I Am Becoming

I have wabi sabi.

Wabi-sabi is a Japanese philosophy that finds beauty in imperfection, impermanence, and incompleteness.

My mum and I used to role-play conversations in the living room. She would give me scenarios, of how I can make friends and I’d practise what to say. 

I was learning the fundamentals of performance without even knowing.

I thought everyone did that with their parents.

I thought everyone else put in that level of prep for chit chat.

I would practice in the mirror, small talk, how to say ‘ we are having crazy weather today’.

Over and over again.

Practising my tone and inflexion. 

I felt like I had to practice being human.

I felt I had to find the right mask.

I always felt like I was going to say the wrong thing.

Those moments shaped me way before I had language for why.

English was one of my strongest subjects.

I used to spend hours, making up stories.

Making my own makeshift books, with paper, staples and sometimes string.

I would bind the story together.

Me with my mask on

I’m always scripting in my head. Always.

Planning what I’m going to say, or replaying what I already said.

Visualising possible outcomes. 

It’s like a computer system in my head. 

Storing old conversations and pulling up anecdotes that have made people laugh.

People say I’m articulate or good with words — they say it like it's natural.

Like it's something I was born with.

I’ve been working on it since I was little.

I’ve been rehearsing my whole life.

I am talented that for sureeeee but this is a craft.

I have poured hours into.

Trying to translate my soul, so it can be easier to hold.

I am a wordsmith.

I always felt off

Like I was two steps behind

the starting line 

Normal people 

you’re not like other

girls

you’re different 

different 

those words always sink in

i may seem 

exciting 

till I’m crying 

you tell me that

i am lying

i feel everything

too

Much 

i am too much 

maybe not enough 

you like it 

but you can never love it

love me

know me

i plaster on a smile 

i wish I was normal

i wish it was easy 

i wish I wasn’t performing

i wish you didn't find the real me

annoying

something is wrong with me

i can't keep this mask on

to perform me

i want to show true reality

i am done playing a fanatsy

When I was diagnosed with autism, everything started making sense; nothing about me changed inside.

I guess I started to feel safe in my own mind.

I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be misread.

Trying to communicate in a way that lands safely.

Masking on top of masking.

There are these moments that sit with me.

When someone tries to explain my own traits back to me, my own feelings and gives me advice I never asked for.

Treating me like a baby.

Being made to me feel like a problem.

A problem they must fix.

People noticing things about me and saying it in a way that cuts.

One moment in particular sticks out, like splinter still stuck in my mind.

I was sharing a story, something about my day that had bought me joy.

Getting really animated and there was laughing.

I thought we was laughing.

Laughing together.

Having fun.

I thought I was…being normal.

Then there words like a knife cut into the flow.

they said

you’re autistic, aren’t you? 

I nodded yes and asked

are you?

they said

no no no no

but they know people who are, so they could tell.

They started picking me apart.

She told me she could tell from how i was fidgeting with my hands,

From how when I got excited I got louder,

From how I couldn't stick to one accent.

She was smiling, like she had solved some big mystery.

I felt like I was under a microscope.

I felt this stabbing in my chest, I thought we was laughing together.

It hurt.

It hurts to be told your existence

is too much.

I hate being shushed, I don’t like being hushed.

If we are in a space that is public.

Why can’t we make and take up the space?

Why must we be small?

Acting like we don't exist at all

Why must we be quite?

How do we expect community to happen?

You hear someone having a conversation and then you jump in is that not how we make friends? 

All this policing

All this politeness

it’s small things — but they build up.

And they stay lodged in my chest long after everyone else has moved on.

There are moments of care too.

Moments where people really saw me.

People who looked after me.

People who gave me their capacity.

People who checked in.

People who met me where I was instead of trying to change me.

I remember, I was talking to a friend.

I felt like I’ve been talking for ages.

then I said sorry if I made you uncomfortable.

my friend said.

you need to stop saying sorry, I like hearing your stories

They told me it was

okay, not to be okay

they are here even

for me

on my rainy days.

It made me realise I actually do have access needs.

I’ve tried to minimise them for so long.

I’m still unlearning the idea that I’m difficult.

I’m still learning it’s OK to have needs.

Now I’m starting to accept the whole picture.

The scripting, the sensitivity, the intensity, the way I speak, the way I think.

I’m understanding the kid in the living room with her mum rehearsing conversations.

I’m understanding the adult who gets thrown off by tone shifts or unexpected changes.

I’m understanding my reactions, my strengths, my humour, my bluntness, my softness.

I’m autistic.

I’m me.

And all of that is allowed.

I think I just needed someone to tell me it was OK to have needs.

And I’m telling that to myself now.