If you had asked me a year and a half ago about what I would be doing now, I wouldn't have much to say that was positive. I am pessimistic by nature or, more accurately, I was pessimistic. This is not unusual in people with neurodivergent conditions. It is a consequence of being unable to effect change in our lives. Of course we try: We make huge efforts to improve our life, our environment, and our own understanding and that of the people around us, but it is not always successful (to say the least). Being pessimistic then, is a survival strategy: It helps me manage my disappointment at my failures. But I no longer need it.
Just over a year ago, I changed my job. A number of things happened that were catalysts: I gave in to a friend's insistence. I realised things were never going to improve in my (then) job. And, I had a conversation with my husband which didn't go as expected.
The part where I gave in to a friend's insistence involved the latest in a series of communications about 'coming to work for us'. I had been ignoring similar comments for years, knowing for whom he worked, and realising that it was impossible for me to consider. This last communication came with a link to a job advert. I looked at the advert and recognised it as a job I could do. I have never associated my confidence in my ability to imagine doing a job with ego or ignorance. I have enough skill, creativity, curiosity, patience and motivation to learn most office-based jobs and enough determination and resilience to keep them, the only limitations are time and the and the opportunity/resources to learn. None of these account for my penchant for being underemployed.
I had always assumed my difficulties with progressing my career was down to misunderstanding about my autism, or my inability to utilize the social aspects of office politics in my favour, however I know now that there is another important factor.
The barrier that had prevented me from seeking such a job before this point had been location (another town), and an assumed requirement for considerable experience in this new sector, but when I read the job description, it was clear to see these barriers had been removed. So why was I still so reluctant?
I was, at the time, a year into my fourth job in schools or colleges, and 12 years into my sortie into the education sector. Never one to make assumptions or to jump to premature conclusions, I wanted to check thoroughly that education was truly unsuitable for autistic people before moving on - or so I told myself. My previous role really had shown me that such organisations in this country were too stretched to think in the long term, or make accommodation for people like me, who thought differently. It was my own reluctance to admit defeat (how could the very home of learning be so exclusive and unwilling to affect change?) that kept me going back again and again. It certainly wasn't the money or job satisfaction. No, it was time for a change. My son was nearing A levels and no longer needed the company of parents during holidays. There were no more hurdles in my way.
So why couldn't I apply for this job? The opportunity to learn and grow was wonderful.... I could work from home, be a part of amazing projects or national importance and work with some of the brightest minds in the country. There was fear, certainly - I had been working in education for 12 years, and I was 55 years old. (It would be crushingly embarrassing in the interview to be asked about why I had stayed in education so long, wouldn't it?) I put off my decision. My friend nudged me occasionally and suggested talking on the phone to a company representative to allay my fears. I began to feel more and more exposed as more and more barriers were removed. I needed a second opinion.
The conversation with my husband is one I will never forget. I told him about the role, the company, the pay and all the other positives. The more potential issues he brought up, the more easily I could debunk them. When he still seemed unconvinced, I realised there might be another reason. I asked him if he thought I could do the job. After a short pause, he said 'no'. He confirmed all the doubts that resided in my mind: I've been in education too long, I'm not experienced in this sector, I'm too old, not bright enough...
I thought I would be angry at his lack of support. In the past, I would have been terribly upset. I would have felt awful - having my worst fears confirmed, but secretly relieved that I no longer had responsibility for the outcome: I would be off the hook. I realised there and then that this was an opinion - nothing more - born of insecurity. I did not need to accept it. I am grateful that he did give me this opinion, because it forced me to make a decision for myself. I smiled at him and explained he didn't have to worry, and then I completed the application. If I succeeded, it would be despite everything. It is the first time in my life that I felt truly 'empowered'.
When I asked about the interview format I was told what would happen. I questioned this and asked if there was an alternative. They asked me for a suggestion, which I provided. After a fairly long process, taking several months, I was offered the post. Now, after 13 months, I know it was the right decision. 6 months in, a colleague let it slip that I had been the stand-out candidate. I am remarkably happy. I am forging ahead in my role, I have received several accolades and a healthy bonus. I have the opportunity to advocate for my neurodivergent colleagues, and am choosing my own career path. Most importantly, I know this is all me.
