Today I faced up to the email that’s been sitting in my inbox for over a week, from one of my oldest and dearest friends, my first ever internet friend, my found family brother. I’d mentioned in a previous email that I was in autistic burnout, and in reply, in the nicest possible way, he asked, ‘so, this autism thing, what’s that all about? whenever if ever you’re ready to talk about it, ilu whatever, you know that’.

And I come out to people all the time, about my autism, about my queerness, about the abuse when I was a kid, whatever. But this was hard, because I wanted to write it right, and sequencing my thoughts is really difficult for me when I’m trying to lay out something as complex as my neurotype and its effect on my life.

He’s asking because he wants to understand, and that’s wonderful, but at the same time, terrifying because unlike some random whose opinion doesn’t matter, his opinion does.

As with my queerness, it’s never a case of you come out once, and that’s it. Every day you come out again to someone you’ve just met, to a friend, to a health worker, to a family member. And every time, you’re coming out for the first time. It never gets easy. It gets familiar, but never easy, because each time you do, it’s a risk.

Will this person be receptive? Will they reject what I’m saying? Will they try to cure me with suggestions of diet, yoga or meditation? Will they tell me I’m not as disabled as a ‘real’ autistic person they know? Will they ask me if I’ve found god? Will they ask if I’ve tried sex with men? Will they ask about my functioning label, my meltdowns, my stimming or my verbal fluency, or what those things were like when I was a child? Will they think it’s all a bid for attention?

While some questions are specific to my neurotype or my sexuality or the abuse, there’s a striking similarity to many of them, particularly when they come from near strangers. It’s curiosity, yes, but there’s a need to categorise, to feel out my edges and lines and push me into a box they recognise. It’s a hard thing to be on the receiving end of, but it’s also very human. As a person being questioned, you’re torn between being polite and enstating hard boundaries. As a person questioning, you’re often just trying to understand. That doesn’t mean questioning is benign. It can be intrusive, toxic and hostile. It can involve damning snap judgements that can leave the victim reeling for days, ‘helpful’ suggestions that can crush fragile self esteem. People don’t always have the best intentions, and even those who do, often don’t understand that their ‘help’ is unwelcome or harmful.

The point I’m trying to make is that coming out is HARD. Whether you’re talking to people (as I do) about neurodiversity or sexuality or abuse, or talking about race, religion, political activism, gender… whatever you’re taking the big step to talk about with another human, either in brickspace or on the internet or the phone, it’s one of the hardest things you’ll do over and over for the rest of your life. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. That doesn’t mean you’ll get it right every time, or that it’ll be received well, or that you won’t regret opening your mouth sometimes. That’s how life is. But the fact that you take that step with someone… that’s huge. And you should be proud of yourself for that.

(Reblogs are fine. Go for it.)