This guest post is by Karissa Meidal, a young woman who is diagnosed with autism and is attending Western Colorado University and Arapaho Community College. Karissa is applying for the Spring 2024 Making a Difference Autism Scholarship via the nonprofit KFM Making a Difference started by me, Kerry Magro. I was nonverbal till 2.5 and diagnosed with autism at 4, and you can read more about my organization here. Autistics on Autism: Stories You Need to Hear About What Helped Them While Growing Up and Pursuing Their Dreams, our nonprofit’s new book, was released on March 29, 2022, on Amazon here for our community to enjoy featuring the stories of 100 autistic adults.
I look down at my paper through blurry eyes. The numbers smearing and swirling around the page. Frustration bubbles up in my throat like boiling water burning and choking my voice. I look up at my teacher, who is giving me a look of disappointment and the tears almost break. She just asked me why I wasn’t able to complete the homework on time.
Again.
I want to talk, to tell her that my mind is different, and it thinks of the problems in different ways. That I did do it, in my head, that if she asked me what the answers were, I could tell her. That my hands are sluggish and coated with molasses, but my brain has the engine of a race car. That I’m not stupid, I’m different. But the words get caught in the tightness of my throat and my tongue is paralyzed. So, I sit in excruciating silence under her stare as she gives up with a sigh and says, “This is the third time this week Karissa, you’re in first grade, a big girl now and you should be able to use your words. I’ll set up a meeting with your parents to discuss this problem.”
Problem.
The word repeats in my head for the rest of the day.
Maybe I am stupid. My parents say I’m so smart, but smart people don’t do things like this. I’m supposed to be smart. What’s wrong with me?
The rest of my elementary years play out the same. Just an endless loop of trying, burnout, disappointment, paralysis, panic, and many tears. I try and I fail to get someone to see me as I am, to hear what I’m wanting to say and there are those that do try but they never reach full understanding. It feels like all I have is my brain and my parents. Even then, I don’t even fully understand and my parents only know as much as they can pick up or I can communicate. I continue to try anyway and find that the teen years are much worse.
I clench my fists until my knuckles are white, as if I could hold myself together the tighter I squeezed. My eyes are blurry again with the threat of tears, but I can’t let them through. Not here. Not in front of her disapproving stare. I must have done something wrong again. I can’t remember what it was. All I did was ask if I could use my accommodations to have extended time on this assignment but, her look says that I’m in the wrong.
I don’t understand. Again.
I’m fourteen now, I should know better. “Karissa, you know you can’t use your accommodations as a crutch. It’s not fair to the other students who actually put in the time to finish when it’s due. Just because you have things going on outside of school it isn’t an excuse to be late. Other kids have sports and events too and they can do it. If you want to use your extended time you have to tell me the day I assign the homework,” she finished with a shake of her head and then said, “this time I’ll let you but, from now on you need to be more on top of things.” With that, I decide never to ask her for help again for fear of seeming stupid because I don’t know how to tell her that I don’t understand how to evaluate if an assignment will take longer or not. So, from then on I just expect the late marks on my grades and pray that I will at least pass.
I don’t understand. I’m supposed to be smart aren’t I? Why am I like this? What’s wrong with me?
I am seventeen now. I sit across from her, she’s a neuropsychologist who will hopefully help me understand myself. I lock on to her eyes so that I can hear every word, I don’t look away because that requires effort which makes my thoughts louder than her voice. I know I can stare sometimes and it makes people uncomfortable but I haven’t yet figured out how to stop. With her I don’t have to worry about what she thinks. She sees me for who I am. My mom sits beside me and rubs my shoulder to show her support. The pressure is just right, not too light and itchy and crawly, not too hard and overwhelming, and not too long so that it makes my skin burn. Just right. She knows me better than I know myself sometimes. The doctor begins reading the test results: “anxiety, severe social anxiety, depression,” none of these come as a surprise though. That part of my brain I know quite well. Then she says something we were not expecting: ADHD. She quickly explains why and how I got that result and then she gets to the part we were waiting for. My mom and I are quite literally on the edge of our seats, straining to get closer to her words.
“Autism.”
You can hear a pin drop. “It is with my best judgment since you have enough of the markers for me to come to the conclusion that you have ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder),” she says in a sure voice. With those words my doubts melt away and my lungs huff out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Finally I have an explanation, a way I can learn from this, tools to better understand my brain. Finally I feel like I know who I am. Finally there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.
Follow my journey on Facebook, my Facebook Fan Page, Tiktok, Youtube & Instagram.
My name is Kerry Magro, a professional speaker and best-selling author who is also on the autism spectrum. I started the nonprofit KFM Making a Difference in 2011 to help students with autism receive scholarship aid to pursue post-secondary education. Help support me so I can continue to help students with autism go to college by making a tax-deductible donation to our nonprofit here.
Autistics on Autism: Stories You Need to Hear About What Helped Them While Growing Up and Pursuing Their Dreams was released on March 29, 2022 on Amazon here for our community to enjoy featuring the stories of 100 autistic adults. 100% of the proceeds from this book will go back to our nonprofit to support initiatives like our autism scholarship program. In addition, this autistic adult’s essay you just read will be featured in a future volume of this book as we plan on making this into a series of books on autistic adults.
