A new word that has cropped up in the past handful of years is “neurodivergence.”  Another casual term that has developed for is “neuro-spicy.”  Broadly, it just means “brains that are wired differently from the majority of people.”  Most often, though, it refers to autism and ADHD, conditions that cause the person to perceive, process, and understand things differently from “neurotypical” people.

Pretty much all of the code developers I have known are neurodivergent in one or (usually) more ways.  It’s pretty common for both ADHD and autism to overlap, which has been called AuDHD for fun.  Unfortunately, it’s pretty common to also have anxiety and/or depression.  All of these combine to make a very interesting, very smart, very often distressed person.

My husband has ADHD, and I am autistic, and I’ve done a lot of research on both topics (of course I have, I’m autistic).  I don’t think I would want my autism “cured”, which it can’t be anyway, but it does make some things hard. 

Anxiety and Autism

It’s very common for autistic people to have a constant low-level anxiety, which can easily turn into disabling problems.  Sensory overload, the stress of social miscommunication, and difficulty coping with change or uncertainty, are all major factors.  You’ve probably heard of the stereotype of autistic people being unable to make eye contact.  This isn’t just an awkward preference – forcing yourself to make eye contact during a conversation can feel overwhelming, and even painful.  A lot of us have learned to do it anyway, but it takes a toll.  I can manage it better when the other person is talking, but when it’s my turn to talk, I tend to look everywhere else but the person I’m talking to.  If I had to maintain eye contact while I talk, it kind of short-circuits my brain and it becomes a lot harder to even get words out at all, much less express what I’m thinking.

The stereotype of autistic people hating scratchy tags in their shirts is very common, of course… because autistic brains are constantly processing way more information than those of other people, it’s really difficult to tune out or ignore uncomfortable sensations.  The discomfort is registered as a threat in the subconscious, adding to the constant undercurrents of stress. 

The Princess and the Pea?  I’m positive the poor girl had autism.  I can feel every tiny wrinkle in my sheets and pajamas, and if I’m overtired or stressed already, it’s just awful.  A wrinkle feels like lying on a pencil that keeps moving just a little bit so that my brain keeps registering it.  Skin to skin contact, even if it’s just my own foot touching my own leg, eventually feels physically painful.

Layer all the physical stresses with societal struggles, and you’ve got a recipe for a constantly anxious person.  Even if I actively like the people I’m spending time with, my subconscious sometimes still perceives interaction as a possible threat.  Believe me when I tell you it’s draining!

Autistic Burnout

“Autistic burnout is a syndrome conceptualised as resulting from chronic life stress and a mismatch of expectations and abilities without adequate supports. It is characterised by pervasive, long-term (typically 3+ months) exhaustion, loss of function, and reduced tolerance to stimulus.” (Autism.org.uk)

The unfortunate reality is that those of us who are generally more capable of handling “normal” life, are the ones who are most likely to fall into autistic burnout.  And then blame ourselves.  It’s so hard to stop self-talk like, “why can’t I do this like everyone else can?”  “this should be easy” “just try harder”  “just get over it”.  I don’t see myself as having extensive support needs – I have a full time job, I have a driver’s license, I am generally perceived as being a mostly capable adult (probably), so I should be able to handle a normal adult life, right? So I push and scrabble and try not to need help.  It would probably be easier if it was more obvious that I need support, or if I needed more day-to-day supports.  If I couldn’t cook a meal, I might expect less from myself.  If I had to have help picking my outfit for the day, maybe I wouldn’t feel embarrassed by my love of stuffed animals, and my strong dislike of coffee, and generally feeling like a child pretending to be an adult in a play I don’t have the script for and can’t leave. 

Learning about my own autism, to understand my capabilities, strengths, and weaknesses, has really helped me start to come to terms with who I am, and what my brain is.  I’ve been able to make and get supports that help me a great deal, and it’s felt very much like discovering who I am, not just what I can and can’t do.  It has felt like taking off layers and layers of heavy cloaks and blankets that I didn’t realize I was carrying. I’m learning to properly take care of myself, and it feels amazing. Just, you know, tiring.  I’m still tired.  Some people like to say things like, “it’s not a disability, it’s a superpower!” That’s real cute, but no.  Yeah, some parts could be super powers, but I promise it’s a disability that I get overwhelmed by noise and crowds and heat and rough textures and small talk.  And that’s okay.  I don’t have to frame every part of it as “just being differently abled.”  I know I’m a weirdo, but I like who I am.  I just have to remember to give myself accommodations and support more than I would prefer.