A debate moves through the Asperger’s community about coming out as an Aspie. It can get fierce. People have strong feelings on either side, with one side accusing the other of being ashamed of who they are, and the other side accusing them of preachy judgment.
Some among us can’t understand why all of us don’t blab and broadcast about having Asperger’s. They compare it to the coming out of gays and lesbians, and they call for Aspies also to come out of the closet, to proclaim our neurological difference proudly. Some do. Some work into every get-together, every casual chat, every introduction that they have Asperger’s, a cognitive condition causing them to sometimes offend people, fail to pick up unspoken social cues, tend to take things literally, avoid eye contact, and suffer touchy sensory overload. It brings to my mind the B.C. comic strip character announcing itself as “a wingless bird with hairy feathers” to every new acquaintance.
Not everyone overdoes it to that degree, and others don’t share, period. For some, except for family and close friends, it’s as private as a tax return. Those Aspies apologize for a social misstep with a brief “I’m sorry, I tend to take things literally,” or they excuse themselves at parties for some quiet time, and leave it at that. They don’t launch into a monologue on life as an Aspie. It’s need-to-know. And casual acquaintances don’t need to know about Asperger’s.
I belong to an online forum for women with Asperger’s. One member, a woman I’ll call Zelda, plants herself firmly in the first group. Sometimes the group discussion turns to disclosure—who you tell, and when. Zelda broadcasts to the world, and she thinks we should, too. She’s baffled that we aren’t announcing our Asperger’s to one and all, right down to the random train conductor or drug store cashier. She calls we quieter Aspies insecure and lacking self-esteem. Zelda means well, and she’s right in her carved-in-stone, flaming declarations that Asperger’s should not carry a stigma. I respect her stand for Aspie self-respect and acceptance. But she doesn’t always grasp the mine field Aspies can find themselves crossing when they come out.
Zelda thinks of her Aspie social goofs as an opportunity to educate people about Asperger’s, and to put a face to it. I hope it works. But Zelda holds her mini-lectures from a safe podium. She’s retired. She’s outing herself in safe social situations. And her homeland, New Zealand, is an Aspie safe haven from a world where people deemed “goofy” or “different” usually face shunning, scorn, and hostility some time in their lives. This small island nation hosts a remarkably accepting people. Zelda walks away from her quickie lectures unscathed.
I hope I strike a sane middle-of-the-road pose. In social gatherings I have mentioned that I have Asperger’s, but only when it made sense. When a neighbor who is a teacher explained teaching to children who learn differently, I shared about Asperger’s. I’ve shared when catching up with friends I haven’t seen in years. They were eager to be educated about Asperger’s, and they wanted to know how it has affected my life. They wanted to know if they could do anything to make life easier for me. But if I need to retreat to a quiet place during a loud get-together to ease my sensory overload, I don’t broadcast, “My Asperger’s is acting up! I need to get away from you people!”
All of us have different thresholds for how much of our private business we’re at ease sharing, and with whom. I’ve read some Facebook status updates and thought, that was way too much information. I did not need to know that. I’ve struck up conversations on trains with people who unloaded their lives’ stories. That isn’t me, and not just about Asperger’s, but about life, period. I’m a very private person. I like to keep things need-to-know. Except for my closest family and friends, people don’t need to know about Asperger’s and a lot of my other life’s goings on.
Oversharing can bring more than embarrassment when you’ve shared carelessly about your Asperger’s. That sensitive part of you isn’t safe with everyone. If you’ve come out to someone who harbors nasty stereotypes about Asperger’s and autism, you could have offered yourself up for grief. It could get you fired. It could cost you a job offer. It could cost you valuable contacts in crucial social and professional networks. It could bring open hostility from people who feel threatened by those of us who are “odd” or “different,” those they don’t understand. The Zeldas of the Asperger’s community need to get a grasp of that. Their liking Asperger’s outing to that of gays and lesbians is apt, though. In some places, coming out as gay or lesbian can get you killed. It can get you fired, evicted, or singled out for a variety of abuses. Not all gays and lesbians are out and proud. They may be proud and unashamed, but depending on where they are, they may be deeply secretive about their sexuality.
I’ve disclosed occasionally when I hoped to educate people, when I wanted to put a face to Asperger’s and dispel fear or discomfort. But I don’t disclose unless I’m sure beyond any doubt that I’m sharing with an understanding, accepting person whose feelings about me won’t change once I’ve shared. I share when I know they can’t hurt me, and they won’t want to. I especially share when sharing will result in someone’s reaching out in acceptance to another Aspie. I’m eager to share when odds are good that I’ll make another Aspie’s life easier and less fraught with hostility or shunning. But we Aspies owe it to ourselves not to bring grief on ourselves by sharing without first sampling the social terrain for signs of nastiness.
