Tag: #LateDiagnosedAutistic

The Chiaroscuro Anthology


April is Autism Awareness Month. But that’s wrong. We don’t need awareness. We need acceptance.

We need acceptance of the Level 3 autists with significant challenges.
We need acceptance of the Level 2 autists with fewer challenges.
We need acceptance of the Level 1 autists, like me, with fewer challenges than a Level 2 autist—but challenges nonetheless.

We need acceptance simply because our brains are built and wired differently. It is in our DNA; every cell of our body is autistic. We cannot be anything but autistic.

And to us? Neurotypicals—allistics—are the weird ones who don’t make sense.

If you can’t accept that, then at least recognise the equity you deny us. Recognise the social cohesion that is lost in the absence of equity and inclusion.

But back to regular business.

The Chiaroscuro Anthology is a collection of 19 poems, published here throughout April. (If you want everything all at once, there’s a PDF.)

And now—the writer’s statement.



Light alone is shapeless. A flood with no shore, a dawn without contrast. It spills, uncontained, flattening all into a seamless glow. There is no form, no edge, no texture—only a blinding sameness.

Darkness alone is abyss. A void that swallows, erasing all it touches. It stretches infinite, consuming definition, devouring meaning until nothing remains but an echo of absence.

Between them—chiaroscuro. The whisper of shadow against skin, the ember in the midnight hush. Here, light sharpens into something more than mere brightness; it carves faces, silhouettes, stories. Here, darkness finds its purpose—not as oblivion, but as contrast, as depth, as the place where light reveals itself most truly.

What is the light without darkness?
A glare with no soul.

What is the darkness without light?
A silence with no song.

But together—
Together, they paint a world.

Together, they paint an autistic world.


—

The Chiaroscuro Anthology is my contribution to Autism Awareness Month. It is not just poetry—it is my autism laid bare, in shadow and light.

This is my rage at the world’s expectations.
This is my grief for what was lost.
This is my discovery of what was always there.
This is my unification of self.

Each piece is a reflection of contrast, intensity, and depth—the way I experience the world. Chiaroscuro is not just art; it is how I exist.

This is my applied phenomenology 

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.