Coming out


I have been thinking for a little while about whether to write this post, and what to write in it. This post is about Autism, Asperger Syndrome, and a personal journey. There are risks to writing this down publicly, but I think the benefits outweigh the risks, so here goes.

Towards the end of 2017, after a year on a waiting list, I had an assessment and received a diagnosis of Asperger Syndrome. In some senses this marks the end of one journey and the beginning of another. So let’s start with the journey that ended with diagnosis.

I don’t know where to start the story. Birth? Childhood? We discussed my schooling in the assessment, and my dad accompanied me to tell the psychologist about my early life. (I also took all my school reports to the assessment, but that’s a whole other blog post!) Long story short, any peculiarities in my childhood were probably masked by the fact that I was very highly achieving at school, so I was seen as being unusual. Studying maths at Cambridge, I really wasn’t that much of an outlier – even though I did not suspect I was on the autism spectrum, I was aware that I fitted in very well with fellow mathmos and their geek culture, pedantry and precision.

I then started my teaching career. How I became a teacher is another good story, but again, one for another day. The structure and routine of teaching fitted me very well, and my Asperger Syndrome continued unnoticed and undetected. I was me, quirky, mad about maths, a bit eccentric, but no-one ever suggested autism. I taught kids with AS diagnosis, and I was patient and kind and understanding of their needs, and angry when they didn’t get the support they needed. My little brother was making his way through secondary school with his Asperger diagnosis, occasionally struggling, but excelling at all things mathematical and logical. (He followed me to Cambridge, did maths, and is now a software developer.) I read books about autism, I attended training to better help the children I taught who were on the spectrum, and I never applied any of it to myself.

After five and a half years in the classroom, the opportunity to work for NRICH presented itself. I was terrified about leaving the safety of the classroom and stepping into the unknown, but I did it, and started to carve a niche for myself. I have been at NRICH for 9 years now, and I think I’ve been pretty successful.

Throughout my adult life though, there was a bit of a black cloud looming. In 2010, my GP diagnosed depression, and prescribed me antidepressants. I also sought counselling, and had various types of talking therapy on and off for the next half dozen years. One of those counsellors, when I was talking about Aspergers Syndrome in my extended family, asked as a throwaway question in the way counsellors do, whether I thought I was on the spectrum. At the time, I dismissed it, but then in recent years I kept coming back to it.

I read the experiences of late-diagnosed women, and it resonated. I read about mathematicians with autism, and their experiences sounded familiar. I started writing things down. I did the “Autism Quotient” quiz, and consistently scored in the 40s (People on the autism spectrum usually score in the 30s or higher). After following autism advocates on Twitter and reading about the diagnostic process, I went to my GP, and said I thought the depression and anxiety were symptoms of undiagnosed autism. He agreed it was a possibility worth investigating, and referred me.

When I told people I thought I might be autistic, there were a few common responses: “of course you’re not, autistic people can’t communicate and you communicate very well!” Or “even if you were, why does it matter? You’re doing fine!” Or “my cousin’s son is autistic and you’re not like him.” But other people, particularly autistic people, were supportive and encouraging. Check it out, they said. Yes, that sounds familiar, they said. You are not alone in feeling like that, they said. I am grateful for friends both autistic and not, who supported me and encouraged me to search for an answer.

Then in December I spent three exhausting hours talking through every aspect of my life, looking at all the ways in which I am different, odd, peculiar, dysfunctional, a misfit. And at the end, the psychologist said yes, I have Asperger Syndrome. I hide it very well; I have excellent coping strategies, but ultimately I have spent 36 years trying to make sense of a world designed for neurotypical people without ever realising I wasn’t one of them.

Diagnosis was a huge relief. Many things suddenly came into focus, I have begun looking back over things that have happened and been able to make sense of them through this new lens. My depression was a result of exhaustion at masking my natural ways of being and responding in order to try to fit in. My anxiety was a fear of the disruption of routine and the security of the known. My low self esteem was from a sense of not being very good at being neurotypical. Just those simple words, “you have Asperger Syndrome” made me feel amazing, because I don’t have to look at my failings as a “normal person” but rather celebrate my successes as an autistic one!

People weren’t sure how to respond when I shared the news. Those I love most dearly were quick to remind me that nothing has really changed, I am still unique, quirky, wonderful, expressive Alison, I just have a new label that better explains me to others. I think “congratulations” is a nice response, although those who took the time to ask “how do you feel about it?” are my favourites. Those who say things like “are you sure? You don’t seem very autistic to me…” can… well, I think maybe those are words that are inappropriate for this blog.

And why have I chosen to post this rather personal narrative on what is usually a maths/pedagogy blog? Well from now on, my journey through life includes the knowledge that I see the world differently from most. When I work with students and there are aspiring young mathematicians who are autistic, I am a role model for them in a slightly different way than before. I am fascinated at how many people on the spectrum seem to find a niche in mathematics and I would love to explore that further. But most of all, I am not ashamed of my diagnosis, and I want people to know, this is what an Actually Autistic person looks like. I am still me, but now you know a little bit more about who I really am.


4 Responses to “Coming out”

  1. Ann Says:

    Wow! Well done you 😊
    My daughter has a diagnosis of High Functioning Autism (aka Aspergers) and Maths is her ‘thing’
    Check out a wonderful campaign #doilookautisticyet
    One of the things that bugs me most is when people tell me my daughter ‘doesn’t look autistic!’
    Celebrate your wonderful view of the world, it needs more people like you and my daughter to change minds, perceptions and understanding of the world we live in 😊

    • Alison Says:

      Thank you so much for taking the time to comment, Ann. I hope that like me, your daughter finds a niche for herself in the wonderful world of mathematics, and that the world continues to become more accepting of diversity as she finds her feet!

  2. Siena Says:

    Hi Alison, I really enjoyed reading your blog and commend you for playing a part in changing the general perception of what constitutes “autism.” The more we share our stories, the more informed people will be about the fact that autism is a spectrum and no one autistic person is the same. From one mathematician to another, wishing you all the best.

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