I have a long history of difficulty with interpersonal interactions and have always struggled to find a place for myself among everyone else. My teenage years were spent feeling out of the loop. Many neurodeviant people will no doubt relate to these experiences, and many queer people can too. If you’re in both of these demographics, join the club! You’re in good company. I am an autistic, genderqueer lesbian and experience these three identities as closely intertwined.
It’s not just me. Studies in publications such as Autism: The International Journal of Research and Practice and Autism Research: Official Journal of the International Society for Autism Research, indicate a proven association between autism and non-normative expressions of gender and sexual orientation and identity. More anecdotally, almost every autistic person in my social circle has some flavor of queer, so perhaps both groups tend to flock together.
When I realized I liked women, I thought that was the answer to my problems with relationships with others. Being flirted with by boys was always awkward, but those days were over! However, I couldn’t crack whatever code everyone else knew. Even when women made passes at me, I still felt out of my depth. Everyone had expectations and co-workers looked at me like I had two heads when I didn’t understand them. People relied a lot on innuendo or body language. I wanted some kind of field guide, imagining myself exploring a distant jungle, full of girls who want to compare hand sizes.
Once I found out I was autistic, I was able to access the way my brain worked. I wasn’t indifferent, I just perceived things differently. People with autism are often treated by peers, family and society as if we are incapable of forming and maintaining romantic or sexual relationships. Either for a supposed lack of command or good judgment, or for the implication that we are unwelcome. I have also been unwanted for my identity as a transgender person and as a lesbian.
I first thought I might be autistic when I was seventeen, after making friends who also suspected I was. The closer I got to these friends, the harder it became to ignore our similarities in worldview or thought processes. I felt like I was chatting with my reflection. What kept me from fully embracing this identity at the time was my lack of understanding of how differently autism can manifest itself in each autistic person. For example, I had trouble recognizing my own self-stimulating behaviors or annoyances. I knew people who showed more obvious discomfort, and it wasn’t me.
As an adult, I learned about the mask. Masking refers to how autistic people are taught to hide or conceal their autistic traits in order to avoid bullying or discrimination. As I dug into the depths of my brain, I could recall many instances where I stopped myself from having a certain reaction or behavior because I was afraid of being seen as weird. I bottled it all, to be respectable. It was draining.
I had a similar experience with my queerness. As an adult, I see no point in hiding my LGBTQ+ identity from others. I feel like people know just by looking at me, and they’ll judge me based on that, so why try to hide? It was a different story in my childhood. I can identify now that I’ve been queer my whole life, but I didn’t know gays existed until I was two years old. Once I got the impression that something had happened, it took longer to not talk about it. I couldn’t be gay because I don’t look like “X” or act like “Y”. Like autism, queerness presents itself differently to everyone. It’s just another spectrum.
I am also non-binary. Being non-binary makes sense to me. I tried and failed many times at existing within the gender binary, and it felt like I was trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Being a lesbian has eased society’s approval and broadened my understanding of myself. Discovering my autism has done that, and more, but it’s a work in progress. Although I am no longer ashamed of my queer identity, I was more hesitant to reveal my autism to others. However, overcoming this block can be very rewarding.
Something that helped me was to come up with a kind of script to recite when I talked to people close to me about my autism. This has been especially helpful when revealing to others who may not have an accurate impression of what autism looks like, outside of the stereotype of white, little boys. I also tend to stumble over my words and get off track when I don’t give myself a script to stick to. This strategy may also be useful for you if you have the same problems with concentrating your thoughts in real time.
I have compiled lists of commonly agreed upon symptoms of autism that I have experienced in the past and present. all my special interests. my motivated behaviors. and my scores on self-assessments such as the RAADS-R, CAT-Q, and Autism Spectrum Quotient. I’ve also noted the statistical results of these assessments, where appropriate, to make it known where I stand among others who have done them. I relay this information to the person I’m talking to and answer any questions they may have once I’m done.
When I talk to older people, I’ll include a few words about how the diagnostic criteria and language around autism have changed since my childhood. While some people may not like having their beliefs challenged, it gives me some peace of mind to know that I laid out all the information to the best of my ability. At that point, I try to accept that the person’s response is ultimately out of my hands.
