From Autism Epiphany to Acceptance of My Toxic Childhood

Let’s crack this open with the EGG that scrambled my brain and sent me on a wild chase for my unmasked identity! Yes, folks, I’m talking about a fried egg—the only egg that could make me question my entire existence. While most people have epiphanies with ayahuasca or during a deep conversation with a wise panda, mine happened while watching a father and son eating breakfast in a K-drama.

This wasn’t just any egg; it was the culinary equivalent of an identity crisis. As my husband and me watched the perfectly shaped fried egg being carefully placed on a piece of toast by a father, the son gazed at it for precisely one second, pointed at it, and looked away as if it had the power to cause him pain. The reaction was instinctive, and it was a noticeable distress at the sight of a small drop of egg yolk seeping from its sac. The father immediately yet calmly removed the broken fried egg from his son and replaced it with his own plate.

This scene resonated with me, which is odd since I rarely encounter anything on TV or in real life that I can relate to. A broken egg yolk is upsetting to me, and I never considered the need to investigate further; I thought everyone would be disturbed by a pierced yolk. The son's reaction mirrors mine when faced with a leaking yolk—I'd be stressed by the clear cross-contamination between the yolk and the white.

My husband would always swap his egg with mine if the yolk wasn't intact, so I could savour eating around the yolk and then experience the burst in my mouth all at once without seeing it break, and he would always laugh when my face lit up with joy. Who knew a simple breakfast could lead to such a profound discovery? The show's portrayal of the father-son interaction indicated that this was an important aspect being highlighted, and it made us recognise the resemblance, prompting us to pause the show to read the series' description. That's when I encountered the word autism, which guided me towards the breakthrough.

Awakening to the Reality of the Abuse in My Toxic Childhood Through the Lens of My Autism Innocence

After seeing the show's description, I translated autism from English into my native language in traditional Chinese, where it literally means "self closing condition." Now, I don’t know about you, but that sounds like the diagnosis of a malfunctioning lift: "Sorry, folks, this lift is currently experiencing a self closing condition. Please use the stairs—if you can find them!"

My language is very descriptive and literal, which is one reason I love it. It's like a language that doesn't just tell you what something is but gives you the whole backstory, complete with a dramatic soundtrack! Imagine ordering a cup of tea and getting a full narrative about how the leaves were grown, harvested, and then decided to go on a self-discovery journey with a band before ending up in your cup.

While the translation might appear offensive to some, the term closely relates to the origin of the word autism, derived from the Greek word autós, meaning "self". Coined by Swiss psychiatrist Eugen Bleuler, it was meant to describe withdrawal into one's inner world. So, really, it’s like saying, “I’m not antisocial; I’m just in a really committed relationship with my imaginations!” So, if you ever hear someone say they’re experiencing a "self closing condition," just know they might be deep in thought—or trying to figure out how to escape from small talks!

The English word autism that seemed unfamiliar is actually one I heard more frequently than my own name during childhood. It was used maliciously to mock me whenever I failed to meet unrealistic expectations or responded differently to situations that might reveal the toxic childhood that is in the family dynamics. Nothing says "I love you" quite like a well-timed jab about your nature.

The combination of my childhood memories, my husband's understanding of this aspect of me and the show's portrayal of a father's devotion to his son led me to question why I never received such support from my own immediate family. Instead, my early years with them were filled with hurtful words, torment, and confusion.

Here I am, grappling with the reality of my lack of understanding about autistic burnout and attempting to grasp how my autism have contributed to the abuse in my toxic childhood. For instance, when I didn't know how to play with my older brother, or if I refused to join in his games, he would become very angry and shout, "What are you doing? Why can't you be normal? Are you autistic?" followed by a beating.

Ah, those delightful childhood memories, where love was expressed through a series of verbal battles, emotional gymnastics, psychological aerobics, and physical conditioning. Above all, nothing quite captures “family bonding” like a hefty does of abuse disguised as a sincere “I’m just trying to help you grow!” Cheers to developing a sense of humour that helps me rise above such challenges.

The Crucial Detour Before Arriving at My Autism Diagnosis

Before fully committing to understanding autism, I first took a detour to find explanations for the abuse in my toxic childhood, attempting to comprehend the rationale behind their behaviours. Whether it was due to autistic burnout or simply my natural tendency, the relentless abuse kept resurfacing and looping in my brain. This determination has helped me succeed in many scenarios, and that time, it was more than just sheer willpower. My instinct was telling me that answers were lurking just beneath the surface, ready to clarify many years of suspicions.

