Torri, how beautiful this essay is. I am 67-years old and have spent my entire life pushing myself into being what everyone else thought I should be. Your word "exhausting" is felt so deeply. I, myself, am not sure where I fall, but now I just let myself "be" and accept me and my quirks. I've made deep, lifelong friendships, am now happily married to someone who actually loves and accepts me, and have a deep and personal relationship with God, but not "religion." I'm sad for the Patti that struggled to fit in with the crowd, but grateful I found my people as I did - more individual connections. I embrace my differences now and actually celebrate them. This is how God made me and I love him for it. I love me for it, finally. Thank you for such a beautiful essay. It really touched my heart.
Thank you for this beautiful comment - it touched my heart in return! Whether we pursue our labels or not, the goal is I think to just be okay "being." I love hearing how you've come to such a place by embracing yourself in your fullness, and you're finding connection with others who do the same. Appreciate you being here :)
I felt like I could have written so much of this myself. I was so terrified of not being believed that I showed up to my assessment with a binder. I'm grateful that the person who did mine was very validating. Thank you for sharing your letter!
Haha! I showed up with a binder too, ALL ready to defend myself! My assessor had books about autism by autistic authors on her desk and I felt my heart rate slow as soon as I saw that - such a comfort when you realize the person you're talking to is really willing to listen :) Thank you for reading!
"Long before I thought to call it autism, I explained my experience of the world like that scene from A Christmas Carol—poor Ebenezer, standing in the snow outside a brick house. Through its window he sees happy people gather in a golden glow. He must be so uncomfortable. Some prickly bush at the back of his legs, damp socks, the tepid moisture of his own breath coating his chin at the frost-licked glass. He looks on the long, full table as friends enjoy a meal together. They laugh, tell stories, are nourished. He is so near, so close to feeling the warmth of a fire and a full belly and a cheerful embrace. And yet he watches from the winter-dead garden, cold-nipped, shrub-bitten, and alone.
This is how I’ve felt. Just barely outside that soft place where people seem to so effortlessly gather. I’ve turned up to the party to realize I wasn’t invited only when I knock and no one answers...."
The number of times I have walked by a warmly lit restaurant window on a cold night in New York and felt *exactly* like this...
Thank you, Torri, for this beautiful essay, an opening allowing the world to see you. I am happy to have known you, to have shared a home with you, to have talked deeply and laughed, danced, and played music together in the shelter of our home. You are beautiful, and the world is richer for the gift of your being.
You are and have always been such a wonderful source of acceptance, love, and empowerment in my life. Thank you for caring for me so well all these years. Love love love.
This post was so relatable to my own experiences in so many ways. Not the same circumstances, but the way it feels going through life not knowing. Trying harder and harder to learn the language of unspoken cues, or the dress code, everyone else seems to easily understand. Confirming and working so hard on the inside to figure it all out and fit in.
Prior to knowing, just believing I was inherently flawed, I described myself as having lost the owner’s manual that everyone else seemed to have programmed in from birth. And then the relief and the grief that comes from realizing that the whole time you were Autistic. Thank you for writing it so well. Your words are bound to help someone see themselves in the same way you describe when you read Katherine May’s book.
Yes, yes, yes. To all of this, yes! The relief and the grief. Thank you so much for this comment - for sharing your experience, where ours overlap, and for the kindness in your words. It's always a bit uncertain, sharing these things with a world that may or may not be inclined to listen on any given day. Your response was buoying for me this morning. Thank you :)
Torri, that was so beautifully and articulately written. I was at a loss for words (in a good way).
Please always embrace being 100% you. The world would do well to learn from the beauty of neurodiversity. You see the world through a different lens. While I get glimmers of this lens (I’ve worked with autistics for 25 years, and am happily married to one!), there’s part of me that longs to see what you see. As a sensitive introvert myself (with a tendency towards all things whimsical), I’ve had the social experiences of being both “other” and “not good enough” (at least from others perspectives). I now see, that I was surrounding myself with completely the wrong people. I just needed to find my tribe.
You are an example of the type of person that I would want in my tribe. Keep being you. Keep feeling everything 150%. Keep putting your beautiful observations and poetry into the world. Don’t change unless YOU want to (and for the right reasons). You are different not less my friend. Your difference is your superpower ❤️
I think folks like us tend to gravitate toward one another, and it's always so refreshing when we get a chance to connect. Thank you so much for sharing this, and for being a part of this odd little community with me. Glad to know you!
'Wintering' was the beginning for me as well - I read it and it resonated on such a level that I immediately went out to purchase 'Electricity,' and then was like, wait a minute..... ha! Yes, yes. I think there is something distinct to those of us who have had to almost... reintroduce ourselves to our bodies for one reason or another. Something shared, absolutely. Thank you so much for bringing this to the conversation. Wishing you warmth and softness as you winter.
