When Being Autistic Means Everything Looks Extreme
I am autistic, and everything I do, people always seem to think is extreme. Everything I do, people comment on how it's a lot. I wanted to travel, so I started at 16, traveling by myself with savings I'd accumulated from when I started working at 10 (which people also thought was extreme). I ended up traveling to 30 countries by the time I turned 30. I would've traveled more, but then I got hyperfocused on becoming a therapist and being a mom.
There are too many extreme examples to provide to prove my point, like moving out when I was 16, buying a house when I was 23, or asking to be kicked out of high school so I could work full-time. Then there's reading every anthropological research article and book I could find to inform my parenting so it would be appropriate for our species, based on the science at the time. My life story always makes people's eyebrows raise, even though I can't really imagine living another way. So, you're telling me you run as a hobby and it doesn't progress to a 100-mile mountain race in nine months? Huh.
I admit that I am unusual. I've gathered that over the years from all the raised eyebrows and from the fact that the only people I've met who slightly resemble how I operate have either been autistic (because they are my clients) or people on the starting line of an ultramarathon or participating in some other autism-magnet activity. I am not saying all autistic people are like me or have what many would call an obsessive nature when it comes to their interests and pursuits. But many of us are like this and feel othered or different from the majority of the population, who just ask, "Why are you like that?" Can you just do something casually? No. No, I can't.
From my experience, people tend to approve of and desire the results of this extreme and arguably obsessive nature. The potential accumulated wealth, experiences, accomplishments, etc., that may result from this way of being are seen as praiseworthy. I would argue that the means of getting there—the monotropic, intense, unwavering dedication—is something that many people would not desire. It looks too extreme, too all-encompassing, and not fun. It doesn't look relaxing and probably isn't relaxing in the true sense of the word. But let me tell you something: this monotropic focus on one subject, one aim, or one purpose is actually the only thing that ever gets me to even remotely "relax."
Without this focus, my brain would be aimless and attack itself. Why? I don't know. This is just how my brain has always been, and there are many other autistic brains out there that operate similarly. My autistic brain always needs to be on a track, contained in some way, and working toward some important, all-consuming aim.
This is why, when I meet a client with a similar brain, one measure of their health is whether they are monotropically dedicated to an identifiable purpose or aim. If they aren't, or can't be because of burnout or some other hindrance, that is a huge problem. We need access to forward progress, intense focus and work, the satisfaction of continued growth and learning, and total dedication. This is our brain's expression of health and flourishing.
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