This detour has a name: narcissism. Oh yeah, another ism. However, this one is quite distinct, and I can firmly state that I want nothing to do with it, though it seems to have been stalking me since birth. These sudden realisations made me doubt whether I'm actually foolish or lacking some kind of radar system that was deactivated in my genetic code. Like a built-in alarm that's supposed to go off when people start admiring their reflections too much. Instead, it appears I'm just wandering around, blissfully unaware, like a puppy that thinks being drowned is love (no puppy was harmed, and the analogy pained me too).

I had heard of the term narcissism before, but I never really understood what it meant or how it might be relevant to me. So, I turned to Google once more. As I began typing "narcissism" in the search bar, I was amazed by the number of suggestions that appeared. Have I missed out on something important yet again? How could I know so little about something that is apparently not a secret at all? The statistics were just terrifying.

While reading research papers on narcissism and learning about others' firsthand experiences, some of whom became psychiatrists due to their own narcissistic family dynamics, I was surprised at how much these stories resonated with my own experiences. The revelation was jarring and had a significant impact on me, and I began to realise that engaging with this topic during periods of autistic burnout might not be wise for me. However, I've always struggled to stop once I've committed to something, so prepare to dive deeper into this autistic burnout saga.

Every time I read about these individuals' experiences, it brings back memories of how I was treated from childhood to adolescence and into adulthood. Even now, I frequently hear the same malicious words from my family. In the past, I didn't focus much on these situations because I believed that the attention would give them power, so I thought it was best to ignore them. However, I was eventually driven to recognise the sinister side of these behaviours, which mostly occurred when I was alone with these family members. Books, blogs, and research have validated my experiences as I reconciled with my toxic childhood while pursuing an autism diagnosis.

How My Autism Enabled Me to Escape the Toxic Childhood

The brief introduction to my family dynamics may seem bleak, but I'm an expert at discovering positives in every situation, a trait I credit to my autism—my extreme positivity. Of course, this intense positivity does have its limits. It tends to take a holiday during times of autistic burnout or emotional overload, transforming into extreme negativity. Like when you realise you’ve been talking to a houseplant for too long, and it hasn’t even responded with a leaf wiggle, expecting you to read its mind and expressions.

The hardships and struggles I've experienced are simply the lessons necessary for me to achieve independence and thrive in my own unique way. Each setback is just another quirky chapter in my life’s manual, titled “How to Adult from the Age of Five”. So, while my family dynamics may seem like a scene from a tragic comedy, I have embraced the chaos and accomplished a lot in my life. That is, until the recent autistic burnouts prompted me to reassess my family dynamic entirely.

I understand that every family has its quirks, as we say in my language, "家家有本難念的經," meaning each family has its own difficult scripture. So, let me paint you a picture of mine.

Welcome to My Family's Tragic Comedy Show!

Growing up in Asia, one often encounters bluntness daily. As a direct person myself, I used to consider certain remarks or behaviours from my family as normal. I believed that being a good child meant accepting these remarks and that I somehow deserved the mistreatment. This perspective changed when I began sharing these experiences with my husband during my detour to explore narcissism.

The Mother

As a child, I adored my mother immensely. I saw her as the most amazing woman in the world and believed she was the best mother possible. I didn't care that she never had time for me, or that she never seems happy with my existence, I loved her intensely all the same. However, I can't say she felt the same way about me. Here are some of the classic remarks I often heard from her:

"You're so ugly that you can't possibly be my child. You must be your aunt's daughter because you're just as ugly as she is."

"If it weren't for you, I would have been highly successful and achieved a high level of education. You're such a burden!"

"You're hideous and look very different from us, the hospital must have gave me the wrong baby to bring home."

"You're not my daughter, you're disgusting. Stay away from me."

"Your face doesn't have any appealing features; why didn't you inherit my beauty like your older brother?"

"I attempted many times to abort you, even created a game by leaping off the stairs."

I never spoke these words aloud until I began sharing them with my husband. I always defended and justified my mother's words and actions. This was partly because she had us at a young age, and my grandparents instilled in me the importance of being sensible, understanding, compassionate, and considerate towards family, at all costs. They told me this rule was especially relevant to my mother, and since I naturally appreciate rules, I adhered to them strictly.

