Autistic Bottom-up thinking my way to body confidence: How research gave me style

Originally published on Medium

I like to research. “Bottom-up” thinking, the process of taking in a lot of information, processing it, and finding patterns is fun for me. And sometimes, I use those skills to solve a seemingly simple problem, like figuring out why I look weird in pictures.

The issue

Years ago, a friend took a photo of me standing in line at the Social Security office. When I saw it, I cringed at my curved posture, sharp elbows and shrunken hair out of proportion to the rest of my body. This shock at seeing myself in photos happened often. I accept my awkwardness; this shock was about something else. Why don’t candid shots match the mental image I have of myself?

And I don’t mean candid photos like “caught me off guard talking with my mouth wide open”. I mean photos when I really tried to look nice. After scrutinizing many of these photos over the years, I noticed a big part of the problem, besides my hair, was my clothes.

The problem with my clothes

Take a little black girl who matured too fast for girls’ clothing but was still too young for the women’s section. Make her grow up with skinny-is-in 90s/Noughties fashion. Throw in a body with top and bottom halves of different sizes. Sprinkle in skin with a warm undertone when pastel and cool colors are the popular choice for girls and a personal dislike for “girly style” as the cherry on top.

The result? Cute clothes became awkward on me.

What to do? I didn’t want to become a fashionista. But I also didn’t want to look terrible all the time. I wanted to be comfortable. I just wanted to look like me. Why was that so hard?

So I did what I do best: research. I went to the library and the internet to learn about body types, color theory, capsule wardrobes, petite style tips, bloggers, whatever I could find to try. But the advice never quite worked. Tips contradicted each other and what seemed to work for me was sometimes a Don’t. And why did some tips work one day but not the next?

I felt like a doll assembled from different factories. If only I could exchange the mismatched parts for ones that actually made sense together.

Even worse? The common advice didn’t fit my style. I did not want to wear layers and cardigans when the weather was 90+ degrees. I did not want to wear loud heels to look taller. I did not want to “suffer in the name of beauty”. To comfortably accommodate my body’s 2 different sizes, I tended to buy clothes a size too big. But then my clothes were always too large and baggy and that wasn’t my style either. And ugh, the sensory discomfort of ill-fitting clothes — pants that gap in the back and need belts that squeeze too tight to keep them up, shirts that won’t sit straight on the shoulders, fabric that’s too stiff or not structured enough or feels too plastic-y, etc, etc.

Learning to understand my body

A few years ago, my endless internet searches revealed the Kibbe system. For the first time, I discovered a body typing system that wasn’t obviously in love with the hourglass shape, with a goal to approach the body as it was and not to alter its silhouette.

Lightbulb moment. Was that why style advice never quite fit? Why I always felt like a random collection of body parts from my parents? This was the missing piece of the internal style map I’d been building. My body’s random collection of soft and hard lines wasn’t a bad thing. It just was. When my clothes followed my lines, they looked right on me. And when they didn’t look right, now I had the vocabulary and basic principles for what went wrong and how to fix it.

Another piece of the style puzzle? Contrast. I read about how my facial features and skin have a natural contrast that I could mirror in my outfits. Now I had what I needed to figure out an everyday uniform to wear to look put together with little brain power.

Learning to like my body

Learning to like my body required one more element: sewing.

Sewing is one of my life-long interests. As a kid, I used fabric scraps to handsew clothes for my dolls. Over the years, I picked up basic skills out of necessity, like hemming too-long pants shorter to fit. My most ambitious amateur project was adding width to a thrifted little black dress using Velcro, a strip of black fabric and sloppy interior handstitches.

During the pandemic, I took an online sewing course by Evelyn Wood who explained the WHYs behind sewing and, specifically, altering existing clothes to fit better. One common theme was how to troubleshoot problems with fit. The advice was not “alter the body to fit our clothing” like popular culture suggests. Instead, we alter the clothes to fit the body.

My body wasn’t the enemy. Clothes weren’t the enemy either once I learned to make them work with me and not against me.

And after all that work, now that I look in the mirror, I see myself. Not clothes. Just awkward me.

Which is all I ever wanted in the first place.

Time used to be my enemy: Until I stopped trying to do everything

Originally published on Medium

Before my journey to emotional intelligence and autism diagnosis, Time was my enemy.

