During first grade, I refused to eat anything for lunch other than bologna sandwiches. After a year straight of eating them, I couldn’t eat them anymore. I wasn’t able to stomach a bologna sandwich again until high school. I refused to even try tuna fish because of the smell. Once, I was unable to eat pizza for 2 years after it hit wrong one time. In middle school, I went through a very long period of eating oatmeal for breakfast daily. It wasn’t until my dad and sister grew tired of being subjected to oatmeal that I stopped. The reality is I was a very picky eater, easily turned off by smell, look, texture, throughout all of my childhood. If I did try a new food and like it, I would eat only that until I was sick of it for years to come. The only things I consistently enjoyed were corn, bread, and sugar. I remember hiding and shooting sugar packets while at the bowling alley during my mom’s bowling league.

Until about 8 years old, I would regularly only wear underwear at home. It was how I was most comfortable. I remember being picky about how my clothes fit–needing my pants to fit just right and hating when sleeves rode into my armpits. I wore exclusively dresses until about 2nd grade when I was told dresses weren’t cool. I didn’t wear a dress casually again until high school. After that, it was all about oversized t-shirts for me. I kept one of my favorites–a Ren & Stimpy shirt–until my mid-20s. It was large enough that I was still able to put it on before finally parting with it.

I had a friend in kindergarten that I bonded with over our shared ability to read, but she moved away. I volunteered to help clear the tables at lunch in elementary school because I would get free hot lunches. But more than that it was because my neighbor Lois worked in the cafeteria and I liked hanging out with her. Until about 4th grade I went through 2 other notable girl friends, relationships that were intense until they weren’t. I did eventually find my way in with the rest of the girls, befriending the most popular girl at school. It was the start of my recurring lifetime role as a sidekick. As long as I was mostly an observer and yes man, it worked. All I had to do was not be so good at school, behave the same as all the other girls, and lift her up. One day, we were playing a game where we pretended we were 5 years old. I had brought my favorite stuffed bear to school that day and excitedly showed it to her. She said it was yucky and knocked it on the ground. Without thinking, I responded with “you’re yucky”. I felt bad and tried to apologize but it was too late: I had broken the social rules and that was the end of our friendship. Later that day, she founded the “Gina Haters Club”. I was devastated for a long time, unable to understand how such a small mistake could destroy such an important relationship. I eventually went back to playing with the boys. They didn’t have the such strict social rules, you could be more extreme and fit in fine as long as you liked to race and play kickball. I always considered myself “one of the guys” after that.

In 4th or 5th grade, one of the boys in class said he had a crush on me. I didn’t like him back and didn’t know what to do. So I chased him around the classroom with a glass vase on my hand to scare him off. I would tell that story to people for years, thinking it was humorous. It took longer than it should have to realize folks thought it was a weird story.

I remember going through a phase of eating grass and chewing on sand, around 6 or 7 years old. I’ve always had a heightened sense of smell, leading me to seek out scents I like while having visceral reactions to scents I didn’t. Growing up in a family of smokers was absolute torture. I had an Ariel sleeping bag I was obsessed with, in part because it was so soft. I was so upset when my mom switched my bedding from a comforter to a quilt because quilts didn’t feel right. I would regularly rub soft things, like flower petals, against my lips. One of my favorite times in childhood was when my bed was on the other side of the wall from the shower. Listening to the shower running through the wall was one of the most soothing things in the world. I did eventually become an adventurous eater, initially out of social necessity, constantly seeking out new flavors.

I was always categorized as “stubborn”, constantly demanding independence and arguing back. And boy did I have a temper. I’m told I once slammed my bedroom door so hard that I broke the door jamb. I was no older than 4 years old. These fits were always categorized as temper tantrums, but I now know they were meltdowns. It wasn’t because I wanted to get my way but instead because I physically couldn’t handle not having control over what I was doing at any time. I still remember the visceral sensation in my body and the emotions taking fully over, rational brain leaving the building. I remember it so well because it still happens today.

Whenever I thought my parents were being unfair, I would tell them. I would insert myself into their arguments with my sister, acting as her strongest defender. As a highly intelligent child, I could hold my own pretty well in arguments even against adults. In second grade, a teacher had mis-graded one of my math problems. I went up and explained to them exactly why I deserved a perfect score, refusing to let it go because it wasn’t fair.

My allergies were terrible growing up. Every spring, when the ragweed hit, my whole face would itch. One day, my eye was so itchy. My dad looked in it and said there was an eyelash in it. Once we got it out, my eye felt better. “There must be an eyelash in my eye!” I thought the next time it itched, the eyelash I pulled out confirming my belief. This was the start of me pulling out all of my eyelashes, a thing I kept doing until middle school. Messing with my eyes and pulling out my eyelashes had become a habit–one that got worse when I was feeling anxious. And I was always feeling anxious. I also bit my nails, chewed on pens, chewed on my hair, played with my jewelry, wiggled my toes constantly, talking wildly with my hands, among many other things.

And the obsessive special interests. I’ve always loved rocks and want to collect them, just like my dad and sisters. I went through a phase in middle school and high school where I would look up pictures of nebulas for hours on end. My desire to learn about weird psychology and serial killers started around 10. Neopets and The Sims consumed my waking hours. And don’t get me started on Disney. Solving complex software problems is a special interest, which is why I’m so phenomenal at my job.

Over time, I learned to navigate the world. I watched television constantly and would learn how people were supposed to act via sitcoms. My friend from kindergarten attended the same middle school as me and we picked up where we left off. She played a pivotal role in helping me navigate the social world in my teenage years, teaching me about so many things I was naïve about. Being smart and high-achieving gave me a place in society and helped people look past my quirks. But because I was so oblivious to many things, I didn’t realize how exactly how weird I was. Learning to run off and isolate when my emotions erupted, stopping outward presentation before it became way too much and stomping things down internally. And then, when I was old enough, I turned to alcohol to deal with any of the parts that didn’t feel good and make it easer to socialize. I’ve only recently kicked that habit.

I was high school valedictorian and graduated college with honors. I have a successful career and a healthy friend group. Because of these factors, people are shocked to find out I’m autistic. They argue with me about it. “But that happens to everyone!” they say as I try to tell them about the sensory issues, the stims, the overstimulation, the social anxiety. I’d like to think it’s because I’ve built such a convincing mask, even though it’s more likely because I don’t look like the stereotype. After all, how can an autistic person be so successful? But I am autistic and I always have been, even if it took 36 years for me to realize it.