From Shame to Self-Discovery: My Journey with Autism, Sensory Overload, the Pain of Behaviorism, and the Relief in Unexpected Places

My sensory issues were noticed, but instead of being seen as neurological, they were seen as behavioral. This meant I was stuck.

CONTENT WARNING: This piece contains descriptions of sensory overload, including disorientation, vertigo, vomiting, and other kinds of sickness, as well as descriptions of mental health deterioration, depression, and ideation. Descriptions of behavior modification to "treat" sensory overload via "exposure therapy" are also included. Reader discretion is advised. 

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The Struggle with Sensory Overload

I am a 37-year-old Autistic Adult who has fairly intense sensory sensitivities (that can trigger disorientation, vertigo, migraines, nausea, and other stomach problems). However, I did not understand this crucial fact about myself for most of my life. 

Adult Lyric is in a gray blazer and floral goat shirt. They have winged eyeliner and makeup on as they ride in the back seat of a truck, smiling.

One might ask, "If things were so bad, why wasn't your Autism identified earlier?" 

When I was first diagnosed Autistic (more than seven years ago now), I had the same question, though now I know the answer -it was noticed and mislabeled.

The Misdiagnosis and Shame

My stomach problems and migraines, triggered by constantly being in sensory overload (because school was too much for me), were blamed on "school refusal" - and I was prescribed "more school" even if I was physically ill (as long as I didn't have a fever). 

It didn't matter if I was projectile, vomiting uncontrollably, or in too much pain to learn. 

My being at school was, for my teachers and school administrators, about teaching me "responsibility" because one day I would "have to get a job" - so I would need to "get used" to things. 

I went to school sick because "allowing me to stay home would enforce my behavior" (according to some ill-informed professionals). 

My teachers were told not to give me "special treatment" (like extra bathroom passes), and some of them complied with this cruel directive. 

My sensory issues were noticed, but instead of being seen as neurological, they were seen as behavioral. This meant I was stuck. 

I was not allowed to leave class (if I had used up all my hall passes) and would, instead, have to vomit (in front of everyone) in a trash can kept by my desk.

In class, I was expected to control my stomach (as everyone else did), but I could not -though I wanted to. 

Some of my teachers thought I was making myself throw up to "get out of class" (because that was what they'd been told), and the remedy was "planned ignoring" of my pain and suffering. 

Having my sensory issues seen as a "behavioral issue" (and then ignored) led me to have intense feelings of shame around these differences.

Despite many examinations and doctor visits, there were no answers given to my mother and me other than "IBS" triggered by "anxiety" or "school avoidance" - and in both cases, more exposure to my trigger to "get me used to it" was the recommended treatment (along with antacids and muscle relaxers for my gut -which did nothing for me). 

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Shame is a destructive force to put on a person because it weighs people down. 

I was ashamed I was sick and couldn't keep myself together. 

I was ashamed of asking for extra bathroom breaks. 

I was ashamed of throwing up. 

I was ashamed of myself... 

And I was stuck. 

I was stuck with people who had impossible expectations for me, stuck with teachers who were intent on punishing me for bodily functions that were beyond my control. 

There was no escape. 

Much of my illness was triggered by overload and stress, and the prescription for my illness had been for "more exposure" to my stressors (which only made things worse). 

Day after day, despite how miserable I felt, I went to school, becoming accustomed to having my puke can next to my desk. 

There was no modifying the environment to meet my needs. I was expected to conform to the environment -be and do "like everyone else" (though I could not).

Things began to feel impossibly hopeless as if my entire life would now be spent bent over toilets and trash cans. 

Then, one day, in the summer between seventh and eighth grade, something happened to me that would change my life forever. 

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