Torri, how beautiful this essay is. I am 67-years old and have spent my entire life pushing myself into being what everyone else thought I should be. Your word "exhausting" is felt so deeply. I, myself, am not sure where I fall, but now I just let myself "be" and accept me and my quirks. I've made deep, lifelong friendships, am now happily married to someone who actually loves and accepts me, and have a deep and personal relationship with God, but not "religion." I'm sad for the Patti that struggled to fit in with the crowd, but grateful I found my people as I did - more individual connections. I embrace my differences now and actually celebrate them. This is how God made me and I love him for it. I love me for it, finally. Thank you for such a beautiful essay. It really touched my heart.
Thank you for this beautiful comment - it touched my heart in return! Whether we pursue our labels or not, the goal is I think to just be okay "being." I love hearing how you've come to such a place by embracing yourself in your fullness, and you're finding connection with others who do the same. Appreciate you being here :)
I felt like I could have written so much of this myself. I was so terrified of not being believed that I showed up to my assessment with a binder. I'm grateful that the person who did mine was very validating. Thank you for sharing your letter!
Haha! I showed up with a binder too, ALL ready to defend myself! My assessor had books about autism by autistic authors on her desk and I felt my heart rate slow as soon as I saw that - such a comfort when you realize the person you're talking to is really willing to listen :) Thank you for reading!
"Long before I thought to call it autism, I explained my experience of the world like that scene from A Christmas Carol—poor Ebenezer, standing in the snow outside a brick house. Through its window he sees happy people gather in a golden glow. He must be so uncomfortable. Some prickly bush at the back of his legs, damp socks, the tepid moisture of his own breath coating his chin at the frost-licked glass. He looks on the long, full table as friends enjoy a meal together. They laugh, tell stories, are nourished. He is so near, so close to feeling the warmth of a fire and a full belly and a cheerful embrace. And yet he watches from the winter-dead garden, cold-nipped, shrub-bitten, and alone.
This is how I’ve felt. Just barely outside that soft place where people seem to so effortlessly gather. I’ve turned up to the party to realize I wasn’t invited only when I knock and no one answers...."
The number of times I have walked by a warmly lit restaurant window on a cold night in New York and felt *exactly* like this...
Oooof! It can be such an incredibly isolating experience.
A truly beautiful and deeply moving essay - Thank you.
From you, genuinely means the world. Thank you too ♥️
Thank you for sharing this beautiful letter. As an autistic/ADHD person, so much of this resonates. Here’s to returning to ourselves.❤️
The most important homecoming!
Thank you, Torri, for this beautiful essay, an opening allowing the world to see you. I am happy to have known you, to have shared a home with you, to have talked deeply and laughed, danced, and played music together in the shelter of our home. You are beautiful, and the world is richer for the gift of your being.
You are and have always been such a wonderful source of acceptance, love, and empowerment in my life. Thank you for caring for me so well all these years. Love love love.
This post was so relatable to my own experiences in so many ways. Not the same circumstances, but the way it feels going through life not knowing. Trying harder and harder to learn the language of unspoken cues, or the dress code, everyone else seems to easily understand. Confirming and working so hard on the inside to figure it all out and fit in.
Prior to knowing, just believing I was inherently flawed, I described myself as having lost the owner’s manual that everyone else seemed to have programmed in from birth. And then the relief and the grief that comes from realizing that the whole time you were Autistic. Thank you for writing it so well. Your words are bound to help someone see themselves in the same way you describe when you read Katherine May’s book.
Yes, yes, yes. To all of this, yes! The relief and the grief. Thank you so much for this comment - for sharing your experience, where ours overlap, and for the kindness in your words. It's always a bit uncertain, sharing these things with a world that may or may not be inclined to listen on any given day. Your response was buoying for me this morning. Thank you :)
Loved this. Beautifully written. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you :)
Torri, that was so beautifully and articulately written. I was at a loss for words (in a good way).
Please always embrace being 100% you. The world would do well to learn from the beauty of neurodiversity. You see the world through a different lens. While I get glimmers of this lens (I’ve worked with autistics for 25 years, and am happily married to one!), there’s part of me that longs to see what you see. As a sensitive introvert myself (with a tendency towards all things whimsical), I’ve had the social experiences of being both “other” and “not good enough” (at least from others perspectives). I now see, that I was surrounding myself with completely the wrong people. I just needed to find my tribe.
You are an example of the type of person that I would want in my tribe. Keep being you. Keep feeling everything 150%. Keep putting your beautiful observations and poetry into the world. Don’t change unless YOU want to (and for the right reasons). You are different not less my friend. Your difference is your superpower ❤️
I think folks like us tend to gravitate toward one another, and it's always so refreshing when we get a chance to connect. Thank you so much for sharing this, and for being a part of this odd little community with me. Glad to know you!
'Wintering' was the beginning for me as well - I read it and it resonated on such a level that I immediately went out to purchase 'Electricity,' and then was like, wait a minute..... ha! Yes, yes. I think there is something distinct to those of us who have had to almost... reintroduce ourselves to our bodies for one reason or another. Something shared, absolutely. Thank you so much for bringing this to the conversation. Wishing you warmth and softness as you winter.