News & Notes
I’m not sorry
April has turned out to be an unusually complicated and hectic month for me this year, so I don’t have time to write a long, thoughtful essay. But I did want to mention that I was recently interviewed on a podcast, for anyone who might want to hear me (nervously!) talk about some of my experiences as a late-identified autistic.
The SquarePeg Podcast is a series of one-hour interviews with autistic women and nonbinary people. Amy Richards started it in early 2020, less than a year after an episode of a completely different podcast, Bodies, sparked my own Autism Epiphany. I found SquarePeg early in its first season and have listened to every single episode — almost a hundred of them so far; my episode is number 94!
Amy’s interviewees have run the gamut in age from very early twenties to mid-seventies. All but a couple of the youngest ones did not know they were autistic until well into adulthood, because there’s been a gaping hole in autism understanding and diagnosis for the entire history of the concept, and until very recently almost everyone who isn’t male (and cis and white) has fallen through it.
Anyway, in lieu of a full essay, I thought I’d share something from an earlier episode that affected me, and that I’ve been thinking about for a good two years now.
Every time I apologize for some basic facet of my existence, I’m reinforcing my unworthiness in my own brain.
This particular interview was with a young autistic woman from Puerto Rico; she was talking about her need for flexibility from other people due to her fluctuating capacity for things like task focus. And then she said, “I try to always take a gratitude approach” — in other words, instead of saying “Sorry I’m late,” instead she says “Thank you for waiting for me,” or “Thank you for your patience.”
Growing up female in America, I was trained from birth to apologize early and often, for anything and everything: requesting anyone’s attention, daring to disagree with a statement, taking up any amount of physical space in the world, and so on. Being autistic increased the number of times I fail to meet other people’s expectations, and so only served to compound the problem.
And it is a problem. Every time I apologize for some basic facet of my existence, I’m reinforcing my unworthiness in my own brain. There are some people in the world who could benefit from that kind of check to their ego, but my self-confidence is not so overweening. Continually undermining my own self-worth just makes me depressed and less functional.
The idea that one should ever not apologize for requiring special accommodation was quite a surprising jolt at first, but after thinking it through, I decided I agreed. And started pushing back against my own socialization.
I’ve been reflexively saying “sorry” for over fifty years; two years of trying to stop has not, I fear, made a giant dent in the habit. But old dogs can learn new tricks, and I’m still working at it.
So let me end with this: I’m not sorry for taking up your time. But thank you for listening.