A visit to family that happened a month ago felt like a day ago. I still had vivid memories of events while trying to recover my pre-visit energy. During the visit, I thought the agreed upon 2 hour time limit had been completed but no, only 10 minutes had passed…then 15…30… I watched the time on my phone while reading subreddit posts to make sure Time wasn’t playing tricks on me.

According to the clock, a new project used 5 hours of my day. But I was certain that only 5 minutes ago, I’d turned the computer on to begin. And did I really ignore both my alarms to take a break?

As a kid, adults confidently proclaimed “When you’re young, time goes slow but it speeds up as you get older.” And before my autism diagnosis, when I tried to keep pace with everyone else, this prophecy was fulfilled. Time moved too fast and too slow at all the wrong times.

I was too stubborn for Time to be my friend.

And now that I stopped doing “all the things”?

When I miscalculate the length of an activity, Time mercifully adds on only an extra hour or two so I don’t mourn the loss of a whole afternoon. Unpleasant activities now have an end that I feel coming. Mornings feel like beginnings and not the beginning of the end. Time gifts me comfy afternoons that feel three times longer and even bonuses like Saturdays that feel like whole weekends.

And the days I get a late start but stick to my morning routine, I accomplish more than when I scrap health in pursuit of productivity. I still get everything done with extra time to spare…somehow.

I think Time is my friend now.

What’s so familiar about the phrase “You don’t look autistic”: And why it doesn’t bother me (much)

Originally published on Medium

When I first dove into the online autistic community, one phrase kept popping up as other people’s typical response to being diagnosed as autistic later in life: “ You don’t seem autistic.”

Well, I didn’t get this response very often.

True, I got some awkward pauses or a mention of an autistic young nephew but it wasn’t always said using this particular set of words. But I do understand the irritation and offense this phrase causes because I have heard another similar phrase said to and about me: “You don’t act black.”

Like “You don’t look autistic,” this phrase comes in different flavors like being called an “Oreo” or overhearing a black beautician tell my mom her daughters “talk white”.

But I don’t get offended by these phrases. I just wish people would explicitly say what they mean instead of using this too-broad generalization.

As a kid, I used to think the phrase “You don’t act black” was a compliment. I thought the person meant “You don’t act like the black people I see on mid-90s to 2000s TV.” Because it was true, I didn’t act like those characters. Those shows weren’t my reality. (I mean, who actually acts like the people on TV?)

But then I later realized those people weren’t using the same definitions I was. What they meant was “I think all black people act a certain way and you don’t act that way”. The phrase “You don’t act [insert a group of people here]” implies there is a limited definition to define members of that group. Only one way to be black. Only one way to be autistic.

But that’s not true.

I am black because I am black. My skin doesn’t have to be a certain color. My hair doesn’t have to be a certain texture. My speech or clothes or music taste doesn’t have to be a certain way.

I am autistic because I am. Because I fit a range of characteristics that leave room for a wide variety of individuals. (Interestingly, this is likely the reason I talk differently. The way my autism and being black interact with each other is fun to try and untangle.)

So if you haven’t learned this handy phrase yet, I’ll share it now: If you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.

Apply this to any group of people. And when in doubt, ask a genuinely curious question instead of making a sweeping assumption. I will not be offended if you ask if I like fried chicken or trains as long as you listen to the detailed answer.

How instant messaging was easier for my autistic brain: A lesson learned from the Millenial IM days

Originally published on Medium

A new text notification pops up on my phone screen and I freeze.

Someone I don’t really talk to in person wants to know how I’m doing. I appreciate the thought and reply back while my brain calculates how much time and energy I need to put into this text conversation. Wait, no, let’s call it a text exchange. Is this text exchange a simple “What’s up?” interaction or is a more in-depth back-and-forth appropriate?

After a few more texts, it seems like a “What’s up” interaction (the texting equivalent of small talk) and I pause, not sure what to do next. Is this the last text? No, they replied back. Do I reply again? Sure. Okay, it’s been a while with no reply — never mind, they just answered. Should I take longer to reply too? Or is this how the conversation ends?

My brain finally reminds me that I was in the middle of something before all this texting. So I stop answering and feel guilty the rest of the day for leaving them hanging.

