Breaking the mould

They say that girls with autism are little philosophers while boys are little professors. Perhaps that’s why I can be so philosophical about today’s decision, by Ava’s consultant, who after many years of wondering, agreed with me that she reaches the criteria for autism diagnosis. He is so sure, in fact, he is prepared to offer gene testing so we  – perhaps mainly me – can know for certain whether this way of being runs in the family and is not just some generational, environmental fluke.

I can’t say it’s a shock, though I expect others to question it, and my motives for perusing a diagnosis. I will say this. My beautiful, kitteny girl, who is so good, clever and quiet is becoming increasingly hard to draw out of herself. She withdraws to her room to watch her videos, and rarely joins in with any fun. She has not cried over the loss of her puppy, and does not ask me about my day. She throws wobblers over shoes, and increasingly only wants to wear her one old fleece. She got the best maths SATs result, not just in her class but in the class above as well, and yet, she has never drawn me a picture of herself; and telling me she loves me is perhaps an abstract concept too far, although she has managed it once or twice, when I make her parrot it back at me. I love my girl, the way she is. She’s brilliant. In many many ways, she’s perfect.

I know how difficult it has been for me, being a bit different but passing as normal. And I know, unlike her brother, who is growing into himself more and more, and becoming more engaging and understanding, confident and philosophical every day, that the challenges she faces are really only just beginning.

Being social and fitting in really matters to girls as they approach their tweens and teens, and for whom understanding groups dynamics are crucial, for whom pressures are turned inwards. It can be hard to face up to those who can be especially vindictive against girls who refuse – or perhaps as is more true, can’t help but not fit the mould. If I can protect her just a little bit against the things that I have struggled and continue to struggle against – unfairness, judgement, disorder, social exclusion, that I will do everything in my power to help her, in this world that’s set up for people with better theory of mind, though rather fewer theories on everything else.

It means, as time goes on, she won’t have to justify herself to anyone, who wonder why she thinks about things in ways that other people find difficult to understand, or feels criticized when she goes about things differently or just wants to do things her own way, in her own time. In a way, she is lucky, for she now has a label under which anyone reasonable can now begin to understand her. 

We aspie-types might seem to be the difficult ones, the ones who can’t change, the ones who cannot empathise; but there’s more evidence that we have to try harder to do the things other people take for granted, that we care too much and simply can’t express it in person. We are idealists who may forget to say hello, may look away when we are spoken to, and forget your name, but who nonetheless bear the conscience of the world. 

If only the rest of the world – for we are all largely diagnosable one way or another – were given the same acknowledgment that none of us can really help the way we are; and it is society, not individuals, that needs to accommodate this immutable fact of life.

 Here is a link about why autism in girls is hard to diagnose.