Embracing My Autistic Identity and Toxic Childhood

Let’s crack this open with the EGG that scrambled my paths and sent me on a wild chase for my unmasked identity that needed some explanation! Yes, folks, I’m talking about a fried egg—the only egg that could make me ask countless questions. While most people have epiphanies with ayahuasca or during a deep conversation with a wise panda, mine happened while watching a father and son eating breakfast in a K-drama.

This wasn’t just any egg; it was the culinary equivalent of an identity awakening. As my husband and me watched the perfectly shaped fried egg being carefully placed on a piece of toast by a father, the son gazed at it for precisely half a second, pointed at it, and looked away as if it had the power to cause him pain. The reaction was instinctive, and it was a noticeable distress at the sight of a small drop of egg yolk seeping from its sac. The father immediately yet calmly removed the broken fried egg from his son and replaced it with his own plate.

This scene resonated with me, which is odd since I rarely encounter anything on TV or in real life that I can relate to. A broken egg yolk is not ideal in my book, and I never considered the need to investigate further; I thought everyone would be annoyed by a pierced yolk. The son's reaction led me to think about how I respond to a leaking yolk—I'd not be happy by the clear cross-contamination between the yolk and the white.

My husband would always swap his egg with mine if the yolk wasn't intact, so I could savour eating around the yolk and then experience the burst in my mouth all at once without seeing it break, and he would always laugh when my face lit up with joy. Who knew a simple breakfast could lead to such a profound discovery? The show's portrayal of the father-son interaction indicated that this was an important aspect being highlighted, and it made us recognise the resemblance, prompting us to pause the show to read the series' description. That's when I encountered the word autism, which guided me towards the breakthrough.

Embracing the Reality of My Toxic Childhood

After seeing the show's description, I translated autism from English into my native language in traditional Chinese, where it literally means "self closing condition." Now, I don’t know about you, but that sounds like the diagnosis of a malfunctioning lift: "Sorry, folks, this lift is currently experiencing a self closing condition. Please use the stairs—if you can find them!"

My language is very descriptive and literal, which is one reason I love it. It's like a language that doesn't just tell you what something is but gives you the whole backstory, complete with a dramatic soundtrack! Imagine ordering a cup of tea and getting a full narrative about how the leaves were grown, harvested, and then decided to go on a self-discovery journey with a band before ending up in your cup.

While the translation might appear offensive to some, the term closely relates to the origin of the word autism, derived from the Greek word autós, meaning "self". Coined by Swiss psychiatrist Eugen Bleuler, it was meant to describe withdrawal into one's inner world. So, really, it’s like saying, "I’m not antisocial; I’m just in a really committed relationship with my inner worlds!" So, if you ever hear someone say they’re experiencing a "self closing condition," just know they might be deep in thought—or trying to figure out how to escape from small talks!

The English word autism that seemed unfamiliar is actually one I heard during my childhood. It was used to mock me whenever I failed to meet unrealistic expectations or responded differently to situations that might reveal the toxic childhood that is in the family dynamics. Nothing says "I love you" quite like a well-timed jab about your nature.

The combination of my childhood memories, my husband's understanding of this aspect of me and the show's portrayal of a father's devotion to his son led me to question why I never received such support from my own immediate family. Instead, my early years with them were filled with inconsiderations and assumptions. Fortunately, my caring grandparents provided me with a loving childhood.

Here I am, grappling with the reality of my lack of understanding about autism and attempting to grasp how my autistic identity may have contributed to the bullying in my toxic childhood. For instance, when I didn't know how to play with my older brother, or if I refused to join in his games, he would become very angry and shout, "What are you doing? Why can't you be normal? Are you autistic?" and then he would hit me. As a child, I understood the situation and didn't let it affect me. If you're facing bullying or a toxic environment, remember that it's not your fault; it's a reflection of their own toxic behaviours.

Ah, those delightful childhood memories, where love was expressed through a series of verbal battles, emotional gymnastics, psychological aerobics, and physical conditioning. Above all, nothing quite captures "family bonding" like a hefty does of bullying disguised as a sincere "I’m just trying to help you grow!" Cheers to developing a resilient personality and sense of humour that helps me rise above such challenges.

The Crucial Detour Before the Autism Diagnosis

Before fully committing to understanding autism, I first took a detour to find explanations for the abuse in my toxic childhood, attempting to comprehend the rationale behind their behaviours. This determination has helped me succeed in many scenarios, and that time, it was more than just sheer willpower. My instinct was telling me that answers were lurking just beneath the surface, ready to clarify many years of suspicions.

