#ActuallyAutistic
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I walked into my doctor’s office waiting room and filled out the GAD-PHQ worksheet like I do every visit. This time at the bottom of the page, they added something new: a checkbox for anxiety and depression treatment options that weren’t medication. I checked it.
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There was a moment right when I first realized that I was autistic. Like a bright, shining bulb. And once that bulb was lit, it lit up a maze I didn’t even know I was in. A tangle of emotions and discovering meaning within myself that I continue to navigate today. However, my internal discovery…
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I want something to be done. I look around, and I see my neurodivergent family being affected with me that this book was allowed to be conceived.
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I’ve been silent because I don’t like myself. I crave the self-acceptance I had when I started this venture, and although feelings are a choice, I haven’t been able to jump out of this spinning wheel of madness.
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The quickest growing population in the United States has the lowest autism diagnosis rates, according to several studies, and the big question on everyone’s mind is: Why?
