How I Got My Autism Diagnosis
Have I ever told you the story of how I was diagnosed with Autism? No? Well, you’re about to.
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Let me set the scene…
My step mom, dad, sister, and I are sitting at the kitchen table after supper one night. This was when I was still living at home and finishing off the last few months of my second year of college. My step mom had called a family meeting. Given how the night had gone I had a feeling it was something to do with me. I’d been unable to read the room earlier in the evening and it caused a small ball of tension to form (at least for me).
My step mom said she’d done some thinking–and overthinking–for some time in an effort to figure out how she wanted to address this situation. I can no longer recall everything she said, but I knew from the moment she started speaking that she was going to tell me I was Autistic.
I worried about the truth of my hypothesis about halfway through her rambling. Maybe I was wrong after all, but then, half hiding her face with her hand, said, “I think you might be on the spectrum.”
I nodded. Smiled. Admitted I knew she was going to say that. She responded by commenting on how often I surprised her.
