Tag: #ActuallyAutistic

The Glorious Thump: Autism, Music, and Sensory Joy

There’s a kind of magic in those moments when joy, music, and sensation collide. As an autistic individual, I often find myself seeking sensory experiences that bring both comfort and exhilaration. Some years ago, I had the pleasure of attending Jersey Boys at QPAC, and while the production was captivating, the highlight came as the show drew to a close.

The actors had left the stage, but the band continued to play. As the crowd moved toward the exits, I lingered, savoring the music and the energy of the moment. I leaned back against what i thought was the wall, because,  well,  I’m autistic and hypermobile and I lean on everything.  This time, though,  I was actually leaning on one of the huge speaker panels in the wall. I felt the glorious thump of the music reverberating through my body. It was a pure, unfiltered sensory experience, and with the hindsight bright by my autism diagnosis —a moment of autistic joy that made my heart sing.

The Intersection of Autism and Music

Music is often a profound experience for autistic individuals. It’s more than just a melody or a beat—it’s a sensory journey. For many of us, music provides a way to connect with the world and our emotions in ways words often can’t. The rhythms, vibrations, and harmonies can become a form of sensory seeking, where we actively pursue experiences that stimulate and satisfy our senses.

In this instance, the vibrations from the speaker weren’t just sound; they were a tactile sensation, a physical resonance that complemented the auditory experience. For me, leaning against that speaker was like plugging into the music itself—a direct line to the joy and energy of the moment.

Tinnitus and Sensory Trade-Offs

Of course, sensory joy sometimes comes with trade-offs. As someone who experiences tinnitus, I’m well aware that loud environments can exacerbate the ringing in my ears. But in moments like these, the joy far outweighs the potential discomfort. Tinnitus, while ever-present, feels like a small price to pay for the incredible connection I feel to music.

Interestingly, I’ve often wondered if what is perceived as tinnitus in autistic individuals might sometimes be a form of sensory hyperacuity—a heightened awareness of certain frequencies rather than a true ringing. Regardless, the interplay between sensory seeking and sensory overload is something many autistic people navigate daily.

The Unique Joy of Autistic Sensory Seeking

Sensory seeking is a deeply personal and unique experience for each autistic person. For me, it’s not just about chasing sensory stimulation but finding the perfect balance that brings comfort, connection, and delight. Music offers that balance in spades. Whether it’s the deep thrum of a bassline, the soaring notes of a violin, or the harmonies of a choir, music is a source of unparalleled autistic joy.

Moments like the one at Jersey Boys remind me of the beauty in embracing my sensory needs and special interests. By allowing myself to linger, to lean into the moment—literally and figuratively—I’m honoring the joy and connection that music brings to my life.

Celebrating Autistic Joy

Autistic joy often comes in moments that might seem small or inconsequential to others but are deeply meaningful to us. It’s in the details: the thrum of a speaker stack, the shimmer of a cymbal, the resonance of a perfect chord. These are the moments where we feel truly alive, connected to ourselves and the world around us.

For anyone who sees me leaning against a speaker, eyes closed, lost in the music—know that it’s not just about hearing the sound. It’s about feeling it, embodying it, and letting it carry me to a place of pure, unfiltered joy.

Because sometimes, the thump of the bass is worth everything, even the tinnitus.

This was written by ChatGPT in response to my prompts, and a final edit by me.  A transcript is available at https://chatgpt.com/share/67905d56-adbc-8013-bcbe-3ed1ecc515c3

If 10,000 hours of practice gives mastery,  what would 446,760 hours give?

10,000 Hours of Practice vs. A Lifetime of Masking: Reflections on Mastery in Autism Camouflage

Malcolm Gladwell’s popularization of the “10,000-hour rule” suggests that achieving mastery in any field requires approximately 10,000 hours of deliberate practice. It’s an appealing concept, simplifying the path to expertise into a measurable framework. But as a late-diagnosed autistic adult, I find myself contrasting this idea of practice with the unchosen, unrelenting “practice” I’ve had in masking—51 years of it.