This detour has a name: narcissism. Oh yeah, another ism. However, this one is quite distinct, and I can firmly state that I want nothing to do with it, though it seems to have stalked me since birth. These thoughts made me doubt whether I'm actually foolish or lacking some kind of radar system that was deactivated in my genetic code. Like a built-in alarm that's supposed to go off when people start admiring their reflections too much. Instead, it appears I'm just wandering around, blissfully unaware, like a puppy that thinks being drowned is love (no puppy was harmed, and the analogy pained me too).

I had heard of the term narcissism before, but I never really understood what it meant or how it might be relevant to me. So, I turned to Google once more. As I began typing "narcissism" in the search bar, I was amazed by the number of suggestions that appeared. Have I missed out on something important yet again? How could I know so little about something that is apparently not a secret at all? The statistics were just terrifying.

While reading research papers on narcissism and learning about others' firsthand experiences, some of whom became psychiatrists due to their own narcissistic family dynamics, I was surprised to be able to relate to these experiences. I never wasted time to focus much on these situations because I believed that the attention would give them power, so I thought it was best to overcome them. However, I was eventually driven to recognise the sinister behaviours, which mostly occurred when I was alone with these family members. I'd highly recommend investing time to read about other people's experiences and talk with closed ones about your own experience. This certainly validated my experiences and that's all I needed to continue to pursue an autism diagnosis.

How My Autistic Identity Helped Me Embrace My Toxic Childhood

The brief introduction to my family dynamics may seem bleak, but I'm an expert at discovering positives in every situation, a trait I credit to my autistic identity—my extreme positivity. Of course, this intense positivity does have its limits. It tends to take a holiday during times of autistic burnout or sensory overload, transforming into extreme negativity. Like when you realise you’ve been talking to a houseplant for too long, and it hasn’t even responded with a leaf wiggle, expecting you to read its mind and expressions.

The challenges I've experienced are simply the lessons necessary for me to achieve independence and thrive in my own unique way. Each setback is just another quirky chapter in my life’s manual, titled "How to Adult from the Age of Five". So, while my family dynamics may seem like a scene from a tragic comedy, I have embraced the chaos and accomplished a lot in my life. That is, until the recent autistic burnout and sensory overload from the injuries and dealing with reckless builders.

Welcome to My Family's Tragic Comedy Show!

Growing up in Asia, it's common to experience bluntness on a daily basis. As someone who is direct, I don't dwell on these comments too much. I used to think that being a good child meant making the best of these remarks as a part of family. It's important to remember that what others say isn't necessarily the truth; you have your own perspective.

I understand that every family has its quirks, as we say in my language, "家家有本難念的經," meaning each family has its own difficult scripture. So, let me paint you a picture of mine.

The Mother

As a child, I adored my mother immensely. I saw her as the most amazing woman in the world and believed she was the best mother possible. I didn't care that she never had time for me, or that she never seems happy, I loved her intensely all the same. However, I can't say she felt the same way about me. Here are some typical comments she made, which might have affected me if I weren't autistic:

"You're so ugly that you can't possibly be my child. You must be your aunt's daughter because you're just as ugly as she is."

"If it weren't for you, I would have been highly successful and achieved a high level of education. You're such a burden!"

"You're hideous and look very different from us, the hospital must have gave me the wrong baby to bring home."

"You're not my daughter, you're disgusting. Stay away from me."

"Your face doesn't have any appealing features; why didn't you inherit my beauty like your older brother?"

"I attempted many times to abort you, even created a game by leaping off the stairs."

I always defended and justified my mother's words and actions. This was partly because she had us at a young age, and my grandparents instilled in me the importance of being sensible, understanding, compassionate, and considerate towards family. They told me this rule was especially relevant to my mother, and since I naturally appreciate rules, I adhered to them strictly.

Some might think these experiences would disturb me, but they don't have a major impact on my life. I understand from a young age that we don't choose our family; we are born into one. From this, we can learn both positive and negative lessons and decide who we want to become based on these experiences. We didn't choose our childhood, so we're not accountable for other people's words and actions.

To highlight the contrast, when I actually made a choice that led to injuries, poor health, and a dangerous home environment due to reckless builders, I started feeling like a failure for making the wrong decision to choose these builders and being unable to recover. Tears streamed uncontrollably down my face, making me feel as if my body was malfunctioning. I was crying so intensely (a rare occurrence) that I could have watered all my plants! It wasn't until my husband said, "What you are experiencing now is normal," that I realised what had happened to me wasn't my failure but rather the result of others' negligence.

Some might assume these experiences would unsettle me, but they don't significantly affect my life. From a young age, I understood that we don't choose our family; we are born into one. This allows us to learn both positive and negative lessons and shape who we want to become based on these experiences. We didn't choose our childhood, so we're not responsible for the words and actions of others.

