In the depths of the pandemic, amidst prolonged isolation, a profound realization struck me—I had been "masking" my entire life. The norms of social behavior, considered typical, were a facade I meticulously adhered to until the pandemic unraveled this charade. The more I shed this guise, the more contentment and authenticity I discovered within myself.
Drawing parallels between recognizing one's autism and acknowledging one's sexual orientation, I couldn't help but contemplate. As a bisexual woman, my awareness of my sexual identity didn't require a professional's validation. However, societal norms dictate a different path for those discovering their autism. A formal diagnosis seems indispensable, although its practical value in societal integration remains scarce. Despite lacking a formal diagnosis for much of my life, I inherently knew I was different, though the reasons eluded me.
The quest for affirmation led me to extensive sessions with a psychologist, recounting my life's narrative, undertaking personality assessments, and cataloging traits that resonated with me. The devastating blow came when, despite my conviction, the psychologist negated my belief in being autistic. Struggling to maintain composure while inwardly disconnecting, I queried the rationale behind his judgment.
My certainty stemmed from hours spent poring over global TikTok communities, finding solace in shared experiences that finally illuminated my life's enigma. A late ADHD diagnosis had failed to provide a complete explanation, leaving me with longstanding suspicions about my autism, suspicions that now solidified into certainty.
In a jarring dismissal, the psychologist cited my profession as an escort as incompatible with autism, a statement that left me bewildered. My employment in this field, undertaken due to job instability in my 20s, offered a unique perspective—I discovered a profound connection with clients, particularly with disabled, chronically ill, and mentally distressed individuals. Understanding their loneliness, I derived fulfillment in offering companionship on my own terms.
However, my psychologist, failing to grasp this nuanced dynamic, hastily labeled me with avoidant personality disorder, attributing it to my disinterest in forming a traditional family.
The aftermath of this diagnosis plunged me into emotional turmoil. Disregarded by a professional who questioned my lived experiences, I grappled with the psychological distress. Despite academic qualifications bolstering his stance, I couldn't reconcile with this dissonance.
Turning to the online community of sex workers became my refuge. Desperate for validation and support, I reached out on social media, seeking connections with other autistic individuals engaged in similar professions. Doubts clouded my mind—was my psychologist right? Could being an escort clash with an autistic individual's inherent tendencies?
The ensuing uncertainty loomed large, painting a complex picture of societal perceptions intersecting with personal identity, leaving me grappling for validation and understanding amidst professional skepticism.