Or did they want me to stop answering?

I can’t stop trying to figure it out.

The ability to be in touch all the time has the disadvantage of knowing that someone can be in touch at any moment. My phone can go anywhere I go. I can text anyone anytime. Seems great for keeping in touch with people, right? At anytime I can get a text from someone. At anytime they can read my reply and answer back. No scheduling or plan necessary.

See the issue for this autistic woman?

The ability to be in touch all the time has the disadvantage of knowing that someone can be in touch at any moment.

Each time I experience this paradox, I recall the days of Instant Messaging (IM). I know that technically IM still exists with apps like Google Hangout but I’m referring to a specific time period. Back when I was a kid and cell phones did exist but not everyone had one. And even when we did get access to a cellphone, phone plans limited text messages (like mobile data is now). Paying per text kept text exchanges short. Most of my fellow students had computer and internet access so instead, we IMed on apps like Yahoo Messenger or AIM.

Starting an IM conversation looked like this:

I access the internet using a computer, usually at the library or at someone else’s house (until my family got our own computer and internet connection). Then, I log on to IM and let my status show I’m available to talk. I search for any available friends. Found one! I open a new chat, send a greeting, and the conversation starts. When one of us has to go, either for a break or to completely log off, we warn each other with a “brb” or “g2g” so no one is waiting around for a reply. Sometimes we schedule our next IM session for the next time we can use the computer.

And that was my IM routine. IMing had a definite beginning and end. Once I stopped using the computer, the conversation had to end. The computer didn’t go with me when I stood up and left.

The conversation ended.

It was done.

A new conversation required a little more planning than simply pulling a phone out of a pocket.

I don’t know how to recreate this experience. I don’t know if I want to recreate it. Maybe it’s better to leave it as a memory to recall after a particularly frustrating text exchange that makes me wish I could work up the nerve to just call people instead of relying on texts.

Not every weekend has to be exciting: The danger of the question “Anything exciting happen?”

Originally published on Medium

As an ASL interpreter for college classes, I watched multiple professors interact with students and noticed they often used words like “exciting” when asking about how students spent their free time. This story is inspired by the ones who replied “Nothing.”

The professor opens the evening college class with a chipper “How was your weekend?” A student in the bottom left corner of the Zoom gallery screen smiles, remembering Saturday’s long walk through the local park, warm sun shining, feeling good for the first time in a long while with no homework to worry about.

The professor adds “Anything exciting happen?”

The student frowns and reexamines the memory for any exciting elements.

Is a walk exciting? Possibly. But not a walk through a regular local park. Maybe one in the mountains is.

Is the warm sun shining exciting? Not really. It’s a pretty basic occurrence in the southern states of the USA.

Is feeling good exciting? Maybe if the feeling was great or awesome but not just good.

And anything to do with homework is never exciting, no need to even ask.

One by one the other students offer up a short rendition of an exciting weekend while, for one reason after another, the student in the bottom left corner of the Zoom rejects sharing a fond memory.

It’s their turn now. “What about you?”

The student shrugs and says “No, nothing exciting.”

Surprise Reaction to a Surprise Party: Spoiler - Please don’t do it

Originally published on Medium

“Surprise!”

I look around

Smiling face smiling face smiling face
(oh my smile is off, turn it on!)
All eyes on me
expecting…

What?
(just keep smiling)

Overwhelmed by the underwhelm
this isn’t like the books say like the movies show

And no best friend character a someone to ask
“Do you like surprise parties?”

and listen to me think
to honestly answer
“I don’t know. Please don’t have one.”

How my natural hair prepared me for my Autism diagnosis: And taught me that online communities are all the same

Originally published on Medium

I spent most of my life not knowing the most basic thing about myself: my actual hair texture. The decision to change that changed my life.

But back then, standing at the kitchen sink with a bottle of V05 conditioner in one hand, I wondered “Will this help or ruin my hair?”

My mom was uncertain that “white people conditioner” would work on my Black hair. She was definitely sure that not getting relaxers anymore was a sure path to broken hair because that’s what she had learned growing up.

I wasn’t sure if she was right or wrong. I really feared my hair would fall out. But I was so dissatisfied with my hair that something needed to change.

