August 11, 2024

I am a 45-year-old woman who has been in recovery from alcohol and drug misuse for 3.5 years and I consider myself a recovered alcoholic. I have mostly enjoyed a beautiful recovery journey. It occurred to me this last year that something is not quite right with my mind. Recently, I began to seek further help with my mental health, and I was diagnosed as autistic.

Early Sobriety

For the first 2.5 years of sobriety absolutely anything was better than where I came from in active addiction. Literally everything was new as I had been using substances for 25 years. In early recovery I was relearning how to live. My life started to balance out, the debilitating fear of relapse began to fade, and my intuition grew. At the same time I became aware of my persistent inner dialogue that at times exhausted me. 

To survive the transition from numbing my life to being fully present, I leaned heavily into prayer and meditation. The basis of my new life was dedication to recovery programs. I am convinced the only reason I did not lose my mind these last years is from a persistent and rigorous recovery program. Needless to say, I am exhausted. On the verge of some critical mental breakdown or breakthrough, I began researching comorbidity, as they call it, of “Alcoholism & Autism”. I knew in my heart, we who required a chemical escape from our minds were different. Yet, we were gifted in many ways.

Diagnosis

I organically came to discover four weeks ago through self-diagnosis that I am Autistic.

It was like a train hit me. I have never been institutionalized. I have never been diagnosed with any mental health issues. I have not been on a mental health journey. The reason that I flew under the radar is twofold in my estimation. Women are highly adept at managing life’s inconveniences and molding ourselves into polite, palatable little humans. Secondly, I was so busy managing my alcoholism that masked the neurodivergence the substances softened to begin with. While I felt at home when I made this discovery. At the same time, I felt like a stranger inside my own existence. 

I have since received an actual medical diagnosis. This felt important since imposter syndrome was starting to cloud my judgement. I questioned the legitimacy of my discovery and gut-instincts, which led to more unhelpful inner dialogue. So I took the path of getting assessed professionally.

I am now presented with a mind-boggling, contradictory combination of diagnoses. Understanding I am autistic answers so many questions about my strange and painful life. I am not just an alcoholic anymore, I now identify as alcoholic & autistic.

My Alcoholic Life

I get it now: as an undiagnosed autistic woman, I needed alcohol. It helped get through the un-comfortability, pain, and anxiety of life. Fear. So much fear. Alcohol and benzos instantly made life do-able. They took the edge off the incessant inner world that did not align with the outer world. This was my solution. Until I became addicted. 

As an alcoholic who required “pain relief” just to exist, I wanted to constantly forget my drunken actions. I was mortified at the drunken version of myself. This version was everything the sober Vanessa could not be: confident, brave, and most importantly – fearless. Alcohol for a brief time took away this internal, persistent fear that plagued me. When I recalled how outwardly expressive I was with a few drinks I felt knives dig into my heart & gut. I went from introverted to extroverted as if I were hi-jacked. I became two different personas. 

So this contradictory combination was the result of using substances as a solution. This approach was required to show up for life. It resulted in me overdoing the things I would have been too fearful to do sober. The resulting after effects of guilt and shame were debilitating. 

I am suddenly aware how I dealt with this contradiction of personality: by faking it. The day after a wild night where I was loud, funny and charismatic when I was drunk, I had to learn to be just as funny. Even though it was unnatural the next day sober (and hungover).

The result was drinking more. I used pills to modulate the natural anxiety. This was on top of the anxiety of what was done while I was drinking. 

I began avoiding people who might notice or care about the “two versions” of myself. I drank alone or anonymously in bars until the inhibitions dropped. Then inevitably, I found some stranger to keep company with. That was also often anonymous. No interest in learning who that person was or staying in contact. Transactional shared time that checked a few boxes of intimacy, closeness, and physical attention. Nothing more. Often associated with more guilt. Clearly not a good fix. But this is how I live my life for many years.

