My Progress And Maturity As An Autistic Adult

Author's Note and Disclaimer: Readers should be aware that the formal and extensive vocabulary used in this post (and the author's work generally) is a reflection of the author's autistic background. This specific blog post is a personal account documenting the author's autism spectrum journey and detailing the progress and maturation achieved through resources utilized over the course of their life.

The Triumph of an Autistic Journey

As a man on the autism spectrum, I have not merely received support and resources; I have harnessed them, transforming potential challenges into tangible skill sets in social aptitude and behavioral regulation. My formal diagnosis at age nine - over two decades ago - marked not a limitation, but the defining starting point of a trajectory that has seen me experience, live through, and unequivocally succeed beyond all initial expectations from youth into adulthood.

At the outset, I faced the brutal, narrow-minded perceptions of my school peers: the "weird kid who flapped his arms," an object of discomfort and avoidance. While I, alongside the school psychologist, bravely attempted to educate my fifth-grade class on the manifestation of my autism, that early effort yielded only minimal shifts in their treatment,

As the years advanced, the perception of me as the "weirdo with the disability" became a cruel reality before I forged my own narrative. I endured unfathomable teasing, particularly during the critical, vulnerable years of junior high. The cruelty escalated to the point where a necessary transfer to a therapeutic program was required to rehabilitate my fundamental sense of self-worth. Even upon returning to a mainstream environment, that persistent, cruel teasing was a formidable obstacle, making every school day a difficult victory.

The therapeutic program that allowed me to restore my self-worth in junior high was called the Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP). The aspects of PHP that helped boost my self-worth were that it provided some relief from the academic strain of focusing on my schoolwork, while also allowing me to manage the teasing I was experiencing at the time. PHP was very impactful because, for the month I was part of it, I was able to interact with adults who relieved a lot of the tension that my former junior high school caused. PHP was comforting and allowed me to feel safe in an environment where a lot of people outside of PHP were verbally and emotionally harmful to me, related to my autism, and in general.

I also took a social skills course, upon my autism becoming official at age nine, until my high school graduation nine years later. That therapy was called Speech Therapy in my school; it was a helpful Special Education resource, and other autistic peers were in Speech Therapy with me. It featured a few different exercises, such as a social skills textbook, where the skills that autistic people struggle with (e.g., reciprocal conversation, reading nonverbal social cues, and self-awareness of unexpected and "abnormal" (or unusual) behaviors) were explained to help the autistic students learn for increased social opportunities.

I was taught throughout that therapy about reciprocating in conversation, which means to ask people about themselves and their days, to ensure the other person feels respected and cared about. People with autism do not naturally recognize the reciprocal nature of conversation, since they are neurologically wired, meaning in their brains, to sound more self-focused and talk about themselves and their very intense, specialized areas of interest. That is not to say that autistic people are self-focused to the degree that they are "bad" at talking to or disinterested; it is just unnatural for how they are wired to learn what neurotypical people know already.

That is an important aspect of autism for the majority of neurotypical people to understand; just because we sound self-focused (i.e., "selfish") in our conversations, that does not mean we are uncaring about people's feelings or opinions. The autistic style of communication and conversation is just more self-centered as a result of the mental wiring of how autism affects the brain and mind; however, we can learn how to be more reciprocal and perceptive with the therapy I had to be more engaging and friendly to others, as well as how to modify the unexpected behaviors depending on the time and place.

The "selfish" communication style is a misconception of autism that I am happy to disabuse, or prove wrong, because with hard work and support, I have learned to be a reciprocal and caring conversationalist. I say "selfish," which is a derogatory description as it is, because I was described that way for a long time in an unreasonable and judgmental manner.

I have had to work hard, with Speech Therapy and independently, to learn reciprocal social skills through experience, trial, and error, which has been beneficial to my social opportunities, and I am proud of that. However, on behalf of the autistic community, though it comes off as selfish, we are not selfish in conversation; it is just not natural to us until we learn it.

My freshman and sophomore years of high school brought a transition to less intense, yet still hurtful, social friction. The hateful epithets may have lessened, but the dismissive language and unkind sentiments persisted, fueled by a lack of understanding regarding my autistic presentation. However, a profound shift occurred in eleventh grade: as my dedicated social skills therapy fueled my growth and allowed my natural kindness and humor to surface, my peers began to see the real me. That intrinsic, compelling personality was always present, but it was unjustly obscured from elementary school until this pivotal eleventh-grade breakthrough by the shadow of being the "weirdo who arm-flapped."

Initially, navigating the educational system in a self-contained Special Education classroom, my progress from freshman to junior year was so significant that it earned me a rightful and necessary transition into a mainstream, General Education class. From that moment, I realized the full scope of my potential; making genuine connections with my mainstream, neurotypical peers was just not possible - it was my new reality.