My wife has been a huge supporter of my autism journey. They were diagnosed around the time we started dating and were instrumental in my own self-awareness as our relationship progressed. We have a lot in common outside of our autism, but I think the community has allowed us to connect on a deeper level. While not everyone may have friends or partners who are also autistic, the perspective of a knowledgeable outsider can certainly be helpful on your path to better understanding your neurodivergence.
I have never felt more than with my wife. While we unfortunately do not inhabit the same brain, we do know how the other thinks because of our shared experiences as autistic queer people. My identities and neurotype are not a deterrent to them. they have made our relationship stronger than any other either of us has had. My wife is attracted to me, regardless of my gender on a given day, and they know that extends to them. We pay attention to each other’s social batteries and can recognize when the other is overstimulated. I don’t feel like I have to explain myself too much to them. We wouldn’t have the bond we have now if they didn’t allow me to be open about all aspects of my identity.
It can be incredibly affirming to be in a relationship where all parties are neurodivergent, but it’s still important to create an open dialogue with your partners and not assume they can read your mind. Even though my wife and I know each other very well, what has been the key to keeping us separate from each other is letting the other know what’s going on in our heads. We are both autistic and both have ADHD, but these conditions manifest differently from person to person. There have been a few instances where my wife or I have made assumptions about the other’s thoughts that have resulted in miscommunication. These miscommunications were all little things that will inevitably come up when you live with a new person, but they could also all have been avoided with the help of clear communication. We both have some problems with verbal expression at times, so it might be easier for us to communicate via text. If you can’t communicate via text or written words, sticking to yes or no questions can go a long way in times when your partner isn’t talking.
Some topics that are important to have a simple and honest conversation about when one or more people in a relationship are autistic are things like: negative sensory stimuli, what the disturbance might look or sound like to a person, and how to move forward when you, you , or both are overstimulated. My wife has a lot of negative texture stimuli as well as some sound stimuli. I mainly have problems with sound, but I also have smells. To accommodate them, we have excluded velvet from our home decor and furnishings. We also have rules that I have to vacuum when I’m not home and that I have to close the bathroom door when drying my hair. For me, my wife will alert me to sudden loud sounds, like the garbage collection running or the use of noisy tools. It is also understood between us that I can retire to our bedroom when they are cooking something strong smelling, without offending them. Arousal for my wife can involve clicking and repeating sounds, playing with our arsenal of fidget toys, and using American Sign Language to sing along to the music. For me, it can be things like finger tapping and squeezing, arm and body movements, and playing with swim toys. I also feel comfort and central coverage by covering my head and body with a blanket when I’m at home, and my wife really respects that. Overstimulation care typically looks like quiet time in a dark room for both of us, either together or apart. We’re especially mindful of each other’s boundaries and personal space when we’re overstimulated or exhausted, as we both know how stressful boundary-pushing can be when it’s raw.
I’ve come a long way since I first came out as a queer person, but I feel confident in saying that recognizing my autism was even more difficult. Being a fraternity school kid had surrounded me with queerphobia and queerphobia-motivated bullying, of course, but the ableist rhetoric at school and the culture that fostered it was inclusive. Many of my peers spread rumors about my weirdness growing up, but I was called just as much. Even from people I respected. Admitting I was queer after being accused of being so filled me with shame, and I felt the same when I realized I was autistic. There’s no shame in being queer or autistic, but I hated the feeling of other people telling me who I was and ultimately being right.
It’s been incredibly healing to find the community of people who understand me and get what I’ve been through. Many of my close friends had similar experiences of being bullied or other suspects as children, just because they were queer and autistic. It made me realize that there was never anything wrong with me or them. If I tell my loved ones that they should not be ashamed, why should I not extend that grace to myself? All the different coming-outs I’ve had in my life have taught me who my real support system is. It is because of them that I feel comfortable enough to openly claim all aspects of myself. I’m queer, autistic and doing just fine. I wish the same for you.