Since elementary school, I struggled to grow my hair. It stayed chin length for years before straggling to barely shoulder-length that a hairdresser traumatically chopped off in the name of Trims just in time for the horrible cut to be immortalized in my high school pictures. (I cried that day and I don’t cry easily.) I tried everything to grow my hair. I massaged my scalp regularly, took vitamins, did hair treatments, even prayed nightly.

Nothing worked until I went to the internet to question the very foundation of what I grew up learning about Black hair care: it needs to be straightened. What if it didn’t?

In those early Internet forums and YouTube videos, I found the early Natural Hair community. I learned so much from what those women shared and spent hours soaking it all in when I should’ve been sleeping to be up early for school the next day. (Thank you, hyperfocus) And I soaked in more than knowledge. People had a LOT of opinions:

You should never straighten your hair. Celebrate natural hair’s versatility; it can be straight and long one day then kinky and short the next! You should style your hair everyday. No, not everyday, that’s damaging. Do it every month and never wear it loose if you want it to grow.

Never let your hair shrink; always stretch it out. Shrinkage is healthy and beautiful; don’t fight it. Black hair is always kinky, not curly. If your hair is straight, it’s damaged. Some Black hair is naturally straight. If your hair doesn’t curl, it’s dehydrated. It never curls unless you’re mixed. Ethnically Black hair can be naturally curly.

So

many

opinions.

I became a “Natural Hair Nazi” based on my research. I viewed relaxers and straightening hair to shampoo commercial silky-smooth as bad and damaging. It was all bad. And if you kept doing it, you were bad, too. I judged them. The J in my INTJ was overactive.

Years passed and what worked for me wasn’t necessarily what the Natural Hair articles recommended. So I stopped listening to them and listened to what worked for me. And I realized I had left one hair belief system (straight hair good, kinky curly unacceptable) for another one. Uh-oh. I mentally apologized to the people I had silently judged so much.

And then about 10 years later, I learned another basic fact about myself: I’m autistic. My brain does not work the way I’d been taught my whole life. I dived deep into the internet world of the Autistic community and, after hours and days of reading, started to notice some similarities.

So

many

opinions.

Experts with their views. Parents with their views. #ActuallyAutistic people with their views.

The J in my INTJ was triggered. There was so much to judge people about!

But I didn’t want to go back to that. I had learned that the world really isn’t black and white. There’s so much gray. And out of that gray, I finally grew my hair longer than I could ever imagine. (Not that it’s obvious because I like my hair’s shrinkage.)

We’re all humans.

We’re at different places in our healing journey.

And thanks to my natural hair journey, I arrived on the other side of obsessive research and dogmatism in one positive piece.

Journal entries from an undiagnosed autistic girl: Part 3 - The struggle to answer the question “Why am I so weird?”

Originally published on Medium

This is part 3 in a series where I share entries from the journal I kept while growing up. It’s something nice to look back on when I start to wonder if I’m feeling too happy to actually be autistic.

I already wrote about my struggle with eye contact and interacting with people. Now, I’ll share my search to figure out why I felt so, well, weird while growing up.

Note: These entries will be abridged and only the relevant parts included because I tended to write long journal entries.

December 2, 2009

I read about social anxiety and voila! There it was: me. I thought I was strange! (Well I am, but explained in a clinical way, I don’t seem to be strange.)…[I discuss my issues with eye contact and dislike of small talk] So. Idk. Do I have social anxiety? Or is it just shyness?

Feb 11, 2012

I found my personality trail! Remember I wrote about wanting to find my own personality? For the longest I kept trying to imitate the traits I liked in other people so I was really confused and felt off whenever I did because it never felt right. Like I was wearing the pretty, fancy ball gown that all the fashion magazines said would make me more stylish but still felt blah.

So I stopped. I felt boring, but I stopped. And just reacted to see how I would do it. Then I read about introversion and that really helped. And I found pieces of me floating round that I knew were me but never really fit anywhere. Like sometimes just needing to get away from people for a bit.

Another discovery: I do better socially when interaction is based around a goal of helping someone else/cooperating with others. So focused group projects aren’t totally heinous activities. (Key word: Focused)

I don’t like things to not have a point. It gets on my nerves. Yet I do like unplanned social time/hanging out (as long as it isn’t too much & doesn’t interfere with other necessary activities).

