To Seattle, With Autistic Love

Learning about one’s self is to constantly fit puzzle pieces together.

The Evergreen Echo

Thank you, Seattle, for everything. 

Why am I so thankful? After living here for two years, Seattle has taught me many lessons about nature, life, my creativity, my queerness, etc. What did Seattle have left to teach me? 

“Sweetie? You’re also a little autistic too.”

Growing up in the South, stigmas can run wild, branding you. Queer? Hide that shit. Autistic? Mask it at all costs. I learned to let people perceive me like a shadow. I showed enough of myself to let people get a sense of me without letting anyone in too deep. 

Looking back, it all made sense. When you know how to look for something different, it is easy to spot the odd behavior out. When you grow up thinking your differences are normal, you don’t think to check if what you are doing is “correct.” 

I never fit into one distinct friend group and always relied on other people to maintain friendships. I wasn’t going to force friendships, and I wasn’t going to beg to keep them. I embodied a chameleon, changing my colors to blend with what people thought was important. So why was I not satisfied with these pedestrian friendships? 

I thought the biggest turning point in my life was coming to terms with my sexuality. Even after I came out as Gay and Queer, something unfamiliar still lingered inside me like an unknown stranger. My family accepts me, loves me, and isn’t going anywhere. Why am I still angry? Why do I still not understand myself fully? 

Working as a Registered Behavior Technician (RBT) back in Texas was the trailhead of self-discovery. For two years, I learned a lot and related to the clients I served and aided. As someone who’s a stickler for routine and a creature of habit, dabbling in a variety of collections from books to Funko Pops to board games, loves organizing for fun, and has a spectacular memory, the signs were always in front of me. 

But me? I can’t be like them.

After meeting some Queer friends online, I found it was possible to be proud of your neurodivergence. They did nothing to hide their autism. Being open about your queerness, which was still new to me, was one thing, but openly talking about your neurodivergence? Why would you volunteer that information so casually?

We bonded over our queerness quickly, but they were the first to ask me outright if I was autistic. Me? I couldn’t possibly? They must be mistaken. The wheels began to turn. I felt like I was on trial for something I never knew was a crime. The voices were not enough to get me on board. If anything, it pushed me further from it. I am not autistic. So how would I prove I am not? 

After expressing my concerns, my therapist offered me support and resources which led me to take an exam. The conclusion was quite telling. The switch was instantaneous but not easy to process. They were right. 

I could not help but find a correlation between my queerness and my neurodivergence. I always knew I was Gay and Queer even when my mind still did everything to convince me I was straight. The process of coming out was grueling, but I made it through. This was a second coming out, but on a higher level. How do you come out when you didn’t even know you had a reason to? Coming out as neurodivergent is not something the world prepares you to do. 

I had mixed emotions. On one hand, I had an explanation for why I am the way that I am. On the other hand, I had something hovering over me like a dark cloud that would never go away. How would other people perceive it? Could they already see it? 

This life-altering moment has left me with more questions than answers. Does this change the outcome of my life? Are there things I thought I was going to do or have that are no longer in the cards for me? The easy and secure answer is no. The truth is, I’m still figuring things out and I’m okay with that. 

After venting about it, one of my friends asked me if I was ashamed of having autism. There is always a sense of embarrassment that still lingers. I’m more embarrassed I didn’t figure it out for myself, that it took outside voices to reach the conclusion, that I couldn’t connect the dots when the world hid all my pens. I’m embarrassed to be seen as weak and not be taken seriously in anything I do. How could so many people know something so deep, so vulnerable, so intricate about myself that I didn’t even know was residing under the surface? 

The Evergreen Echo

Processing all of this has been a whirlwind and yet I get to enjoy the gentle breezes on the other side. It was my fiancé and friends who helped me process everything. A pressure to mask parts of myself always existed. My fiancé, my backbone, brought down walls and allowed me to be my authentic and unapologetically weird self without judgement, guilt, or shame. The autistic swag and charm is real. 

My friends allow a safe space to process these feelings of doubt and denial. The best advice I received was when a friend told me, “It gives air weight,” which resonated with me. The air often goes unnoticed just like autism can often go undiagnosed, but it still impacts those around it. My air around me has meaning now, and I can do something with this knowledge for myself moving forward. At 29 years old, I am still learning new things about myself that never clicked before. 

Seattle brought me to a community of Queer and neurodivergent individuals who I had never before and never thought I would meet. They shed the social stigmas they carried with them from the places they grew up. I get to show off pieces of myself that I always felt like I needed to keep tucked away. Not only are they acknowledged, but they are celebrated. This is a natural sense of community here that I would have had to work hard to find in Texas. I appreciated the person I was in San Antonio. I love the person I am now in Seattle. I am happier, more self-aware, and authentically moving forward. 

Before, I looked into myself through a locked, tinted window. And now, the window is open wide. My creativity is a gift. My queerness is a gift. My neurodivergence is a gift. Even within the last six months, I learned to accept my neurodivergence as a piece of me but not make it my whole identity. 

The city of Seattle gave me back to myself. Living here, I learned new things about my creative endeavors, identity, independence, and what makes me different that I would have never discovered in Texas. Seattle lifted the veil of the perfect suburban bubble and allowed me to learn who I truly am in a vibrant and distinct cityscape. 

Seattle has brought a banquet of blessings. I got engaged here. I’m getting married here. We are fostering our life here. It is only fair Seattle builds a life in me too.