Eventually I found a solution for dealing with this life. I began dissociating from my body, my emotions, and connection to other human beings. I couldn’t honestly have booze in my system all the time yet. So, I learned to annex myself from the deep feelings. The sensations that were constant. I cannot say how long ago this started, but I believe it has been many years. The long-term effect of this type of behavior is still with me. Still as I write this today, the artifacts of dissociation are real. I can effectively shut down in an instant. Sometimes I am shocked at my lack of feelings during traumatic or upsetting events. I watch it happening as if an observer as the connection to human emotion is severed.  

Guarding Since Childhood

An early example from childhood popped into my head since diagnosis. It was of feeling utterly crushed by doing unguarded activities and being “free”. I was eleven years old at my sister’s first wedding and at the reception I danced alone for hours. I had never done this before and had so much fun expressing myself. I felt free. I was also aware of self-expression in front of others. I had never had the courage to do this before. I remember believing I was a good dancer, because I was, and feeling an element of “coming out”. I was hot and red faced and I danced so hard. Then I felt incredibly embarrassed. It weighed on me that I was so bare and vulnerable. The very thing that felt good was what made me feel so bad after. I remember ruminating on this. I was trapped in guilt for days and weeks. Over the years, I still feel the embarrassment.

This was to become and remains a common theme throughout my whole life. Obsessive reviewing of times I spoke my mind or expressed myself. Feeling so good via self-expression, followed by incredible embarrassment digging deep into my heart and my soul. I was exposed and shameful. This was 34 years ago and it brings tears to my eyes writing it at this moment. The feelings are so strong. 

It makes one wonder. If something as simple as child-like expression when you’re 11 years old brings huge, incredible shame and guilt, how much was I routinely hiding? How much was I masking? I certainly never did that again, or at least not sober. It can be assumed that I never felt comfortable just being a little one, as I was full of fear and doom. If I were a child acting like a child, it wouldn’t be a problem. But, my inner experience did not translate to the outer world. Somehow by 11 years old I had learned that to act the way I felt would cause pain. 

These are new realizations and will take time, community and probably therapy to understand. I speak them into existence to hold myself accountable and to share in case others have felt the same way. 

The Pain of Early Diagnosis

Now that I have reflected on these experiences and memories from an autistic lens, pain and depression washed over me again and again these last weeks. I felt so sad that my entire life has been fraught with this hidden discomfort. The desire to be seen, finally breaking out (often assisted by drugs and alcohol) and feeling, actually feeling something. Then finally being FREE – free from judgment inner and outer. Free from fear. Followed by the crushing and quite worse after-effect of guilt and shame. I felt embarrassment with my open vulnerability. My raw unprotected tenderness was exposed. 

In the days that followed my self-diagnosis, I was unsure which of these personas was my true nature. I have been asking myself, WHO AM I? Which one is real and why are my two parts in such opposition? Is it learned to be hidden and in pain or is that part of my autism? Is it society not recognizing and embracing neurodivergence, which requires masking? The desire to be free and uninhibited seems like it should be natural, but it is horrifying at times. 

At first blush the answer is more HOW I am: a set of habituations and protective measures. I have a need to remain closed off. This is to let the inside parts be veiled. This need met with the defensive nature of learned guarding. I have become the vulnerable inner child and the resilient outer shell in one human.

Perspective Shift

As I allowed my heart to grow stronger than my worrisome mind, I remembered something important. I do know who I am. Despite an entirely new way of understanding how I show up in the world, I do know where my heart is. I am a loving and deeply empathetic woman. The challenge now is to know what masks are unnecessary and which are okay for my safety. I also recognize I don’t have to have all the answers at once. 

Much of my persistent obsessive behavior you can find described in the pages of recovery literature. The “alcoholic mind” and the commonly used phrase “disease of the mind” seemed to fit. So I thought I had found the answer to what was “wrong with me” by admitting I was an alcoholic. The exhausting qualities of my inner world clearly began in childhood. So I am now attributing this to the autistic mind, not the alcoholic one.

These are big shifts in understanding oneself and are coming as a heavy hit. 

