When one year ago at age 65 I was diagnosed with autism, I thought I knew what I was getting into. Finally perhaps I could understand why I felt like an alien in this world, and perhaps finally I could silence the words of self-loathing.
If my difficulties were not because of bad character and weak will, but was instead autism at their root, hopefully I could be more charitable with myself.
Yet as I opened more to my autism, I began to realize that I am not who I believed myself to be. This self-mythology, these long held beliefs, were being shaken apart.Read more on themighty.com