In contrast, when I actually made a choice that resulted in injuries, poor health, and a hazardous home environment due to reckless builders, I began to feel like a failure for selecting these builders and being unable to recover. Whenever I recall the accidents and feel the pain, tears flow uncontrollably down my face, making me feel as if my body is malfunctioning. I cry so intensely (which is unusual for me) that I could have watered all my plants! It was only when my husband said, "What you are experiencing now is normal," that I realised it wasn't my failure but rather the result of others' negligence.

The Brother

This is another tough one, but somehow it's more defined than the complicated relationship with my mother. My older brother's hateful words make it easier for my black and white thinking. The nature of the mistreatments is also clearer, helping me understand his hatred towards me. Here's a brief overview of these mistreatments:

"Why are you so annoying? You're an autistic freak."

"Why are you being so stubborn? Are you demented?"

"What makes you such an obnoxious weirdo?"

"I hate you! You're so despicable!"

"You're ugly, you're overbearing, and you have a terrible temper. As you get older, no one will want to be with you."

"Why are you so introverted? Stop acting strange."

"What's wrong with you? You’re so repulsive and not ladylike at all."

For me, even though these words might seem unsettling to others, they clearly indicated how burdensome and inconvenient my nature was for him as my older brother. However, this experience taught me not to waste time on those who view me as a burden, and I never considered myself one. These words often came with or after a beating, which made me understand that I was just an outlet for his frustration, unrelated to my unique autistic identity. This is a perfect example of a "you problem".

So, there you have it! My family's unique brand of chaos, where every day is a new episode of "What Will They Do Next?" If you ever feel like your family is a sitcom waiting to happen, just remember: at least you're not alone in the comedy club of life!

Besides, my exceptional positivity, which is a part of my autistic traits, has consistently helped me in overcoming these difficulties, inspiring me to think about how I can grow into a resilient person, unwavering in my search for stability, and achieve independence in my own unique way.

Realising I Am the Scapegoat

While learning about narcissism, I frequently encountered the term "scapegoat", and none of the examples I found were associated with anything positive—it's as cheery as a tax audit. As I read different books and blogs about the scapegoat child, I was amazed at how closely it reflected my own childhood. Imagine this: my older brother—the first son of the first son, the "golden child," was like a trophy on a shelf—shiny, admired, and completely untouchable. Meanwhile, I was assigned the role of the scapegoat, which, in case you didn’t know, is basically the family’s designated fall person.

If there was a crumb in the house, it was always my fault. Honestly, I realised that if you're destined to be the scapegoat, you might as well embrace it. At least I got to perfect my no-care-in-the-world wiggle. So here’s to all the scapegoats of the world—may we forever be the ones who get recognition for the missing cookies! Because if we’re going to take the blame, we might as well enjoy a snack while doing it!

If you find that kind of attention unappealing, you can of course laugh, cry, or just hit the reset button on the whole family dynamic. I ended up doing all three! I was finally ready to turn the page—preferably to a chapter titled "How to Survive Family Visits to the Other Side of the World Without Losing Your Mind." Or maybe just toss the entire book off of a cliff and start a new genre: "How to Embrace Your Autistic Identity in Witness Protection After Family Reunions." It's a bestseller in my mind!

After realising I was the scapegoat in a complex dynamic, I found myself navigating through several stages that were both intense and enlightening. Primarily, I experienced a profound sense of anger. This anger stemmed from the realisation that I had been unfairly positioned as the target for blame, a role that was not only undeserved but also deeply unfair. I encountered a surge of indignation as I reflected on the circumstances, questioning why I had been chosen to bear the weight of others' bad behaviours. Is it because of my autistic identity? or Is it just because I'm a girl? This anger was often directed not only at those who had scapegoated me but also at myself for allowing the situation to unfold without adequately defending my position.

Following the anger, I dove headfirst into a delightful pool of denial. I became the world’s leading expert in rationalising the actions of others, convincing myself that perhaps I had indeed played a part in the unfolding events, despite the overwhelming evidence pointing to my innocence. This denial was a coping mechanism, a way to protect myself from the painful truth that I was being unjustly blamed. It provided a temporary refuge, allowing me to escape the harshness of my circumstances, even if only for a little while.

However, the cycle did not end there. I often found myself back on the emotional rollercoaster, waver between rage and moments of clarity. The intensity of my anger would sometimes give way to a more reflective state, where I would begin to counter the accusations levelled against me. In these moments, I would gather my thoughts, recalling instances and evidence that clearly demonstrated my lack of culpability. I would engage in internal debates, weighing the arguments for and against my role in the situation, trying to make sense of the chaos that surrounded me.

