I think you have Asperger's.

My sons were aged one and three when I started to realize something wasn't normal with me.  I was angry and nauseous almost all the time.  I tried to convince the doctor I was pregnant again (even though I had a tubal ligation during the same surgery for which I gave birth to my younger son and that was not possible).  Many tests and appointments later I had the names and phone numbers for psychologists I was never going to call.  I was too proud to call and to proud too acknowledge how intensely the anger suddenly flashed across me whenever my kids touched me.   I thought it was likely postpartum depression and would eventually pass.  As time went on, it took me longer and longer to calm down after each time I felt angry.  It was not getting better.  I decided to make the call when I had to start locking myself in a room to prevent them from touching me.  I told him why I was calling and my story detailing everything I was trying to ignore, and he replied, "I think you have Asperger's syndrome". 
Knowing you have something does not instantly make your life better, but it helps.  Sometime after my older son began attending preschool.  I was lost yet again trying to navigate the social demands of school and the parents of the other children.  I knew I needed more than just the medicine the psychologist gave me, I needed help knowing what to say to these people.  Through local resources, I found ASPPIRE and began taking social coaching classes in 2009 (about two years after I learned about my diagnosis).  After having not one friend and living in the same city for ten years, I made friends.  I wasn't the awkward woman standing in the hallway waiting to pickup my son while avoiding eye contact with everyone and staring at the wall.  I was able to make friends both inside and outside of my son's school.   I even joined a few different organizations to keep me socially busy so that I could continue to grow and succeed.
When I look back over my life, I realize how miserable and alone I was for many, many years.  If I had never found ASPPIRE I would still be in that dark place, struggling against myself.  Struggling just to function.  ASPPIRE taught me what to say, how to say it, how to deal with the anxieties I was too proud to admit I had, and so much more.  I have grown so much through the program I want to help others do the same.

The Art of Avoiding People

I got off the bus and walked down the sidewalk to the blonde-colored brick building where I attended Junior High.  Within the doors was the cafeteria where the students waited for the first bell that allowed them to go into the halls and to their lockers.  The floors were white formica squares, I stared at them as I walked past the rows of pale colored rectangular tables to the end of the cafeteria where my friends sat at the first of two round tables right inside the other set of doors leading to the halls.  When I was within a few feet of the table everyone stood up almost simultaneously, swung their backpacks on their shoulders and walked away.  I quickly lifted my gaze from the floor and looked around the room to see the rest of the students were still in their own worlds at the long tables behind me.  I stood there several moments watching them, then sat down at the table alone. 

Hillary, the tall girl with red hair and freckles, had decided this new game would be very entertaining.  She arranged for everyone to ignore me, all day long.  Her influence spread to every facet of school, including classes.  It luckily didn’t last long, but I remember how it felt to be so utterly alone.  That was the first time I considered killing myself.  That’s what bullying does.

Bullying doesn’t just end in junior high.  It follows you, and so do those thoughts you had in that junior high lunchroom as you watched your friends walk away.  Everything that matters to you can just get up and walk away at any moment, and sometimes you just relive it. 

Fast forward 20 years.

I walked through the doorway into the reception hall, greeted by dark wooden paneled walls and lights emanating from the corner of the dance floor.  The wedding party table is on the dance floor along the back wall.  That’s where Dave, my husband, will be seated.  It was his sister's wedding.  Long white tables lined the rest of the room, surrounding the dance floor.  I glance to my right and I can see Dave’s mom is seated at the first table closest door, surrounded by her family.  Her back is to me.  Her back was to me after the wedding too.  I also see there are no seats left at this table. 

I have a date, my friend from high school, someone to sit with.  She was invited shortly after the lastest fight erupted between my mother-in-law and I which I assumed would blow over as it always does where she pretends it never happened (and pretends she never told me she never wanted to see me again).  My friend and I both know she was invited because I wouldn’t be welcome sitting with a majority of the family.  She was nice enough to come anyway, maybe because she felt protective of me, or sorry for me.  Nonetheless I did not have to not have to walk into the lion's den alone.  Her and I move further into the room and pick seats near some of my father-in-law’s family who is also not seated at the family table.  They left around 7 PM.  My friend and I were on our own, no one to talk to but each other.  I knew others but they pretended to not know me, backs turned.