Painful Unveiling

The other part that is happening concurrently to these existential questions, is the deep emotions of revelation. Discovering my autism invokes so many deep feelings, and I have been reviewing and reassessing my entire life. This is probably not necessary, certainly difficult, and potentially harmful. But this morbid curiosity is real. The desire to reassess every single interaction from birth. 

Admitting I am experiencing a painful stage also means acknowledgement of the hidden feelings all these years. This is difficult. It is ripping off the very Band-Aid and protective armour I developed intentionally in the first place. I spent my entire life protecting the soft, vulnerable parts. Now, I am forced to face them, not just some of them, but my entire existence. It is all surfacing.

So when people ask me, “Vanessa, how is this new revelation that you are autistic hard?” and “In what way is this difficult?”, this is my answer:

I am revisiting long since buried pain. Intentionally buried and numbed feelings that were too fearful to face and incorporate into daily living.  

The Next Part of the Recovery Journey

All of this is only possible because I got sober. I can’t say I understood nor welcomed inner reflection before addiction recovery. The process of leaning into questions, trends and patterns to better understand the causes and conditions. This new process and way of investigating and deep self-introspection is definitely learned through recovery. The mechanism I know, understand and regularly apply to all life challenges. I am grateful for the hard work that has been necessary to get clean & sober from all substances. It is for this reason that the truth is coming out at all. 

I suppose I mistakenly thought I had learned sufficiently about myself these last few years. The hugely difficult admission and surrender to being an alcoholic. That seemed like the most important thing anyone can know, if you’re a “real alcoholic” like I am. That truth had to be uncovered first, I now see. I was unprepared for any other designators, any other deep truths and identifiers for the last 3 1/2 years. I honestly thought that I understood myself and my life at 45 years old. However, I was wrong.

Honestly, I was side-swiped by this new diagnosis. I fancy myself one of the folks who remain ready to deepen the understanding, keep healing and revealing. I really didn’t think anything new would be revealed and how silly of me. 

I say it all the time, we say it all the time in recovery, “more will be revealed”. I suppose that I have always expressed that sentiment with a level of expectation. The ‘more’ being revealed will always be enlightening in some way, or be innately positive. This is often the misstep on a spiritual journey. The learning, knowing, and growth will not always be positive. They will not always feel good. 

I actually know better, I know that whatever is revealed is for me, and for my growth and development. But I somehow thought in the first wonderful years of my sobriety that the ‘more’ that was to come would be easier. I believed it would be easier than finding out I was an alcoholic and an addict. However, in this case, the knowledge is real, and it is deep and this journey began in the womb. It has been ever so painfully unexpected, yet a homecoming to a place inside you always imagined existed. It is in these moments that my heart is full of gratitude.

This might all sound quite dark and I vacillate between hopelessness and a newfound hope for improved mental health. Honestly, these feelings have come in drastic waves, but have been progressively getting more gentle. The wave keeps rolling. I am washed over with gratitude. I have been given the gift of knowing oneself on a deep level. 

I have strong recovery roots and community. I have a solid spiritual practice. I am learning how to live in the world as a neurodivergent, recovered woman. I feel empowered to share my autistic journey. I have done this consistently around substance use. I hope to help someone like me. 

Finding My New Community

During the last month I couldn’t process any peer-reviewed journal articles. This was unusual for me. I could not do any deep-dive research. My internal system was shot and I was completely overwhelmed, properly burned out. Something I am also learning about. During this time, what helped me the most was reading blogs like Emergent Divergence. I also found solace in listening to podcasts like David’s Divergent Discussions. Additionally, hearing others’ stories was impactful and encouraging. I plan to keep writing. I now understand that I have long suffered in silence. I hope by sharing stories of pain, discovery, and bravery we can become unafraid to speak out together. 

When they told me I was an alcoholic I felt a pang, but I could finally speak the truth about myself, and hope flooded in. The growth I am experiencing now in understanding my neurodivergent mind has a similar feeling, that I might finally be getting closer to understanding this life journey. I am no longer afraid. Let me continue to seek understanding. Let me gently embrace who I really am inside. Let me find gratitude in the process of revealing to heal.