From Powerlessness to Empowerment — Part 2/3: The Inherently Vulnerable Autist Trope
This is the second installment of a trio of blogs from Sarah Douglas. These articles form an intimate and thoughtful autobiographical account that traces what Sarah calls ‘a Neurodivergent meandering of trauma and hope’.
There is a stereotypical belief that being autistic automatically equates to also being inherently vulnerable. The idea is that because we socialise and communicate differently we cannot see through a predator’s behaviour, or that our different brain wiring makes us more susceptible to coercion from controlling people or organisations. This is incredibly damaging, ableist and yet another way that autistic survivors of abuse can be victim blamed or disbelieved. Not only is there the overcoming of hurdles that many survivors encounter such as, “no way, he’s such a nice person,” or “but women lie, right?;” there is the additional and undermining attitude of, “well, you stand out like a sore thumb, so are you surprised that this has happened?,” and my personal favourite, “are you sure that’s what happened, because you know, you’re vulnerable because you misread social cues?” Instead of the blame being squarely aimed at the predatory or coercive abuser as it should be, it is diverted towards the societally perceived ‘vulnerable’ autistic person who cannot help attracting unwanted attention, getting themselves into dangerous situations or misinterpreting intentions.
In Part 1 I have written that my younger, non-diagnosed, autistic self was a vulnerable easy target, which may now sound contradictory, but I would argue that it was not my autism that made me inherently so. I was vulnerable not because of my brain-wiring, but because of my dysfunctional upbringing, lack of relationship education and being young in a time when autism was not recognised and understood. I had poor early attachment styles and instead of being raised in a home of love, acceptance, and encouragement to find my own way, my father treated me as being an extension of his regret that instead of pursuing an academic career for himself, he chose to go into banking, get married and have kids. My mother’s passive acquiescence endorsed this, and there was no sense of the warmth or the kind of support that a child needs to feel accepted or to healthily achieve anything, let alone this externally imposed ambition. I remember my confusion when other children were kissed and hugged by their parents and the overwhelming sense I have when I recall those times was a desperation to be loved or at least noticed, but feeling that I was never good enough to receive it. The skills and self-knowledge I needed to navigate life were evidently not considered important and sex and relationship education in the ‘80s was virtually non-existent. I remember the horror and shame of starting my periods and not understanding what the bleeding meant and I had no idea that I could do anything other than comply with what others expected of me. That I had a choice…in anything.
I did not know what I wanted, but I also did not know who I was. I was desperate to fit in and be liked, even by those who’s constant bullying reduced me to less than nothing. The undiagnosed
differences that I tried to unsuccessfully mask, felt painfully shameful and confusing and I have often wondered if a childhood diagnosis would have helped me to understand my neurodivergent core self and give me what I needed to successfully navigate a neuro-normative world. Sadly, probably not. It is only in recent years that neurodivergence has become more understood and accepted, so the odds are that at that point in autism history, it may well have made things worse, and I would most likely have been even more isolated and ostracised as being labelled the officially weird kid at school. I will also never know if my life would have been less traumatic had I been born later and received a diagnosis earlier in that life, but I suspect not as the likelihood is that I would still have been shamed by my family, who to this day see autism as something to be embarrassed about. The point is that in order to thrive and be confident, a person needs to know themselves, know what they need and to be able to express this, and by not having this vital self-knowledge at that very different time in the 80s as well as living in the environment I did, I was left feeling vulnerably grateful for any attention, but without the ability to recognise the love-bombing, coercive tactics of controlling abusers.
