My journey of self-discovery is probably similar to those of many others, with the exception that becoming a therapist, at least to me, is unlike any other career. The things I witness, hear, and experience, have no comparison. For the sake of myself and my clients I must continue to evolve, grow, and remain a lifelong learner. The space of shared stories and experiences is the one from which therapeutic connections can, and have, been made; where I join fully as a human being, and can bring together the various intersectional elements of my own identity. And just like my clients, I have my own story. Recently, a student asked me about working with neurodivergent clients who have not experienced trauma. I thought it was a great question. In my experience as a neurodiverse therapist and citizen of the world, society is not set up for neurodivergent people and this binary of trauma or no trauma must yield to a more fluid, continuum-based way of thinking. Simply existing can feel traumatic for those who are neuroatypical.

In researching this topic through the scientific lens of my academic identity, I’ve simply not been able to keep pace. There is so much! Through another lens at the intersection of my identities, that of practicing clinician and neurodivergent, I have come to recognize the limitations of purely empirical investigation and have begun visiting social media sites in order to better understand the autistic and neurodivergent community through the lens of experience. I learned more from direct, and very personal narratives, than I did from any textbook or any clinical training.

Working with Bee: An Answer Deferred

Years ago, I worked with an older teenager, Bee, in a rural community who identified as queer. She initially came to see me because her gender fluidity and sexual orientation created conflict with her mother and her mother’s belief system. I want to emphasize the conflict was not between her and her mother, per se, but with the mother’s religious beliefs. This is not an uncommon experience where I practiced. While Bee had social anxiety and low self-esteem, she did have a good support system with her family and friends.

I worked individually with Bee and did some relational work with the family as well. Throughout our time together, she was able to build self-confidence and find employment. By her senior year, she was doing all kinds of things including taking on leadership roles as she fully embraced the trajectory into adulthood. It was for all intents and purposes, an effective therapeutic relationship in which we met the goals of treatment, individual symptomatology diminished, and her relationships improved, as did her attachment experiences and communication skills.

I remember one point during our time together when Bee asked me if she “could have ADHD or be autistic?” I said I wasn’t sure, so I did an ADHD screener, which was diagnostically inconclusive, after which we had several discussions about the results. I even talked about referring for a more comprehensive psychological evaluation, but did not really see the need for it. I talked about some traits but nothing within the clinical range. To support this, I pointed out to Bee that she was doing well socially, involved with extracurricular activities, had friends, and an active social life. At that point, we ended our work.

Through some happenstance around 2-3 years later, Bee’s family reconnected with me to share all the positive things that had occurred in their lives. I met this invitation with openness and curiosity. After the update of Bee going to college and studying a topic of her choice, I immediately shared my need to apologize. Bee asked what I meant. I remember asking, “do you remember when you asked me if you were neurodivergent and I said I really do not think so?” She quickly replied affirmatively.

I went on to tell Bee that I had spent the last several years learning about autism and ADHD, and that in retrospect, she was right. I admitted to her that I was neurodivergent, and that, “I believe you are too.” We shared a laugh about the experience. I was glad she was not angry and that she didn’t feel dismissed but said that “it would have been okay if you had been upset with me.” She knew back then that I genuinely did not think she was on the spectrum, but she was personally unsure. She knew I was not trying to dismiss her and reminded her of my recommendation for a comprehensive evaluation. But those evaluations were not as accessible or affordable as they later became. This was where the field was at that time, and it is where I was along my own path of self-discovery. Statements like the one I made back then, “You have some traits but don’t really meet criteria,” were likely very common before the idea of spectrum was more fully embraced. A few observable traits no longer mean that deeper pathology is being masked, awaiting a full assessment followed by a definitive diagnosis. Neurodivergence means just that...divergence, or variation on a theme. And that variation extends to race, gender, culture, and age.

I am glad I could repair, at least from my perspective, what I considered a therapeutic rupture, although Bee did not experience that rupture in a traditional way to the point that therapy hits an impasse or ends abruptly. The version of myself that spoke with Bee that day knew that she presented with all the “usual” observable symptoms that accompany autism, and that had I dug deeper, the diagnosis would have been clear. I missed or perhaps had resisted the diagnosis because I had not yet found a place for that label in my own identity. I could have let Bee’s narrative lead the way rather than the dictates of my formal training and that of impersonal scholarly investigations. Just as I now have a far clearer understanding of the complexity of my own intersectionality, I now more fully embrace the importance of honoring my clients’ narratives.

Postscript

Quite a while after my work with Bee and her family, I had taken my son at age 7 for an ASD evaluation. The psychiatric resident looked at him and said, “he is not autistic, you see this is the autistic bible––” he slapped his book on his desk––“I can tell by looking that he is not autistic.” My son returned to the room with blue cupcake icing on his face. I felt flooded with embarrassment and rage. I wanted someone to tell me why my son was struggling in so many ways in his life. I firmly said, “I want to see my attending physician.” She subsequently met me with compassion and kindness; however, not even an ADOS was performed.

The irony, or better yet, outrage I felt was because my son had classic symptoms of autism–– hand flapping, lining up toys, and a host of other stereotypical stuff for most of his early childhood, some of which reduced somewhat by age 7. Maybe the resident, and my attending, thought he was too old to be first considered for the diagnosis. But then again, I really don’t know the basis for their preemptory conclusion. I do know that the experience left me angry, feeling rejected, and dismissed, and like there was no help.

To have personally attended a state university that provided evaluations, only for the doctor to not even ask me any questions about my son was so disturbing, if not insulting. I am sure the progress note read something like, “Mother was emotionally unstable and reactive.”

I knew from that moment on I never wanted anyone else to feel that way. At the time of that visit with my son, I had been working on my PhD which paved the way for my own self-study and re-orientation to the whole experience of autism and neurodivergence. The research is clear, at least to me, as a citizen, parent, and clinician.

The field is failing neurodivergent people––kids, teens, adults, families, and couples. Social media has become a substitute, or perhaps a primary place for validation because they can’t receive it from the professional world. When clinicians and the medical community correct clients and dismiss the importance and validity of self-diagnosis, what can be expected? I view this very differently since social media was the source of my own self-discovery of neurodivergence, and a tool for assisting my clients on their own journeys. The entire experience, from my work with Bee to the evaluation of my son to my own self-acceptance, has awakened a deeper awareness that has highlighted the importance of embracing and advocating for the evolution of the professional landscape.   


File under: A Day in the Life of a Therapist, Musings and Reflections