Ultimately, this journey led me to a stage of acceptance. Accepting the truth of being a scapegoat was not an easy task; it required a significant amount of introspection and emotional labour. I had to confront the uncomfortable reality that, in the eyes of others, I had been unfairly labelled as the one responsible for problems that were beyond my control. This acceptance, however, was liberating in its own right. It allowed me to acknowledge the situation for what it truly was, freeing me from the chains of guilt and self-blame that had held me captive for a little while. It was like discovering that the heavy backpack I’d been carrying was actually filled with marshmallows—sweet, fluffy, and delicious.

Yet, even in this phase of acceptance, I found that the emotional rollercoaster was far from over. I would occasionally slip back into anger or denial, especially when confronted with reminders of the scapegoating. The journey was not linear; it was filled with ups and downs, twists and turns that challenged my resilience and fortitude. Each time I revisited these stages, I gained a deeper understanding of myself and my emotional responses, ultimately leading to a more profound sense of self-awareness and empowerment as I learned to navigate the complexities of being a scapegoat.

Time to Reset the Toxic Family Dynamics

The insights from my reading were straightforward, with each book or blog on narcissism offering its own guidance on how to escape toxic environments and focus on yourself. It's like a neon sign flashing "Get Out Now!" while simultaneously handing me a cup of herbal tea for my nerves. It's similar to the airplane safety instruction—ensure you secure your own mask before helping others.

Although this guidance is simple, putting it into practice is far more complicated, as years of ingrained behaviour and strict adherence to family rules also conflict with the advice. So, I decided to give it another try before I fully activate the reset button to determine if it truly is as bad as my memories suggest, or if my brain is just throwing a K-drama in my head. I also wanted to experiment with defending myself whenever narcissistic remarks or actions were directed at me—where I have to outwit, outlast, and hopefully not outcry at the family table. Plus, I'm overdue for a long trip back "home".

During this visit, I truly understood the phrase "ignorance is bliss." Little did I know, becoming aware of the narcissistic traits and tendencies in others is like opening a mysterious parcel of chaos. Once I put on my detective hat, I started spotting these narcissistic traits like they were Pokémon. Remarks that once excused now felt like they had been crafted in a secret lab of dysfunction. Subtle actions? More like overtly inappropriate behaviours that could win an award for "Best Leading Role in a K-drama."

So, there I was, armed with my newfound insights, trying to navigate the minefield of remarks and actions that could either lead to a complete disconnection or a family feud over who is the most manipulative. Ignorance may be bliss, but knowledge? Knowledge is like a triple espresso—jittery, a little too intense, and definitely keeping you awake at night wondering if you should have just stuck with the bliss.

Even at that point, I naively believed that visiting family might alleviate my suspicions and help me reconnect with myself. However, I was completely mistaken, as the demands became greater and more intense than during previous visits. I ended up dealing with the worst breakout of my life—something I had managed to avoid during my teenage years suddenly appeared to haunt me. Apparently, the universe decided it was time for my skin to have a spotty crisis. Who knew that family reunions could trigger a hormonal renaissance?

By the end of the trip, I had experienced enough evidence and confirmations that I could no longer deny. These validated my concerns about the narcissistic abuse, and I couldn't bear witnessing the same situation affecting the children in my family. I decided to stop excusing such atrocities, and my cautious and diplomatic communications were no longer enough to get the points across. I also couldn't hide my true nature anymore, the facts and evidence were pouring out of me without fear of consequences. My only thought was that my family absolutely needed to hear the truth, with the aim of breaking the cycle and establish a healthy, supportive example for future generations.

The conversations were a disaster, excuses flying around like a snowstorm, victim-blaming so thick you could slice it with a spoon (not even a metal spoon, a Chinese soup spoon), and justifications for the perpetrators that could win a prize. Somehow, I was the villain for speaking up. The family motto is loud and clear: "Silence is golden, and so is your ability to be a mind reader." Seriously, how did we get here? Have I been living in a delusion all these years? My time was up; I had to return to London but I feel awesome for standing up for myself.

Upon returning, I thought, Why not give this another shot, maybe even ten! But no, I was met with comments and actions as harsh as a comedy roast. So, I decided it was time to hit the reset button. I finally chose the "Get Out Now" approach, secured my own mask, and began my own special brand of family. It’s been quite the ride! But at least I’m not stuck in a cycle, right? Here’s to new beginnings, and hopefully a little less chaos—turning my egg revelations into gooey and delicious cookies... at least then I'd be serving up something I enjoy and spreading crumbs everywhere without fear of consequences.