Dear fear,

You’ve been riding in the shotgun seat for so long, I’ve tuned you out. You were still there, of course. Each opportunity I dodged. Every discomfort I stifled. Those were the echoes of your voice, which I mistook for my GPS.

I must confess that I don’t completely understand why you’re even here. I barely remember much of our time together. So, to understand you better, I went to retrace our steps.

A few things are certain. I’ve known you since at least elementary school, and we’ve been tied at the hip for the rest of my life. Your arrival was not one dramatic entrance, rather, you crept your way in sneakily over time so that nobody would catch you.

In the beginning, I didn’t know what you were. You came out of nowhere, but you whispered things that just seemed to make sense,

“Don’t make them upset.” I didn’t know how to honor that, but boy, did I learn.

One of the earliest instances I remember happened in front of the rest of my classmates in elementary school. We were sitting on a large, colorful carpet while listening to a story. Our substitute teacher was sitting right in front of all of us. Suddenly, he leaned in and scolded me,

“STOP ROCKING.”

So I did, abruptly. I didn’t know that was bad. I didn’t even know I was doing it. Just rocking back and forth, apparently, while sitting criss-cross-applesauce in the middle of the room. It seemed insignificant, because afterwards we just went back to what we were doing.

That moment was hurtful, but I’m sure everybody had moments where they got scolded for being silly.

Learn from the mistake. It was as simple as that, right? 

Wrong. Something that kept making people upset didn’t go away. I kept making mistakes and being judged for all these things I had no idea I was supposed to know, well past the age where it was acceptable to be ‘silly.’

On another occasion, we were supposed to line up for the school bus to pick us up. Even though it sounds ridiculous, I couldn’t tell which side of the line was the front, so I walked past all the students and got scolded by the bus driver for cutting everybody, even though I didn’t mean to.

There were more experiences like this and tons of more subtle ones. I laughed for a bit too long at other people’s jokes. I was overly awkward at goodbyes. Eye contact made me uncomfortable. And most of all, everything around me stressed me out, burdening me with consistent anxiety that only made it harder to interact with people, and no outlet.

Nobody else saw what was happening to me except you. So you contributed your energy to help me suppress it, or if I couldn’t, I’d avoid putting myself in situations that made it worse. This way, we would mask it.

I went on as if nothing was wrong. With the support of my dad and my teachers, I got straight A’s all throughout school, except during the 2020 lockdown. I had perfect attendance and outstanding behaviour. My teachers always talked about how much of an excellent student I was.

My stress remained, but I believed it didn’t matter since my grades were good. Nobody asked me what was wrong, or if they did, I didn’t know what to say.

Then one day, my parents took me to see a psychologist. She revealed that I was autistic.

Just like you, the understanding of autism didn’t arrive all at once. I only slowly understood how my autism shapes my unique way of engaging with the world, different from non-autistic people.

At last, I realised what you are. You are the fear of other people misunderstanding my autistic traits and antagonizing me for it.

When I was totally lost in the world, you were consistent and absolute. You helped me achieve some caricature of peace. But things change, and friends drift apart.

I’m an adult now, and I have resources that I didn’t have back then. I have autonomy and the space to reevaluate myself.

I can work on moving my self-worth away from being based on other people’s approval and closer to my truth and values. I’ll show up for myself by taking care of my needs instead of suppressing them, and I’ll speak up so that the people close to me know what they are.

I’ll become who I am, instead of the person you guided me to be.

Fear, you won’t be gone, but I’ll have to take back the GPS.

My Deepest apologies…

-Gabby

P.S. I don’t actually have a car. How are you in it?

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