A Neurodivergent’s Battle

The first thing that went wrong that morning was I overslept. Turning over to see the clock read 8:03 AM instead of 7:00 made my stomach lurch. Of course, all I wanted to do was roll over and go back to sleep, but that would only make the situation worse.

It wasn’t a normal Sunday. Pesach was tomorrow. There were groceries to be bought. Dishes to be kashered. Endless preparations looming in the back of my mind. I couldn’t relax; not for a second.

Dragging myself out of bed, I stirred my snoozing husband next to me, already annoyed he hadn’t woken first as usual. In a poor attempt to soothe myself, I remembered the bribe of a promised bagel—one last taste of the forbidden chametz before tomorrow evening—but only if I left to run errands.

The day had been scheduled. I just needed to keep as close to it as possible, even if I already screwed it all up.

By the time the husband and I were on the same page, somewhat adhering to the mental schedule I outlined in my mind, the clock read closer to 10:00 AM than I wanted. This meant I needed to rearrange my stops. I needed to get to Costco as soon as possible in the hopes of beating whatever crowds could be assembling that very minute as Costco opened. Realizing my impending doom, my dread manifested into jittery nerves, a short temper, and an unsettled stomach.

Good thing I hadn’t eaten that bagel yet.

I think I cried about two times to my husband about how much I didn’t want to go to Costco without him before I left, but we both knew if we were going to get through our monumental list of chores before seder the next night—I had to face this alone.

“Besides, I’m a grown woman.” I repeated to myself for probably the fiftieth time. I’d been to Costco plenty of times on my own. I could do this, right?

Wrong.

When I rolled up to Costco about another hour later, bagel in hand, my bravado shriveled like grass withering in the summer sun. I sat in the car practicing my vinyasa breathing I learned in yoga to stimulate my vagus nerve as I slowly savoured my everything bagel with jalapeño schmear and capers, focusing on the moment. It helped, but I knew I would need more armor to endure the crowd ahead. Thank goodness I never leave the house without my noise-cancelling headphones, I thought. I hoped it would be enough.

As I entered the Costco, I could already sense the quizzical looks questioning my choice of protection, but Panic! At the Disco blasted me away into oblivion. Soon I stopped noticing as I did my best to navigate the aisles, keeping to my lesser travelled pathways, but the crowd’s reach even found me in the back rows amongst the miscellaneous pallets of storage bins and small appliances. My maneuvers only kept me safe for so long, and soon I stood in the eye of the storm: the register lines.

“Not much longer,” I continued to remind myself as my control slipped; my need to run and hide, to cover myself in a mountain of blankets and burrow like some sort of threatened animal, swelling. That nervous energy turned to electricity firing through my veins as I neared the door, as I saw the sky. Salvation was near! My skin no longer crawled with the glances of passers-by; the idea of someone standing too close to me; the vibration and hum of the crowd brushing the nape of my neck sending shivers down my spine. Instead, I felt them all converge and solidify like cooling molten lead in my abdomen.

As the door to my Beetle closed, my tiny car packed to the brim, all my suppressed jitters returned, bubbling to the surface, the swell rising hire than the dam I had built until finally it cracked, and all flooded out of me in a torrent of tears and sobs.

My jitters turned to trembling, and I no longer trusted myself to drive home. The concerned voice of my husband on the other end of the phone soothed the worst of these sensations so I could shove it all back down inside, allowing me to regain some equilibrium, no matter how fragile, and return home where I ensconced myself in my haven, a cocoon of blankets in my snuggly bed, where I finally meltdown down in safety and relative peace.

You see, what should have been an easy errand, a “quick” trip to Costco, late on a Sunday morning, was not for me. Why am I, a grown woman, incapable of facing something as mundane as grocery shopping by myself?

That’s because like only 1-2% of the world’s population, I’m autistic.

Going to the grocery store isn’t an easy or quick errand for me. It’s like entering a warzone, and to do so, I must prepare myself for battle.

This is only one of many new experiences for me since my diagnosis in January earlier this year. It’s why I’m glad, relieved even, I took a much needed break from writing this blog as I regained my sense of self, as I overcame my skill regression (which is the WORST), as I relearn and continue growing into the me that’s always been there but I’ve suppressed for years.

This is only a taste of what my life has been like the last seven months. Only recently did I feel like I got my mojo back. Each day was—and sometimes still is—a battle, and I found myself struggling like a toddler almost, navigating the social “norms” and demands of adulthood I had once juggled I thought masterfully.

Of course, that would be a lie. Truth is, I never did.

Errands, forced socialising in the workplace, and other forms of modern-day torture for the neurodivergent were, are, all difficult for me. My only proficiency, my only skill, was masking the tempest raging inside me. Like I heard someone on social media say, masking your neurodivergence is like trying to stuff a mattress you ordered online back into its box. Not only is it impossible, but it doesn’t belong there.

All this suppression exhausted me. It was only after receiving my diagnosis have I been able to keep my mattress out of its box and rest.

Despite how challenging it has been, and the difficulties which come with neurodivergence every single day living in a privileged society catered to behaviours alien to my own—I’m learning how beautiful and fascinating my neurodivergence is.

Sure there are days I have a horrible meltdown and the resounding feeling is wishing I wasn’t autistic, but those moments are rare. I know I’m autistic for a reason.

Let’s keep finding out why together.