“I am not alone, and what I experience is real.”

“Just living as myself is a powerful act of justice.”

Growing up in a largely segregated area of Denver, what I knew about autism, I learned from characters like Sheldon on “The Big Bang Theory.” Autistic kids were white boys who really liked trains and flapped their hands. I didn’t know autism could “look” different or present in other ways; neither did my mom. In a community where there was a lot of stigma around mental health due to the severe lack of resources, it would be better if my differences were just… differences.

I was fortunate to have attended college with the help of nonprofits that support disadvantaged youth, but it wasn’t easy. None of my professors, nor I, saw my neurodivergence. Looking back, I understand now how much accommodations could have helped me stand on an equal footing with my peers. But at the time, I punished myself for failing to conform to an environment not designed for people like me.

After college, the pandemic turned my life upside down: I got laid off, lost my apartment, and struggled financially. When I heard about a service opportunity on a remote Alaskan island, I was ready to try something different. In that small community of several thousand people, and working with the same group every day, my differences became more visible. A few interactions made me feel lonelier than ever and I pushed myself to get answers. In my late 20s after coming back home due to health issues, I received my official diagnoses: dysgraphia, ADHD, and autism.

I turned to the internet to learn more about my diagnoses. AANE was one of the few places I found with a virtual support group specifically for Autistic adults of color. There are a range of intersecting identities in our group like age and culture, but we all had a similar struggle growing up: none of us fit the stereotype of autism and we went undiagnosed; we exhausted ourselves code-switching on top of masking to fit in; we missed out on support that would’ve made our lives easier and, ultimately, less lonely.

When you’re a kid and you don’t see any adults like you, you believe something is wrong with you. You start questioning if you can make it to adulthood because you can’t find an adult who sees the world like you do. I thought my avoidance of physical contact meant I could never be loved. I thought that I had to “grow out” of my stimming.

It has been meaningful to realize how strong my support group peers and I have had to be, especially navigating a society that doesn’t allow us to fully express ourselves. The group has also helped me see that it is not my fault: I should have been visible, and I deserved what other kids and adults had by having their support needs met.

Above all, the group has been validating: I am not alone, and what I experience is real. Just living as my authentic self is a powerful act of justice.

While it is promising that more Autistic people like me are finally becoming visible, we all still need support, validation, and community. AANE provides this every day for thousands of people across the country through their programs and services. Please join me in making a gift to sustain their vital work today.

-Seung, AANE Community Member

Photo credits: Banner image – Dr. Misaki Saito; Meet Seung image – Xander