Sunday 26 August 2012

Imposter Syndrome, and Getting A Diagnosis


An issue related to autistic shame is what I call ‘Imposter Syndrome’. I can best illustrate what I mean by this by talking about my own life. At a fairly young age, I realised I was ‘not normal’, not like the others around me. I perceived this as a lack of some kind, something others had but I didn’t, an inferiority on my part. I also realised it was something I needed to hide – because when my difference from others was revealed, in whatever way, a whole ton of negativity landed on me. So I definitely got the message, that this ‘not normal’ was not a good thing to be.

So I started to pretend. I watched others, I mimicked them, I modelled myself on them. I devoted a huge amount of my time and energies to learning what ‘normal’ behaviour was, and doing my best to present that to others. I built, in effect, a façade, a front or mask, of ‘normality’. This front was imperfect of course, a lot of negativity still came my way, and so I was forever revamping, reinforcing and refining it. I did this for years, decades even, of my life. I devoted time and energy to it that I now feel could have been better spent on enhancing my life in myriad other ways. And yes, I learnt a lot of what might be termed ‘social skills’ along the way – it was essential in fact, to the construction and maintenance of this front.

But there was a catch – the more polished my ‘mask’ or front became, the more l lived in fear. Fear of being ‘found out’. Fear of having someone ‘spot’ my secret abnormality, and exposing me with a pointed finger and a shout of “You! You’re not normal! What are you doing here amongst us regular people! Get out!!” Or words to that effect. Each occasion I ‘got away with it’, my fear that someday it would happen only increased all the more. I felt like an imposter, a ‘pretend normal person’, a sham, even a monster. It also had a ghastly feedback effect on my secret shame – the more I hid my true self, the more ashamed I felt of what I was hiding, and the more I tried to hide it, and hence the more my shame grew… And if any possibility of ‘exposure’ threatened, however faintly, I would redouble my efforts to hide it, and build that façade even stronger. While behind that front, my fear and shame gnawed away at me, corroding my self-esteem more with each year that passed.

And then I began the journey of realising I have Aspergers. This was a total surprise – I’d never thought that the source of my secret shame and façade had a name, an actual diagnosis. Even more, I had never thought there might be others like me. I thought I was the only one, ever. It was stunning, and very hard to take in at first, but also very welcome. I wasn’t ‘weird’ or ‘abnormal’ after all, I was an aspie!! With the aid of my new friends, the shame and the low self-esteem finally began to shift. I began, cautiously, to reveal that true self I’d hidden for so long.

However, over time a curious problem has developed. As I don’t yet (due to lack of money) have a formal diagnosis, that slip of paper or signed report or letter from some ‘expert’ saying that yes, I definitely do have this condition, my ‘imposter syndrome’ has done this strange 180-degree turn. Maybe, the little voice in the back of my head now whispers, maybe you’re just kidding yourself, because you want so much to fit in somewhere. Maybe you’re just ‘jumping on the latest bandwagon’, diagnosing yourself with the ‘condition de jour’, inventing ‘symptoms’ just so you can belong. Maybe, that voice says, it’s all in your head, and you aren’t really aspie/autistic after all, but just that weird, useless, deficient, sub-standard reject you always thought you were.

This despite having done every online test I can find (often more than once) and having had them all confirm I am well out of the NT range, not to mention several years of research that has confirmed yes, all my ‘quirks’ and ‘abnormalities’ can be explained by this label, the repeated and emphatic confirmations of my peers, and feeling accepted and understood for the first time in my life by those same peers. In spite of all that, still, still, there is this lingering doubt. I believe only that formal diagnosis will rid me of that doubt, this voice in my head like a worm nibbling at the foundations of my new and still precarious self-esteem.

And as if that’s not enough, there’s the irony that, having polished this NT act so well, sometimes when I have tried to tell people I have Aspergers, they refused to believe it. “I’ve seen Asperger kids, and you’re not at all like them!” I had to do a lot of explaining to some of my family, pointing out that I am forty years older than those kids and female anyway, and it manifests differently in females, before they slowly began to accept it. I know this has happened to many others on the spectrum also. It’s as if they see only the exterior, and not what it has cost to construct and maintain that, or what it still costs. They don’t seem to see how I force myself to endure, for example, sensory challenges that bring me close or even into overload; or understand how strange or new situations or people can frighten or overwhelm me. And so on, etc, etc, etc. I’m sure anyone who has ever experienced this ‘imposter syndrome’ will know exactly what I mean.

