Autistic, Black & Female: Learning to accept myself!
There’s limited research on the intersectionality between race, disability and gender, and how it amplifies stereotypical images of specific groups.
When I was younger, I never felt like I truly fitted in with my friends. I always felt like I was a person looking into the friendship group rather than an active member. In the past, I believed it was because I was too quiet, too Black, too White, too feminine, and too masculine, but now there’s another contender to the list which has made me realise how much it’s affected both my relationships and how I navigate the world.
“I knew I would face discrimination as a Black woman, but I didn’t realise I would face discrimination as an Autistic person too.”
A big misconception about Autism is that only White cis-gendered boys are diagnosed as Autistic. We see it in TV shows such as The Big Bang Theory, The Good Doctor, and Criminal Minds. However, the media doesn’t realise how this stereotype reinforces a false image of what it means to be an Autistic person.
According to The National Autistic Society, there are an estimate of 1.2 million people in England who are Autistic, however, a large majority of this population are either misdiagnosed or late-diagnosed, particularly Black Autistic women. This is largely because of the misrepresentation of Autistic people in the media who diverge away from the stereotypical image of what it means to be Autistic. Due to this misconception, many Autistic Black women in the UK experience oppression and discrimination that leads to them feeling excluded from conversations about disability.
Although we’re Autistic, we’re also Black and we’re also women. However, our intersectional experiences do not always get acknowledged within or outside of the Autistic community.
It was only two years ago when I was officially diagnosed as Autistic and you would think a diagnosis would grant me acceptance within and outside of the community, however, similar to before my diagnosis, there have been moments when my Autistic qualities amplify the stereotypical images of Black women in the media. These one-dimensional stereotypes consist of the Black woman being seen as sassy, angry, emotional, and aggressive. I remember at university when someone interpreted my emotional behaviour (crying) as aggressive and this made me question how I present myself to people as an Autistic Black woman.
Many Autistic people easily become overwhelmed in social interactions that involve simultaneously interpreting complex social cues and processing their own emotions. During the conversation, I tried to interpret the individual’s social cues and express my feelings in words. As a result, my overwhelmed feelings manifested into crying, fidgeting, and raising my voice when confused.
According to Layla Saad in her book ‘Me and White Supremacy,’ this oppression tactic is known as “tone policing,” which is when people ‘focus on the tone of what is being said rather than the actual content.’ As seen above, the person I spoke to focused on how I presented the conversation rather than how I felt and why the conversation was important. Unfortunately, tone policing extends to intersectional identities. The oppressive tactic increases when further identities that hold stereotypes are placed upon an individual. As a result, there are additional expectations placed on how “people of colour,” more specifically Autistic Black women are meant to be perceived in society.
Furthermore, the intersectionality between my race, gender and disability also extended to my sense of belonging at school. Before my diagnosis, I was unaware of the reason behind my determination to camouflage my qualities to appeal to specific groups. For example, during Sixth Form, I not only had to appeal to neurotypical people but also the ‘White gaze.’ I hadn’t acknowledged the impact of going to predominantly White schools until after my Autism diagnosis. I remember that in Sixth Form I was conflicted between assimilating my “Blackness” and also assimilating parts of myself that soothed me. In particular, I wanted to ensure that I appeared non-judgemental, easy-going, approachable and optimistic. However, instead of feeling content with the rewards, I felt emotionally and physically exhausted every day after school, which lowered my attendance rate. The constant cycle of keeping up appearances and assimilating parts of my identity increased my experience of mental health problems.
I’m not the only Black Autistic woman to experience the intersectionality of disability, gender and race in their everyday life, and I will not be the last. In a society that pushes everyone to live unapologetically as themselves, we need to become aware of how our actions (indirect or direct) can have serious consequences on how people present themselves to the world. If it weren’t for that particular person, my journey to accepting my diagnosis and the intersectionality of my identities would have been different.
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There’s limited research on the intersectionality between race, disability and gender, and how it amplifies stereotypical images of specific groups, especially for Black Autistic women.