You have autistic colleagues, you just don’t know it

In the summer of 2021, right around the time of my 45th birthday, I was diagnosed as autistic. Autism is not something you can “catch” or develop later in life; it’s how you are born. It’s an aspect of how your brain works. The realization that I’ve been autistic this whole time - my entire life - is both revelatory and comforting. Part of me is relieved. Part of me doesn’t believe it’s true. Part of me feels that I have finally figured out “what’s wrong with me”. Part of me wants to claim this identity proudly, and part of me feels like an imposter, fearful that I will be called out as not really autistic if I go public with this news. Although I’ve been learning a lot about autism from the autistic community that thrives in social media, I know that I am largely ignorant, have much to learn, and am humbled by the courage that I see in so many who are sharing their experiences publicly.?

I’ve been the chair of Red Hat’s Neurodiversity and Mental Health Community (an employee resource group)? for the past 18 months. When I accepted this role, the idea that I might be autistic had never occured to me. I had been invited to apply for the role because I had recently gone public about my mental health diagnoses and started speaking openly about what it’s like to live and work with them. I had never even heard of the term “neurodiversity” and didn’t know what it meant.?

Getting diagnosed

Joining Red Hat’s Neurodiversity Community was the beginning of a journey for me. I met autistic colleagues and found an unexpected sense of commonality with several of them. I started to wonder if autism might be something I should look into. When the pandemic struck, it brought a lot of things into perspective for me (for one, I realized how much more comfortable I was at home than in the office or traveling). I began researching. I took psychometric tests. I talked to my therapist about it. After many months, I contacted our local Autism Society. They referred me to a clinical psychologist who specializes in adult autism diagnosis. He had a four month waiting list for appointments, which was eight months shorter than the Autism Society waiting list. Once I had my first meeting with the doctor, we did interviews and assessments over a six week span for me, my mom, and my wife.? After navigating this long and complex diagnostic process (which is not easy to do, and which I have the privilege and resources to afford), I was formally diagnosed as autistic in July of 2021 (one implication is that what previous psychiatrists and psychologists had diagnosed as OCD was actually a manifestation of autistic characteristics).?

Autism diagnosis is a complex and subjective process, which is subject to the biases of individual practitioners as well as the scientific community and literature as a whole. As a result, women and BIPOC are underdiagnosed (see one study as an example). I won’t go deeply into that topic here, but it is an important consideration because due to bias and structural racism there are many undiagnosed autistic people in our societies. In addition, both diagnosed and undiagnosed autistic women and BIPOC are likely to face heightened discrimination (see one perspective as an example).

Being “authentic” at work while trying to “fit in”

Although I’ve long been a proponent of authentic leadership, I also have to admit that I’ve carried a lot of shame and embarrassment about aspects of my personality, which has led me to alter it for work. Only now, looking back, am I able to understand that many of the things about me that feel “strange” are part of my autism. Over the course of my career, I have learned, as do many undiagnosed and diagnosed autistic people alike, how to adapt (or in some cases suppress) my natural tendencies to be more like what I perceive the “norm” to be. This is especially important at work, where so much of our success or failures as individuals is dependent on subjective judgments from individual leaders, interpersonal relationships, and team dynamics. This kind of assimilation is often called “masking”, or “covering”, but I think of it more as pretending.?

I have learned to observe the behavior I see in others and copy it in the right situations. I’ve picked up phrases from other people to employ during small talk, social encounters, and group meetings, which I repeat even if they make no sense to me or feel unnatural. I mimic facial expressions and gestures. I act like I understand things that I don’t really understand, whether it’s a joke or a complex technical topic. I am easily overwhelmed, but I have learned to appear calm in these moments by turning inwards and silent rather than by external expression. Sometimes I repeat concepts I’ve heard from others, stating them as if I know the details of what I’m talking about. I’ve learned the right words to use even when I don’t understand what they mean. I’ve heard people describe the idea of “fake it till you make it”; I honestly don’t know if that is what I’m doing or if it’s something different. My ability to learn how to adapt and control my tendencies has, I think, been a big part of my success.?

As much as the corporate world talks about embracing the idea of “bringing your whole self to work”, I believe that many people are not ready to truly welcome, and work alongside, those who are “different”. We like to think of ourselves as embracing a diversity of perspectives and identities, and while I think that’s true for some people some of the time, I also think that many of us prefer people to adjust their differences so as to fit in with a standard set of accepted behaviors (whether we realize it consciously or not). This is true of all aspects of diversity, not just neurodiversity (see Jodi-Ann Burey’s TEDx talk for a vivid illustration of this). In the case of autism, it could include anything from trying to ignore or suppress sensory sensitivities, to “overcoming” shyness, to stopping yourself from saying what you want to say, to eating meals at certain times and with other people, to vocally participating in meetings (with video on in the case of remote work), to wearing certain clothes, to making small talk and mingling with your coworkers, to working specific hours during the day instead of at one’s prefered schedule.?