This is why I believe diagnosis is so important, for us adults on the spectrum. It’s not about being able to get access to services – for the most part, there aren’t any. It’s not about support – again, there mostly isn’t any, apart from what we give each other. It’s about knowing, for the first time in our lives, absolutely and without a doubt, what we are and where we belong. It’s about self-acceptance. It’s about killing that horrible wormy little voice of doubt within, and ridding ourselves, once and forever, of the crushing weight of the ghastly Imposter Syndrome. Being able, finally, to breathe free, walk with confidence, be our true selves, exactly as we are, without apology or concealment.

I live for the day that happens for me.

12 comments:

  1. I could have written this word for word.

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  2. Can totally relate. You are a good writer. Thanks for expressing those thoughts we probably all have.
    ~Melissa

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  3. This is by far the most accurate way of describing how I feel right now, and my situation. Thank you for posting this blog.

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  4. This is me, oh yes indeedy.......you ARE an imposter.....thats ME!!!!.....oh hang about, just who is the imposter here??

    I have now been diagnosed, and now I try to be....me, and that has its challenges of course because now people think I am weird, but of course now I just tell them I am Autistic, and they tend to accept that. The golden rule wherever you are and whatever you do........be yourself, because you can't be no one else, so stop trying to be.

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  5. Eloquent. The sense of shame and hiding the fact is familiar to me as well. While I have gone undiagnosed for my own condition, my son was rediagnosed from mental retardation to autism spectrum when he suddenly learned to read over the course of a month with the assistance of a co-worker. I have been dealing with forms of profound sensory overload often resulting in sensory blending my whole life. This led me to a compulsive concealing of my feelings in order to be acceptable to the outside world. I am an artist and a musician largely due to the repressed feelings needing some real outlet or I would go mad, like a pressure cooker on the burner with the little hole closed would explode in time. Getting past the whole "fake me" vs "real me" thing is a work in progress after decades of struggle. I am proud of your courage in revealing this for others to see. It helps to know you are not alone. Thank you.

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  6. Thank you for a very clear exposition of the situation you now find yourself in - I too am in exactly this place too.

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  7. This has now become one of my commented-on posts - it seems to resonate with many. I'm glad - not becos i want to be known as some 'great writer' (tho that would be nice, lol!) but becos i started this blog not just to express myself, but to help others.

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  8. That is word-for-word ME as well (female, middle-aged, diagnosed only a few years ago). In fact, it is so accurate and so eloquent that it ought to be posted somewhere prominent on the Internet as a manifesto for people like us.

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  9. Your post is like reading the story of my life. Literally. I have a son who has been diagnosed with AD/HD three years ago and with Autism (PDD-NOS) one year later. I consulted a psychologist three years ago who told me that I had impostor syndrome. Putting a name on my feeling really changed my life. I'm now 43 and tomorrow, I'm starting the journey to determine if I am also autistic (probably Asperger). I have delayed this endeavor for over two years, in fear of having to recall my childhood, with all the anxieties and repressed memories during this exercise. Thank you for sharing, Your post gave me courage. I will write back reporting on my progress soon!

    Mike.

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  10. I'm 65 male and I just came to the realization that I have Asperger's. I have been tired of trying to fit in all my life. I have never felt so liberated and vindicated as a person. I grew up in a family that was very abusive to me physically and mentally. I'm learning to embrace my autism, and in fact am quite happy to be the way I am. You wrote a great post.

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  11. This is me also, I am currently in the process of being diagnosed myself, something that has only happened because all of my children have turned out to be on the spectrum. I still struggle daily, hourly even, with feeling like a fraud and I'm not sure that will ever really go away after having lived with it for almost 40 years (although I live in hope!) but I have spent most of my life copying other people in an attempt to 'fit in' to the point where I'm not really sure I know who I am.

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  12. This describes me too. Throughout my childhood, I knew I was inferior to everyone else and couldn't do the things they do and never developed friendships. Then at 47 years old my dad told me that I was autistic. I did not believe him at first until I started to relate my odd childhood behaviors to what is commonly associated with autism. It was a perfect match sad to say. I am 59 years old now but at least I know why I am the way I am.

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