Oh. And I am bad at narration (verbally). On paper I can be excellent.

Silence doesn’t scare me. Nope. Think I like it too much. A veces I have to snap myself out of it and return to the world of talking and thinking.

I like listening to other people’s convos, analyzing people and their motives (but not of celebrities or famous people. I don’t know them.)

I like organizing. Lists. Helping plan stuff. Being given a problem and what the person wants fixed (need specific parameters) and finding a solution.

June 23, 2016

Crowds of people cause tunnel vision — I must focus on a few sensations to shut all others out. Light, colors, noise are filtered. Familiar place? I breathe easier. One less thing to filter. Familiar people? More breathing. Familiarity breathes calm into my overloaded system.

New place? New people? New way to interact? Newnewnewnew….

Can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t think. Must escape, sit down, shut down. Wrong place/time, so stressful. No breathing.

In 2021 I finally got the answer to why I felt so strange: I’m autistic.

My current journal entries are different now that I’m no longer constantly searching for answers to my eye contact and social interaction questions. Instead, I focus on what works and doesn’t work for me, what gives me energy and what takes it away.

Wondering whether I’m actually autistic just because I feel happy and full of life 3 days in a row?

That takes energy away.

Simply enjoying this new feeling of being happy 3 days in a row?

That’s an energy boost.

Journal entries from an undiagnosed autistic girl: Part 2 - The struggle with people interaction

Originally published on Medium

This is part 2 in a series where I share entries from the journal I kept while growing up. It’s nice to look back on old journal entries when I start to wonder if I’m feeling too happy to actually be autistic.

I already wrote about my struggle with eye contact. This post will focus on my ongoing struggle to interact with people.

Note: These entries will be abridged and only the relevant parts included because I tended to write long journal entries.

December 1, 2009

…And I am afraid I don’t know when to leave. I always try to leave a conversation early before anyone gets truly annoyed with me. Or really bored. And it’s usually an awkward exit so the person prolly thinks I don’t like them and couldn’t wait to leave. Which isn‘t true.

December 2, 2009

“Small talk“ is horrible for me. I don’t like it. Checkout counters, library, store, food place- all make me nervous b/c I think I’m expected to make “small talk”. But I don’t know how. And once I avoided doing an extra credit assignment this semester because I was too anxious — it involved talking to a few strangers at a career fair. I just couldn’t do it. I walked around meaning to go, trying to get up the courage….and then didn’t go. Silly, yes.

December 25, 2009

I missed saying “hello” to about 4 people today because I was scared to. And I didn’t really think it would matter because people don’t seem to notice whether I say hi or not anyways. I just slip in and out of conversations… Except, what if they think I’m being, I don’t know, snobby?

April 24, 2010

Ouch, I’m mean. Ugh. I hate that. This is another reason I don’t like opening my mouth too much, I can be mean without thinking about it. And I don’t realize how bad something sounds until it’s too late. And it’s not majorly mean stuff, but it’s still nonreturnable.

December 7, 2011

I think my thorn in the side is people. In this time I might never turn into a people person or ever really feel comfortable around them or be skilled at talking to them. That’s my problem.

Doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying, tho.

January 11, 2014

How am I supposed to have any real fun if I’m always working working working on people interaction???

Does it ever get fun????? Am I being overdramatic?

I suppose it could be worse but is it wrong to wish for better?

April 1, 2014

One-on-one with all but a few people, I freeze. I can talk yes, but it really doesn’t flow. Even at my best. It bothers me because I want to be the person with friends to just hang out with but when I do hang, I can’t wait to go home…The socializing one-on-one is super stressing…

Maybe if I do it over and over it will get easier tho.

December 5, 2017

Yesterday I discovered (rediscovered?) how I still don’t know much about socializing. Like, where does a conversation go when there’s no point? Is it a mercy to kill it eventually?

These journal entries give me further proof that no, autism isn’t something I decided I had after being on social media. This is an issue I’ve dealt with for a long time.

But if I need still more evidence, there’s my life-long research to figure out “Why am I so weird?” Read about it in the last part of this 3 part series.