Gemma, Assistant Director
Gemma describes her life with autistic spectrum disorder (ASD)
I was a quiet child, happy in my own mind, observing the world and not always taking part. At school I was switched on and did well academically because I found everything interesting.
From a young age, I was happily answering the questions posed by the teachers and engaging in the lesson, but only in my mind, rarely speaking up. I still remember one lesson when I aged about seven, we were asked if we knew how many bones were in the human hand. I smiled as I quickly counted 19.
The other children were shouting out wild guesses of six or eight. When no one got it, the teacher astounded everyone else, revealing there were 19 and I felt a little annoyed with myself for not sharing what I knew. It has taken me a long time to appreciate that I am part of the groups I find myself in, not an invisible observer.
In secondary school I was often in trouble for being rude and inconsiderate. I found this confusing; I never intended to offend anyone, and I didn’t want attention. I upset one teacher so badly that she was crying in the staff room and wouldn’t come out. I couldn’t even remember what I had said to her, something completely innocuous to me. I was made to stand outside the staff room door and loudly apologise, but no one told me what I had done wrong.
My diagnosis
I didn’t receive my diagnosis of autistic spectrum disorder (ASD) until I was 39. I thought, I am perfectly capable of having a conversation, I’m married, I have friends and a good job; surely I can’t be autistic..? But I was assessed and finally all the strange things I had experienced throughout my life came together in one perfect picture of ASD. The clinical psychologist said to me: you aren’t ‘a little bit autistic’; you are completely and very typically autistic.
It feels to me like living in a different country, where I have to consciously apply the social and cultural rules that don't come naturally to me, but I have carefully learnt. When I’m tired, ill or sad, I can’t keep it up. But when life is good, I’m almost fluent and you’d never know it was a mask.
A lack of social imagination can mean that you don’t know what other people are thinking or feeling. I am astonished that neurotypical people can accurately guess what is happening in other people’s heads. If I’m honest I still don’t really believe that this is even possible! I need people to tell me, in words, what they think or feel. I have had many embarrassing situations where a person has only politely hinted at their meaning and it has completely passed me by.
My hope for others
Like many autistic women, I get stuck between masking in order to fit in and enable other people to feel comfortable around me, and just being myself. It’s made me more conscious of not labelling people as rude, abrupt or lacking in social skills. So often we don’t know the reason for someone’s behaviour, and we should be mindful and accepting of that.
My advice to others who have a neurodivergent condition, would be to think about how your leadership skills could shine through. There are a lot of people in leadership positions who are neurodiverse, particularly people with a passion for the role or the organisation. Perhaps this is because some neurodiverse people are able to see things differently to others, and the difference gives them an edge. I’m not going to say it’s because we are able to hyper-focus or have deep special interests, because the truth is that we are all different.
Take the opportunity to understand and harness what is great about you, and share with others where you have difficulties. Gather a team around you a team of people whose skills complement one another. Neurotypical people are all different too, and none of us has to be perfect, but together we can make a great team.
