Not many adults with autism hold down full time jobs, just 15% in the UK¹. This is despite some 61% of autistic adults saying that they would like a job².

I am in the 15% and I realise that even though I struggle, I am immensely fortunate to not only have a job, but to be doing something I love and actually progressing my career. I have achieved things that I am sure people never thought I would – managing my own department – but I have needed help and support along the way.

I have previously read about software houses that exclusively employ autistic people. As a Software Developer with Aspergers Syndrome this seems like an awesome idea, but what about the folk who aren’t into software but still want a job? That’s where Phil Evans and Autistic Achievers come in. Phil is in the process of launching Autistic Achievers (going live in June I think) and essentially the aim is to find jobs for autistic adults in the UK.

It’s a super simple idea and the more I consider it, the more I think “Why hasn’t someone done this sooner?!”.

I don’t quite know how far Phil is planning on taking the service, I guess that largely depends on how well it all goes, but the potential is massive. Applying for a job is a scary process and for someone who is autistic it is even worse. If Phil is able to manage the expectations of potential candidates and employers and bridge the communication gap between them by presenting information to candidates in an accessible way, then he has taken away a massive barrier.

Thinking about this reminds me of how much I hate job interviews. First up, I’m in a suit and proper shoes, so I am already uncomfortable. Secondly, I am traveling to a strange place, to meet strange people who will lock on to me with their tractor-beam-like laser eyes and expect me to hold up a conversation. You really couldn’t do a much better job of designing hell for this aspie.

I realise I am lucky with the level of support I have been shown at work. I have almost never had to wear a suit, instead I am able to be comfortable in my jeans, t-shirt, hoodie and AF1s combo. I am allowed to wear my headphones all day, especially important due to the open plan nature of the office, all of the noisy tech and Shouty Phone Lady (not her real name). The lights around my desk are switched off 90% of the time and there is a sign by the switch reminding people to turn them off after they have used them, although I don’t think anyone realises that this is for my benefit and not a cost cutting measure. I am in the office most days and allowed to leave on time, so I avoid having my routine changed last minute and spiraling into a meltdown, or getting overtired and shutting down. This is a really important one for me because by the end of my working day I am spent, work is largely about survival for me, even though I love what I do.

I just think that with similar levels of support, there are many more adults on the spectrum who could be successful in the workplace and I hope that Phil and Autistic Achievers are able to facilitate this. Be sure to check out his blog!

^1,2 Autism and Asperger syndrome: some facts and statistics – The National Autistic Society

I remember the feeling of relief that I felt when I started reading about autistic spectrum disorders.

I had spent a long time knowing that there was something different about me, whilst at the same time not being able to pinpoint what that actually was.

It was an amazing feeling to realise that I wasn’t alone. There were other people who experienced the world in the same way that I did. Discovering there were words to describe things that I would have invented words for if I had ever been brave enough to talk about them.

I felt a sense of belonging. And worth.

The actual diagnosis process was terrifying because having come so far, there was a chance that I could be denied. That someone might tell me that I didn’t belong. That I was just broken and wrong.

Further relief when my suspicions were confirmed.

I took great comfort from being part of the vibrant online community of people from all across the spectrum.

Not broken, just different. Better at some things, worse at others. But somehow, accepted.

But inevitably, talk of causes and cures. People openly discussing how it should be possible to screen for ASDs before birth to allow for pregnancies to be terminated. Registers for people with Aspergers, just in case we get violent.

Not just different, but broken, wrong and unwanted. Not considered useful to society.

Try reconciling that in your brain.

This post was inspired by a thought I expressed on twitter today that really deserved more than 140 characters.

In both spoken and written (or typed) conversation I require massive amounts of information outside of the actual words in order to understand what is being said. Smileys, hashtags, daps and even extra words, can all help to provide me with this context. It’s like the communication is happening in a foreign language that I learned at school and haven’t used since, I understand a lot of what is being said, but the subtleties and details that provide the context, and hence the meaning, are missing.

Often I will end up asking questions or just re-examining the conversation in my head to try and decipher the message hidden within it. This can be quite frustrating. If the conversation is continuing at a rapid pace, it can be quite tough for me to keep up. I end up drowning in words. Overwhelmed by the conversation.

In direct physical conversation a lot of the context is conveyed by body language and facial expression. Unless these are intentionally exaggerated, then they too are part of the foreign language. With facial expressions this is partly due to me doing my best to look anywhere but directly in to the other persons face, or worse still, their eyes. Yuk! I have to concentrate hard during a conversation and this is just not possible if someone has engaged their eye probes and is attempting to scan me.

I know that me walking around, or looking in to the distance may appear to show a complete lack of interest, but really the opposite is true. I have taken to playing with something with my hands whilst in a conversation in order to aid my conversation. At work, this normally means occupying my hands with my pen. The pen allows me to stim in a non-obvious and not self damaging way.

