At the age of 28, I walked into my Occupational Therapist's office for the first time. I walked in, an utterly broken and defeated human being.
For 28 years, I had lived my life as an Autistic person who didn't know I was Autistic. 28 years of trying to fit in. 28 years of trying to be "normal", when I didn't know what was "wrong" with me in the first place. 28 years of hearing that I was the problem. 28 years of believing everyone hated me. 28 years of hating myself. 28 years of being used. 28 years of feeling defective. My entire working life, through multiple jobs, of being told, through words and actions, that I was basically both useless and worthless.
As my first assignment, my OT asked me to list three things that I liked about myself.
I couldn't do it.
Believe me when I am telling you, that I sat there in her office, struggling to find something that I liked and appreciated myself for, and literally could not think of a thing. It had been hammered into my head for so long, that I was good at nothing, and good FOR nothing, that I wholeheartedly and sincerely believed it.
Finally, with a little prompting, I came up with one thing: "I'm good at being nice to people."
Yes, I was good at being nice to people. Partly because I didn't EVER want anyone to feel the way I felt, but also because the fawn response in the face of trauma, being overly nice and pleasant and friendly and submissive and people-pleasing, was the only thing that had kept me safe.
Gently, very gently, my OT reminded me of something else; I cared enough about myself, to reach out for help. Because I knew that if I didn't, I would very likely end up in a mental hospital... or as a statistic. And I didn't want to end up as a statistic. There was still a part of me, no matter how many nights I prayed to die in my sleep, and dreaded waking up the next morning, that wanted to live. There was still a part of me that believed I was worth fighting for. Which is why I chose one morning to walk into a Mental Health Walk-In Clinic.
It was the bottom of the barrel for me. I ended up on Social Assistance shortly after, not because I was "lazy" or "didn't want to work", as most people say about people on government assistance... but because if one more person told me I was useless, I would die.
And I didn't want to die. I wanted to live.
Six months later, with my OT's support, I got my Autism diagnosis, along with a diagnosis of Other/Unspecified Trauma Disorder, which has now been confirmed as meeting and exceeding all the criteria for PTSD.
And slowly, very slowly, with the patient help of my OT, I began the process of recovery and healing. Of learning to love myself. Of learning to understand my brain. Of learning to, for the first time in my life, both identify and meet my sensory and social and emotional needs. Of learning that it's OKAY to have needs. Of learning it's okay to ask for support. Of learning how to build my own support network.
Slowly, we began to pick apart the tangled threads of the rat's nest that was my mind, and wind them up into neat and organized piles. There's the sensory overwhelm. There's the low self-esteem. There's the anxiety. There's the demand avoidance. There's the physical issues like gastrointestinal problems, hypermobility, and proprioceptive dysfunction. There's the religious trauma. There's the trauma from being bullied at work. There's the overwhelming need to fawn and people-please. There's the SIBs (Self-Injurious Behaviours, different from Self-Harm) like biting, hitting, or pinching myself.
And bit by bit, we started the process of building me back up.
Fast forward to now, at age 34. I still live independently, but now with confidence and pride in my home. I'm a musician who has performed in various venues. I have a job I feel fully supported in, where I am now an asset instead of a problem. I have a small, close-knit circle of friends whom I adore, and who I know have my back just as I have theirs. I have found healing and joy in my nature-based spiritual path.
When I first began seeing my OT, she had, admittedly, not really worked with any Autistic individuals before. Helping me was a learning curve for her too. A challenge, but an opportunity for her to grow her practice as she helped me.
As of today, six years later, she is one of the few, if not the only, Occupational Therapist specializing in helping Autistic individuals in this area. She is a strong advocate for Occupational services for Autistic adults on a provincial level. And she is using me (with my permission, of course) as a case study and an example of how Occupational Therapy services can save lives. It's incredible for me, knowing that my story is helping to pave the way for other Autistic adults to get the support and services that they need.
Just a few short weeks ago, I hugged my OT goodbye as we both shed tears. She's starting her new journey now... the journey of being a Mom. And she is going to be absolutely incredible at it.
As for me, I will take the tools and strategies she taught me, share them with others as much as I can, and keep on living my best life.
Thanks, Sam. We did it.
