The start of our interaction was ridiculous. So much so I felt compelled to laugh, laugh some more, and then write about it. But there was also a time when I saw people like him differently, maybe in possession of some magical, otherworldly knowledge I somehow lacked. I’m consistently wary of the power professionals wield. For a long time I thought every psychologist knew my own mind better than I did. Similarly, there are many who won’t question the experts that say we can’t feel, write or be who we know we are. The damage caused by this is immeasurable.
Women are doubted by healthcare professionals at every turn. Autistic women are no exception. Seeking investigation requires frankly beyond exhausting levels of negotiation; reaching the answers we need for our bodies and minds often means waging war. Turns out that even when diagnosis is won, that isn’t always enough. We can only keep yelling, with unwarranted empathy or not, and hope that it changes. Until then I’ll be lingering by the computer in a sterile consultation room, waiting for a new perception of us to load.