One time in a therapy session – in my late 20s early 30s – I said, “my emotions are like a language I don’t know how to speak.” The therapist had looked a little surprised, and she told me she’d never heard it put that way before. I was used to hearing this. Describing things in unique ways had been a hobby of mine for a while. Her reaction to my creative turn of phrase was about as far as the discussion went on the topic. One of the many small reasons why I didn’t go to therapy for long.
More than 20 years later, I learned that what I was trying to express has a name: alexithymia, aka, emotional blindness. It’s not common within the general population, but it is found quite often among people diagnosed with autism.
It would be narratively tidy to say that this discovery is where my journey began, but life isn’t tidy and all journeys begin at birth. This data point was simply another candle lit in a large, dark room. I already had several flickering insights I’d managed to light over the years like “child of divorce” and “daddy issues” and dozens of little birthday candles on an altar devoted to “being a girl.” Collectively, they were not bright enough to illuminate the beautiful fresco I knew was on the ceiling.
After finding the “emotional blindness” candle, I was able to see many others that could be lit with the same match in rapid succession:
-scripting conversations before social interactions
-requiring a lot of alone time to recharge after being around people
-aversion to small talk
-noticing details before the big picture
-following pre-set routines I create for everyday tasks
-taking everything that people say at face value
-being labeled rude for being honest
-rigid rules regarding food (hot food hot, cold food cold, food can’t touch, everything eaten in a specific order, texture more important than taste)
-extreme importance placed on things being fair or just
-studying facial expressions, mannerisms, speaking patterns of people in person and on television to learn the right way to act in different social situations
-practicing making facial expressions in the mirror
-needing to know why a rule/procedure/regulation was created before I can follow it
-being called argumentative when asking clarifying questions I think are necessary
-feeling like everyone else got a manual for life that I wasn’t given
-and many, many more
As was the pattern throughout my life, I doubted myself. Maybe I was forcing these individual candles to pool together, trying to create a bonfire out of nothing.
To prove that I was seeing things that weren’t there, I sought out information that was more tangible. I found several assessments on reputable websites and took them all, many times. I took them in the morning, then in the afternoon, then waited a month and took them all again. The results come back the same each time. My scores are not borderline.
I had to do a lot of work to accept that I was likely autistic. Because of this, I realize it may take a lot of work for anyone who knows me to accept it as well, if they do at all. That part is out of my hands. I am focused on gaining the wisdom to know the difference between the things I can change and the things I can’t.
The room still has plenty of dark corners, but there is now enough light to see the repeating pattern in the wallpaper, the track worn in the carpet, the trash I no longer need.
Of course, now that all these lovely candles are lit, menopause decides to crash through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man and spray gasoline everywhere. My altar to Being A Girl now looks like the flaming gates of hell. Thankfully, I’ve acquired enough wisdom at this point to grab a fire extinguisher, along with a big bag of marshmallows.
Amy C. Amy Do. 
Talk to me