It might snow tomorrow.

I guess that’s the most uninteresting thing, but it already has my cogs turning. Running simulations in my brain to try and work out all possible scenarios and plan around them. It’s exhausting. Didn’t have much brain left to concentrate on my work today. Sought relief by tidying and organising some boxes of stuff.

I wouldn’t worry so much if I was at home and had no need to travel anywhere. I have to work though.

I’m pretty clumsy. I hate the feeling of slipping.

I have my Timmys. I will walk extra slowly and extra carefully.

I need to keep watching in case the snow starts, I don’t want to get stuck at work, or worse, caught somewhere between work and home. I live on two hills, the road is never cleared and gets cut off very quickly.

I have my snow shovel and foil blanket in my car. And 4WD. And my headphones and music.

I need to keep my phone near me. The snow is forecast to start first at home and move towards work. Don’t want to miss a heads up message.

Last time it snowed I got stuck. Couldn’t get home for a bit. Slid my car in to some railings and scratched all the wheels.

Snow makes everything different and unpredictable.

So I just got back from the post office. I had to mail a parcel to my friend. I figured that this event was worth me explaining.

I’m sure lots of people are thinking “What’s the big deal, it’s a post office?!”, well carry on reading and I’ll explain it.

The post office is physically quite small, the current owners have fitted in aisles where there didn’t used to be any. I was immediately wary of my ability to safely navigate the aisles without damaging either myself, the parcel or any of the stuff in the post office. I managed it, which is good because I fell down some steps on holiday this week and hurt my arm and scratched my watch, I didn’t need to be bumping anything else.

Only one counter was open and someone was being served. There is a sign hanging from the ceiling with an arrow pointing down that says “Please queue here.” and so I stood on that very spot. I realised that the person in front of me wasn’t being served, but was actually just chatting. I wasn’t in a particular hurry for any reason other than a desire to get out of there as quickly as I could, so I waited for them to finish. The post office doesn’t have an electronic system to call you to the counter; I’ve been shouted at before in the bank for approaching an empty counter before I was summoned and so I was anxious about this interaction. It’s very hard for me to watch for a brief glimpse of a look on the other persons face, let alone to decide whether that look means “Yep, come on over!” or “Wait, not yet, I’m still sorting stuff out.”. Luckily I nailed it (woohoo, go me!).

I explained to the lady that I wanted to mail a parcel. She asked me to put it on the scale and pointed to one of the two scales on the counter. I placed the parcel on the top and the scale maxed out – it only went up to 1 kilo. The lady was not amused. I had never seen those scales before in my life, if I’d known they only measured up to 1 kilo then I would have explained that the parcel weighed 2.12 kilos. I knew this because I measured the weight very carefully before setting out. In fact, if the lady had asked me how much it weighed I would gladly have volunteered this information. The lady motioned for me to put the parcel on the other scale. I couldn’t read the weight off the scale, but I knew how much it weighed and so I told the lady, evidently with more precision than she was expecting. Go figure. I rounded the weight to 1 decimal place before the ladies brain leaked out of her nose.

She opened the hatch and I handed the parcel through. She immediately wanted to turn it on it’s side, even though it was clearly labelled as fragile and had “This way up.” written on all four sides. She observed that it was wet as if I shouldn’t have tried to post something while it was raining. The address was fine because when I carried the parcel to the shops I put one hand over it.

At this point, I began to wonder if something was wrong. The lady was asking more questions about the parcel than I had expected. I thought that maybe she was just being nice and making conversation and so I answered her questions. She had apparently never heard of the destination of the parcel. She asked where it was. This was odd because she had the parcel and the post code and so she could see the parcel was Liverpool bound. She printed the stickers and attached them to the parcel. I handed over my money. “Where did you get this from?”, she asked as she examined one of the notes. “Cornwall”, I replied. She spent ages examining that note. Marker pens, holding it up to the light. My anxiety levels were climbing. What if she said the note was fake and refused to accept it. I could feel my brain spinning up. Eventually she convinced herself that I wasn’t trying to pass off counterfeit currency and gave me my change.

I navigated my way back out of the shop.

Ever since I was little I have always loved my duvet. The bigger and thicker the better.

It’s actually one of the few things I remember not liking about Florida. I struggled to sleep under the thin covers the hotel provided. I have no idea how people manage to sleep under such thin little covers. How do you snuggle something so thin!?

This is just one of those things that I grew up with. I remember doing a massive smile when I found out about weighted blankets and Temple Grandin’s squeeze machine. It was independent confirmation that my dx was correct I guess.

There is something calming and reassuring about the weight of a duvet. It is like a security layer. My objective is to have as little of me poking out as possible. If there were such a thing as a bed snorkel I would surely get one and then fully cocoon myself.

And this is why I’m rolling with fifty bazillion togs of duvet, even in the summer!