I could tell my friend was uncomfortable.  I was uncomfortable.  The entire family table chattered amongst themselves and we just watched them from two tables away.  Every time I came near or even looked toward my mother-in-law, she turned her back to me.  We left the room and moved seats several times.  We left the wedding twice.  When my husband’s wedding party duties were over, we joined him outside and stayed there. 

My kids eventually danced themselves into a coma, so we left.  When we got to her house I hysterically cried for a while.  I’ve never been so publicly embarrassed. 

Since the wedding in August, I constantly worried about how holidays would go.  I’ve avoided almost everyone simply because I have so much anxiety about socializing I can’t handle doing anything.  I’ve missed important things.  I missed seeing people on Thanksgiving, we stayed home doing nothing.  When I think of holidays I become very anxious worrying if I will be continue to be shunned or wondering if I will say the wrong thing. 

I feel so anxious thinking about Christmas you would think the day was so close upon me it might be tomorrow.  I hate feeling this way.

More Than You Think You Are

    So I have worked for a nonprofit business who provides social coaching to adults on the autism spectrum and/or have cognitive impairments.  Basically anyone socially awkward, like I used to be and I still am sometimes.  I actually took the class for three semesters; I'm the success story they use. 
    I love it.  I feel respected and appreciated...two things I have never felt working anywhere.  I push myself very hard too....I conduct social outings and host a Friday night social hour for everyone in the program.  During the summer I bump the social nights up to twice a week with a bowling league.  I feel like I have a lot of friends and have an impact on others' lives.  But I also hate it.  It's an obligation where if I'm not feeling up to socializing, I still have to do it.  Kind of like being a parent and all the obligations that go with it-moms don't get sick days and neither do social mentors.  Luckily I've been able to work through my anxiety and have never felt like a failure after the outings.  I'm not infallible though, and sometimes it hurts to realize that.
    One of the days this past week when I picked my kids up from school, some other parents were at the playground.  I haven't always felt respected in parent circles...not only because I'm autistic and sometimes awkward, but also because I am overweight.  Walking up to a group of skinny parents, one of which is a public figure who sometimes talks about fitness and diet, made me very nervous.  I've been avoiding a lot of contact with this particular group because I tend to receive a lot of unwarranted advice about my weight.  It seems people collate obesity with lack of intelligence.  Luckily, the rehearsed quippy lines gained some laughs and the conversation didn't last long enough to touch on any uncomfortable subjects because they had to leave. 
   Yesterday I saw one set of parents from the playground group at a birthday party which ended up running over by about an hour.  I was really hoping to execute an in and out maneuver at pick up but ended up waiting outside the party with them and my other son.  The last thing I wanted was to socialize with anyone, I was sooo not mentally prepared for it.  The father was the fitness guru I had been intimidated about and the mother was very social and very popular with the other parents at school.  I had been building some repertoire with the mother over the past year, volunteering at the kids' school where she also had been working for the five years we've gone there.  She talked me into playing glow golf as we waited.  I hate golf but she was very persuasive and charismatic and of course Eli wanted to do it as well.  The first ten minutes were incredibly awkward but by the end things were going a lot more smoothly.  I was able to engage in a lot of reciprocal conversation and even felt like we could all be friends.  I was shocked when she told me she thought I was outgoing.  I couldn't even remember what we were talking about or how that came up or what happened after that.  This person who I had been admiring for five years and even modeling a bit when socializing thought I was outgoing. 
   Put yourself out there.  No matter how awkward you feel.  Ten  minutes of torture may yield you no more awkwardness.  You might realize people aren't noticing what you think is as obvious as words written on your forehead.  When you think people regard you as 'less than' you will be surprised to know they think exactly the opposite.  You are 'more than' you think you are.