This progression culminated in a moment of undeniable social acceptance: I was included in a stretch limousine for my eleventh-grade prom, a testament to my belonging among the class's "it crowd." Initially uncomfortable, feeling like an undeserving outcast, I was quickly disarmed by the genuine welcome and kindness of peers I had long believed held me in disdain. The uplifting photographs taken with friends were powerful evidence: my dedicated work in social skills therapy was just not a clinical exercise; it was forging true, meaningful connections. I realized that my future was not defined by past discomfort, but by continued learning and the unwavering pursuit of self-improvement.

Mastering Self-Advocacy and Self-Understanding

Graduating high school, I faced the next crucial mandate: mastering self-advocacy in the collegiate environment. I had to learn how to communicate my autism to professors and peers. Early on, my approach was flawed: I presented my autism as a demanding badge of honor, expecting automatic admiration simply because of the challenges I had to overcome. In the years since, I have come to understand that this style of disclosure is counterproductive. Professors recognize autism as a condition requiring awareness, but my worth, like that of all students, must be demonstrated through skill, competence, and achievement.

My initial, prideful disclosure was driven by a lingering "chip on my shoulder" - a belief that the sheer difficulty of my journey should grant me special status. While I possess a wealth of skills, talents, and commendable qualities, I lacked the communication education to present them effectively. My self-disclosure, therefore, met with a mix of neutral acknowledgement and, in some cases, confusion regarding my assertive, yet immature, presentation.

The lesson was swift and absolute: professors were not impressed by a mere announcement of autism; they demanded to see my capacity to meet the same standards as my neurotypical peers. Initially, I resented this expectation. Given the years of teasing and struggles, I sincerely believed my very existence as an autistic college student was an inherently impressive act of courage deserving of plaudits.

I recognize now that I was, and remain, courageous for navigating the profound difficulty of living with autism. However, my early disclosure was an ineffective, unspoken plea: "Look at me, professor; I endure this, and I deserve your praise." I have learned to move beyond this fishing for validation. While a sense of pride is appropriate, adult social dynamics demand a presentation that is not interpreted as self-aggrandizement.

Today, my approach to disclosure - socially and professionally - is rooted in maturity and self-awareness. I present my autism as an integral part of my identity, a reality I am continually strategizing to manage, while simultaneously directing focus to my demonstrable skills and talents. This intentional shift, moving from the "look at me now" narrative to one focused on capability and self-awareness, has garnered greater social respect and opened doors to increased opportunities. I am immensely proud of my progress, understanding that sharing should be an act of effective communication, not a maneuver to solicit reassurance or accolades.

Where I Stand: An Indisputable Trajectory of Success

My journey is academically stamped by my graduation from two institutions: an Associate's Degree in General Studies from the Community College of Rhode Island and, most triumphantly, a Bachelor of Arts in Communication from Curry College. It is a powerful irony - and a powerful sense of pride - that I pushed through debilitating social communication challenges to achieve a four-year degree in Communication. This commitment to self-mastery was further affirmed at Curry College, where my improved motivation and social warmth earned me the prestigious "Resident of the Year" Award.

To be a two-time college graduate is to realize a goal that felt utterly unattainable for many years. This achievement is a testament to my hard work, my progress, and my unyielding refusal to be defined by low expectations. Today, I live independently in my own apartment, a clear outcome of my skills, supported by family and dedicated specialists. There was a time when independence was a concept both my family and I struggled to imagine; yet, my development has proven that I possess the necessary skills, and the results are immensely fulfilling. I maintain a commitment to continuous self-improvement, fueled by numerous goals that promise a brighter, more independent future.

The hard work has paid off. While I will always face inherent hardships - and, regrettably, inevitable moments of unkindness and misunderstanding - I have progressed to a point where those barriers no longer dictate my potential or limit my responsibilities.

Overall Thoughts: A Blueprint for Autistic Achievement

My story is an undeniable proving point: with the right blend of ideal support and fierce self-motivation, autistic individuals are capable of achieving profound progress and success. This journey is very challenging, without question, but it is highly manageable when fueled by positive experiences, increasing maturity, and effective guidance. My message to parents and fellow autistic adults is this: seek guidance, embrace understanding, and commit to the hard work that the autism spectrum demands. When an autistic person is truly understood and supported - and not unjustly ridiculed for their differences - they become capable of remarkable connection and the stunning display of their unique skills and talents.

Parents, your support and deep listening are the foundation. Strive to understand your child's unique perspective, even if it is unfamiliar to your own experience. This empathy is the segue for their lifelong progress and will ease challenges as they grow. To other autistic adults: on your hardest days, you must hang on. This journey, though it often feels very, very hard, will get better over time. The expression holds: it seems impossible until it is done. It is not impossible; anything is achievable if you are willing to embrace being "comfortably uncomfortable." If I can achieve this, and continue to press forward, so can you. Keep your focus locked on your dreams, and you will manifest them.