Chaos orbiting chaos

On Valentine’s Day of last year, after years of speculation, I was formally diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum—confirmation of something I had suspected for the last five years. Here, finally, was an explanation for everything: the bullying I experienced growing up in a single-sex school, the social alienation I’ve felt my entire life, my other neurodivergencies. Autism was the connecting thread. Imagine my surprise, then, when I found out that those who do not identity with the gender they were assigned at birth are three to six times more likely to be autistic as their cisgender counterparts. This is according to Spectrum, a news and science site at the forefront of autism research, used by lay people and scientists and clinicians alike to better understand the neurodevelopmental disorder. As I explained to Jill Christman recently, this was a lightbulb moment for me, as a trans individual and writer. Growing up was difficult for me for a number of reasons. Living in the buckle of the Bible Belt as a young queer and closeted trans person was difficult enough, but being queer and a closeted trans person in addition to neurodivergent with mental health struggles? I had a target on my back from My gender identity has been a frequent topic of my creative nonfiction, but because the autism diagnosis is so fresh, I’ve yet to explore the ways in which my autism has impacted all aspects of my life, including my gender identity as it has morphed and changed over the years. Certainly, growing up trans and queer at Girls Preparatory School was difficult enough, but with this new diagnosis, I’m able to look back on my life and see key events—the aforementioned bullying, and blips in time of my burgeoning gender dysphoria, being two important ones—in a new light and with a new lens. I’m interested in exploring just that, this intersection between my trans status and autistic brain, and how the two have impacted me and each other throughout my life.