t I apply myself?

“Lighten up. Snap out of it.”

The IVA-2 Continuous Performance Test, which I thought was super fun like an arcade game, showed impaired auditory processing and stamina.

“I’m a bad listener.”

“Not necessarily. How do you do with spoken instructions?”

“I write everything down.”

For the past 30 years, I’ve been spending so much of my energy trying to function and look normal. It would work for a while but eventually I’d hit a wall.

Crash out. Feel bad. Course correct. Try harder.

At some point you’re a cat out of lives.

What do I do with this new information?

Do I disclose? Do I “come out” as neurodivergent? Do I try meds?

What is “unmasking” and how do I even begin to start doing that?

Most importantly, how do I find work where I can thrive? Because I definitely can’t afford to check out. Somebody’s gotta make bank to pay for these noise canceling headphones and sensory friendly fabrics!

The first thing I did was go for a walk. Fresh air. Red clay. Bluebirds and baby deer.

Next thing I did was text my brother. Then I drove home and told my husband.

After that, I downloaded Self-care for Autistic People and read the entire eBook.

Today I’m trying to be observant and gentle with myself.

Back in 1994 there’s a first grader hiding under her desk because the classroom is too loud. Today I’m reaching my hand out to her.

“Get up. Come with me. There’s a bean bag chair in the library with your name on it.”