Wed, 4 Jan 2023
Difference Over Deficits
We're a few days into 2023 and, while I'm quite aware that there's no cosmic significance to the flipping calendar pages beyond that which is inherent in the mere passage of time itself, there's just something about a new year that really fuels a rare optimistic spirit that inhabits my body for about a month. It always fades, of course. In much the same way that new year's resolutions never seem to stick, life and the universe always seem to get the last laugh and say, "Ha! You thought things would change simply because you bought a new calendar?" And while I've never consciously believed that to be the case, my behavior and mindsets at the beginning of the year indicate otherwise. This year is no exception.
Except that it is.
This year truly is different than any year prior for me. 2023 is the first year where I have a genuine understanding of who I am and why I am who I am. This is the first year that I have even the theoretical capacity to understand—and therefore the first year that I can truly leverage—my strengths rather than conflating them with weaknesses. In years gone by, I've felt great shame for several of the utterly neutral traits I exhibit. And I've done this to my great detriment. I have denied myself that which I've needed, and I've indulged or capitulated to that which destroys me; and all because I thought that's what I was supposed to do.
I've been unlearning those poisonous fallacies, but the process has been slow, at least perceptually—maybe not actually.
2022 brought everything crashing down around me and I was stuck in a protracted state of depression and anxiety and burnout for months and months—to the point where I legitimately wondered, "Have I already felt the last happiness I will ever feel?"
It was inevitable. I'd been on a collision course with collapse for a long time. I'm honestly amazed it didn't happen sooner. I couldn't evade mental breakdown forever, though. 2022 was the year those chickens came home to roost. At the midpoint of the year, I gave myself a 50/50 chance of surviving to see the end of the year, if I was feeling generous and ambitious.
But I did survive. And I learned things. I'm not going to say the ordeal made me stronger, because the opposite is true. What I will say, though, is the ordeal made me wiser. I know myself better than I ever have and, after some months of therapy and introspection, I’ve come to a few very important conclusions.
***
I am done with deficit-based thinking. In the immediate wake of my Autism diagnosis, a lot of what I initially understood was framed exclusively through a lens of deficits, disorder, and dysfunction. This wasn't any individual's fault, but it was problematic nevertheless. For one thing, it's deeply ableist. My "deficits" are only deficient when set against a neurotypical backdrop, using neurotypical modes of existence as the baseline—as the only correct way to be—with all else being undesirable or deviant.
The diagnostic criteria in the DSM-V don't make it easier. Autism is clinically defined entirely by deficits. Worse than that, though, those criteria are only deficits insofar as they inconvenience neurotypicals, make neurotypicals uncomfortable, or are quirks that neurotypicals simply don’t understand and can’t relate to. The DSM-V completely ignores the strengths inherent in the Autistic neurotype and pathologizes otherwise entirely neutral phenomena (see, for example, what it has to say about "restrictive or repetitive interests," which the Autistic community commonly refers to as "special interests;" basically, our interests are seen as strange, and therefore, evidence of neurological defect).
Even using the term "diagnosis" feels problematic to me. Autism is not a disease or malady I'm afflicted with; it's simply the way my neurobiological circuitry is wired and is, by itself, entirely neutral. Instead of "diagnosed" as Autistic, "identified" as Autistic is an alternative I've heard that resonates much better.
***
There are two key areas I'm investing most of my energy in right now, two aspects of being an Autistic in the modern world that are most challenging for me (consciously—I'm as done with absolutes and certainty as I am with deficit-based thinking). To wit, most of my energy here at the start of 2023 is being invested in better understanding how executive functioning and I can develop a workable long-term relationship, as well as externalizing my interoceptive sense so I can turn intuition into cognition.
I don't know how much of this journey I'll share publicly simply because it seems I daily learn superseding information, so any time I feel like I have a firm grasp on something, extenuating circumstances have this irritating tendency to say, "Yes, and…" Thus, much of what I learn over these next several months (likely years) will be in a near constant state of relative flux and fluidity—the word dynamism comes to mind.
Whether or not I break this down on a deep and detailed level in the near future, though, I do want to highlight here some examples that have profoundly changed my own relationship with myself.
Shortly after answering the Autism question, I began researching and weighing what I was researching against what I knew of my own life. As I learned about what executive functioning is, I thought something to the tune of, "Okay, I'm Autistic, which means I have deficits in executive functioning that make disruptions to routine or the task at hand disproportionately upsetting when compared with the general population. I need to find ways to compensate for, overcome, or otherwise circumvent these deficits in executive functioning to mitigate burnout and improve my quality of life."
I no longer think this. The broad strokes aren't wrong per se, but it's a very ableist mentality, a glass-half-empty way of looking at something that doesn't have to be viewed in a negative light at all. Indeed, to view it in a negative light will likely make finding workable solutions ironically more elusive.
No, these days, I find myself thinking something more along the lines of, "Okay, I'm Autistic, which means I have executive functioning differences and those differences come with unique strengths and weaknesses. For example, I may not be able to switch between disparate tasks with ease, but I can focus in on one task with incredible efficacy and thoroughness unparalleled by many of my peers."
In the case of interoception, here, too, I don't have deficiencies, but rather differences. For example, I don't intuit my emotions or physiological needs. When my brain receives experiential somatic sensations from the body, I struggle to either notice them, or to know what they mean. I still feel all those sensations; I just lack an automatic process for interpreting (and thereby knowing what to do with) those somatic signals.
Even this has some distinct advantages, albeit with nontrivial risk factors. I sometimes forget to eat, which is a problem. But I have a high threshold for pain and stress, which have come in handy on more than one occasion, like during an ultramarathon, for example.
I probably understand my interoception less than any of my eight senses (yes, there are eight—and I would contend that there could be nine). But irrespective of my current understanding, what I know is that learning how best to navigate my executive functioning and interoceptive differences will allow me the self-understanding, self-compassion, and self-awareness I need to grow.
***
2023 will be the year of exploring my differences with an eye first to their strengths, and then to any potential pitfalls, challenges, or liabilities they may present (and specifically in that order). I will not pathologize myself or that which is innate to me. I am whole; I always have been. The only difference now is that I know it.