Ten years ago, in March 2014, I serendipitously entered the field of autism work. Perhaps at the whims and fancies of the universe (pardon the waxing lyrical, in explicit terms, ‘by chance’). I had just completed a year-long stint working at a memory clinic at one of the local hospitals, where working with patients who presented with neurodegenerative diseases, and deteriorated with each follow-up, left the fresh-out-of-school me feeling melancholic. “Perhaps I should work with children then,” I thought. And so I did.
To spare you my longwindedness, I ended up working in an autism-specific service that supported autistic children from age 7 to 21. That was my first foray into the field of autism support and services. Looking back, what might have been a chance encounter turned into a decade-long desire to continue working with and supporting the autistic community as best as I could.
Since then, I have worked in the field of autism in varying capacities. I’ve been exposed to the TEACCH framework by the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. I’ve worked at a paediatric unit at another local hospital, where I learnt and gained valuable experience supporting and provided intervention to (neurodivergent and neurotypical) children aged 9 months till 8 years. At that age range, much of the work I did inevitably involved training, educating, and supporting parents who may have had their own challenges and emotional experiences caring for their autistic child. I’ve also had the opportunity to work with autistic adults in another local hospital, providing psychological assessments and interventions to their identified challenges or comorbid mental health conditions.
My research interests also gradually gravitated towards learning more, researching, and understanding the perspectives, experiences, and needs of the autistic community. Temple Grandin books? Check. Books by other autistic authors? Check. For a significant length of time, my work in the field of autism involved children and adolescents. As such, my preoccupations rarely went beyond. However, I still very clearly remember the seminal paper by Professors Lai Meng-Chuan and Simon Baron-Cohen on the “lost generation”, which left a lasting impression. What about the adults? What about the adolescents that enter adulthood? What about those who were misdiagnosed or not identified as a child? What about women? If much of the research efforts have been focused on identifying and treating autistic children, what about other areas of their lives? These ruminations culminated in my post-graduate dissertation which focused on the quality of life (measured using the WHOQOL-BREF) in autistic teenagers and young adults, and their families. Among the factors evaluated, I was particularly interested in the concept of “acceptance of autistic identity” and “quality of life”. Quite simply put, my research found what most of you might have already guessed (“duh?!”), that lower self-acceptance of autistic identity correlated with poorer quality of life. The seemingly obvious research finding aside, this provided me with evidence that intervention could and should move towards self-acceptance of autistic identity, instead of the traditional targets from prior research. Coincidentally, this research study of mine sat right in the crest of the neurodiversity wave (one more thing for me to wax lyrical about). I’ve also had the opportunity to adapt and validate a suicide risk assessment tool for use with the autistic children and teenager population – another little project of mine which I fondly reminisce.
Since then, my work and interests have branched into various arenas. It is from and through my work with autism that I have developed an interest in the field of attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Right. Another neurodevelopmental condition. Intellectual disability has not been too far off my radar as well. But it is not just learning and clinical work.
Outside of my clinic, I provide consultation and training to military commanders who support enlistees and servicemen with neurodevelopmental conditions such as autism and ADHD. I advocate for patients under my care to their schools, their teachers, their families.
So now what? I wonder. As I continue to develop myself and my career, I can be sure that the field of autism will not be too far from me. But beyond myself, I think that embracing neurodiversity is also about uplifting others who may not be as familiar, or may not have had the kind of experiences that I have. I know that I am privileged. Privileged to have interacted with hundreds of autistic people. To laugh with them. To dine with them. To play with them. To be invited into their world. To have them share their valuable insights and perspectives with me. To help me better learn and hopefully see (even if just a little bit) from their perspective. But this privilege that I have isn’t something that is readily replicated. For so long, I wondered how I could share what I have come to learn with my fellow neurotypical peers. And that brings me to a series of books which I can’t help but recommend with every ounce of enthusiasm. They are from the “Is This Autism?” series. The book that might perhaps be more personally relevant to most of you would be the guide for clinicians and everyone else. It was engaging. My eyes were glued. I’m sure that my partner would definitely attest to that, that I kept wanting to flip through the pages from the moment that I lay hands on them.
Just in case anyone was wondering, no, I do not have a stake or vested interest in the book, the book sale, or the company. There’s definitely no conflict of interest in my recommendation of this book.
As I reflect back on my 10-years since I unknowingly waddled into the field of autism, perhaps this time I could very intentionally choose to continue. And so, here’s to my decade in, and for many decades more.
Eugene
Blue. Psychological Services 