On my autism assessment, I scored in the 96.4th percentile for masking and the 94.2nd percentile for assimilation, numbers that represent the decades I’ve spent learning to suppress, disguise, and override my natural self to navigate a neurotypical world. These scores are a quantification of something intangible: survival through performance. What emerges from this reflection is the concept of a Medal for Autistic Camouflage Mastery—an ironic yet poignant acknowledgment of the incredible, and often devastating, effort it takes to “pass” as neurotypical for half a century.

The Unseen Hours of Practice

Gladwell’s rule centers on intentional practice: deliberate, focused work aimed at refining a skill. Masking, however, is rarely deliberate in the same sense. It begins as an instinctive survival mechanism, an unconscious adaptation to the discomfort, rejection, or confusion of being “other.” Over time, it becomes habitual, almost automatic—an internalized choreography of micro-expressions, tone modulation, and scripted responses.

Consider the sheer volume of practice:

  • Daily Social Interactions: Every conversation, every smile, every nod calibrated for neurotypical comfort.
  • Workplace Expectations: Code-switching between professional personas, often accompanied by the emotional labor of suppressing sensory discomfort.
  • Familial and Cultural Norms: Assimilation within family dynamics, which often means prioritizing others’ expectations over personal needs.

Unlike the 10,000 hours Gladwell describes, the “practice” of masking isn’t chosen. It’s demanded. And unlike the mastery of a craft, the rewards of masking are bittersweet: social acceptance at the cost of self-erasure.

Masking as Mastery

If masking were a skill judged on effort and results, I’d have long ago qualified for a medal. The imaginary Medal for Autistic Camouflage Mastery would represent:

  • Endurance: Decades of unrelenting performance.
  • Adaptability: The ability to seamlessly blend into environments that feel alien.
  • Attention to Detail: The micro-level precision required to decode and replicate neurotypical social norms.

Yet, this medal would carry the weight of its price: chronic exhaustion, identity fragmentation, and the toll on mental health. Mastery in masking doesn’t feel like success—it feels like survival at a profound cost.

The Capitalist Fetish for Productivity and Its Hidden Costs

In a society obsessed with productivity, the value of a person is often measured by their output—how efficiently they can perform, contribute, and conform. For undiagnosed, unsupported, and highly masked autistic individuals, this system demands relentless effort to meet neurotypical standards, often at great personal cost. Masking allows autistic individuals to navigate workplaces and social systems, but it comes with consequences that ripple far beyond the individual.

The capitalist model thrives on hidden labor, and masking is one such invisible cost. The mental and emotional toll of sustaining this level of performance—while managing sensory sensitivities, social anxieties, and burnout—is rarely acknowledged or accommodated. This unrelenting demand often leads to chronic health issues, mental illness, or total withdrawal from the workforce when burnout becomes insurmountable. Society loses the potential contributions of brilliant, creative minds, not because these individuals lack capability, but because the system fails to support them in ways that honor their neurodivergent needs.

When autistic individuals are left undiagnosed or unsupported, society pays a significant price. The energy spent on masking could otherwise be directed toward innovation, problem-solving, and creativity—qualities many autistic people excel at when allowed to flourish authentically. Instead, this potential is often squandered as individuals are funneled into rigid molds that suppress their strengths.

Consider the systemic implications: higher healthcare costs due to burnout, mental health crises, and comorbid conditions; the loss of diverse perspectives in workplaces and communities; and the missed opportunity to build more inclusive systems that accommodate varied ways of thinking and working. Moreover, the emotional toll on families, the community strain of misdiagnosed or misunderstood behaviors, and the perpetuation of stigma further erode social cohesion.

In this light, the capitalist fetish for productivity isn’t just damaging on an individual level—it actively depletes society of the rich contributions neurodivergent individuals could make if only they were supported. Recognizing and accommodating autistic people isn’t a matter of charity—it’s an investment in a future where everyone’s strengths are valued, and no one’s potential is wasted in the shadows of survival.

Toward a New Kind of Mastery

As I reflect on 51 years of masking, I realize that my “mastery” can evolve. I can shift from being a master of camouflage to a master of self-acceptance, advocacy, and authenticity. The time and energy I once spent on masking can be redirected to pursuits that bring joy and meaning, breaking free from the survival paradigm.

For anyone who, like me, feels they’ve earned that imaginary medal: wear it with pride, but don’t let it define you. Mastery in masking was never the goal. Freedom from the need to mask—that is the mastery we truly deserve.