All of these things may seem small and inconsequential to most, but for autistic people they can be sources of stress and discomfort. It can also be more nuanced, like knowing when and how much to argue or “push back”, and when to agree and reach consensus, or reading “between the lines” to understand the messages that people are really trying to convey, which may be different than the words coming from their mouths. Whenever someone ends a sentence with, “If you know what I mean,” I always nod as if I do, but more often than not I have no idea. I’ve developed the ability to pretend to understand, which I have found works better than my natural approach, which is to be honest and tell people that what they are saying does not make any sense to me.

“Accommodations” for success

After hearing some of the experiences other autistic people have had with their employers, I’ve come to realize and appreciate how well suited Red Hat (my employer for the past 16 years) is for neurodivergent people. I have never experienced some of the challenges I’ve heard other autistic people describe, such as being openly ostracized for my personality, denied the ability to sit in a location with lower levels of sensory disturbance, lack of flexibility in scheduling, or refusal to allow work from home. Red Hat has an “open” culture, which means blunt and brutal honesty is not unusual (though it is not always welcome). My managers have always focused on outcomes rather than on activities, on what I contribute rather than when, where, or how I work. My schedule is flexible and largely under my control; I can take time when I need it to go for a walk, decompress, or shift my focus. I’ve never had the need to ask for accommodations, because Red Hat is naturally very accommodating. For the past several years I have worked from home (as do a large percentage of Red Hat employees, even before the pandemic), which means I can adjust my environment as I need to. The fact that Red Hat had no hesitation to allow me to work remotely was itself a huge accommodation - even though I didn’t need to ask for it as such; simply stating the preference was sufficient.

All that being said, I can’t ignore the fact that I don’t think I could have achieved the level of success that I have if I hadn’t also learned how to suppress aspects of my personality to better align with the social expectations of the corporate environment (be it remote or office based). I made these adjustments to how I “show up” through a combination of trial and error (seeing how people react to my behavior and adjusting), direct feedback (managers explicitly telling me I need to do things differently), and participation in leadership development programs where I learned more appropriate and accepted ways of interacting. I have participated in activities that are deeply unpleasant for me, in the name of “developing myself”.? I received a lot of support, guidance, and professional coaching in order to make these adjustments, which was always positive, gentle, affirming, and revelatory. I felt like I was lucky to be having these development opportunities, and I have always been grateful and appreciative for all the guidance and help I’ve had. But, essentially, I was learning how to be someone else - someone different than who I am, someone more accepted in the corporate culture.

Now that I am aware of my autism, and now that I am learning about the experiences, perspectives, and opinions of many in the autistic community, I realize that what I describe above is at the heart of a debate: should we be working to help autistic people fit in to our corporate culture, or should we be working to make our culture more accepting of autistic people? The problem with teaching people how to fit in, is that we’re essentially saying that we don’t want the diverse perspectives and approaches that they bring. To me, it seems clear that we should be working instead to make our culture more accepting of difference. But, doing that is a massive cultural change that is far harder than it may appear. This is true for people who are different from the dominant culture in any aspect, not just neurodivergent people.

Where do I go from here?

Now that I have this diagnosis, one big change will be in how I feel about myself, how I conduct myself in interpersonal interactions, and how I treat myself. I hope that I will do less self-censoring, less “masking” or “covering”, and feel more comfortable being myself. This will probably be more visible to me than it is to others; instead of feeling bad, or awkward, or like I’m “doing something wrong,” I might have a new understanding and appreciation for how my brain works and why I think, feel, and react differently than many of my colleagues. I suspect I’ll feel less guilty about needing “down time” to just sit and think, and I’ll more readily allow myself to take time between meetings without the usual guilt that accompanies it. Perhaps I’ll be more comfortable embracing my passions rather, than feeling like I should be passionate about something different.?

I think the most important difference, though, will be in what I do with the identity that I am now able to name. Having the knowledge of my diagnosis is motivating me to be a stronger advocate for acceptance and understanding, and to do what I can to make navigating success in the corporate world easier and more attainable to people who may seem like they don’t “fit in”. As a cisgendered white man in a leadership role, I have the privilege and security to advocate for people whose voices may not be heard. In my diagnosis I am finding a voice, and I hope that I can use it in a way that is beneficial to others.?