Only when the words were spoken and tears streamed uncontrollably down my face that I thought as if my body was malfunctioning. I was crying so intensely (which rarely happens) that I could have hydrated all my plants! It wasn't until my husband said, "What you are experiencing now is normal," that I understood what had happened to me since childhood was anything but normal.

Clearly, I had been living in a world where my emotional responses were on a completely different level. I believe my autism had helped me block out my emotions all these years as a survival instinct. It's like my feelings were sipping gin and tonics on a beach somewhere while I was stuck pretending to be a robot. Who knew I was just one dramatic moment away from turning into a human sprinkler system?

The Brother

This is another tough one for the emotions, but somehow it's more defined than the complicated relationship with my mother. My older brother's hateful words make it easier for my black and white thinking. The nature of the mistreatments is also clearer, helping me understand his hatred towards me. Here's a brief overview of these mistreatments:

"Why are you so annoying? You're an autistic freak."

"Why are you being so stubborn? Are you demented?"

"What makes you such an obnoxious weirdo?"

"I hate you! You're so despicable!"

"You're ugly, you're overbearing, and you have a terrible temper. As you get older, no one will want to be with you."

"Why are you so introverted? Stop acting strange."

"What's wrong with you? You’re so repulsive and not ladylike at all."

To me, as unsettling as it sounds, these words were clear to me just how burdensome and inconvenient my nature was for him as my older brother. These words often followed or during a beating, which made me understand that I was simply an outlet for his frustration. My upper arms and thighs would remain black and blue for months, and he would instruct me to cover them with long sleeves and trousers so no one would see. Again, I adhered strictly to these rules to keep my older brother from getting in trouble for hitting me, and perhaps to avoid more beatings.

So, there you have it! My family's unique brand of chaos, where every day is a new episode of "What Will They Do Next?" If you ever feel like your family is a sitcom waiting to happen, just remember: at least you're not alone in the comedy club of life!

Besides, my exceptional positivity, which is a part of my autistic traits, has consistently helped me in overcoming these difficulties, inspiring me to think about how I can grow into a resilient person, unwavering in my search for stability, and achieve independence in my own unique way.

Realising I Am the Scapegoat

While learning about narcissism, I frequently encountered the term "scapegoat", and none of the examples I found were associated with anything positive—it's as cheery as a tax audit. As I read different books and blogs about the scapegoat child, I was amazed at how closely it reflected my own childhood. Imagine this: my older brother—the first son of the first son, the favoured "golden child," was like a trophy on a shelf—shiny, admired, and completely untouchable. Meanwhile, I was assigned the role of the scapegoat, which, in case you didn’t know, is basically the family’s designated fall person.

If there was a crumb in the house, it was always my fault. I could trip over my own shoelaces and somehow end up being blamed for global warming! I wasn't the most graceful child; I walked stiffly, stilted, inward, and slowly. I could certainly rival Frankenstein on a bad day. Honestly, I realised that if you're destined to be the scapegoat, you might as well embrace it. At least I got to perfect my no-care-in-the-world wiggle. So here’s to all the scapegoats of the world—may we forever be the ones who get recognition for the missing cookies! Because if we’re going to take the blame, we might as well enjoy a snack while doing it!

If you find that kind of attention unappealing, you can of course laugh, cry, or just hit the reset button on the whole family dynamic. I ended up doing all three! I was finally ready to turn the page—preferably to a chapter titled “How to Survive Family Visits to the Other Side of the World Without Losing Your Mind.” Or maybe just toss the entire book off of a cliff and start a new genre: "How to Embrace Your Autism Identity in Witness Protection After Family Reunions." It's a bestseller in my mind!

After realising I was the scapegoat in a complex dynamic, I found myself navigating through several stages that were both intense and enlightening. Primarily, I experienced a profound sense of anger. This anger stemmed from the realisation that I had been unfairly positioned as the target for blame, a role that was not only undeserved but also deeply unfair. I encountered a surge of indignation as I reflected on the circumstances, questioning why I had been chosen to bear the weight of others' mistakes and failures. Is it because of my autistic nature? or Is it just because I'm a girl? This anger was often directed not only at those who had scapegoated me but also at myself for allowing the situation to unfold without adequately defending my position.

Following the anger, I dove headfirst into a delightful pool of denial. In this stage, I struggled to accept the reality of my situation. I became the world’s leading expert in rationalising the actions of others, convincing myself that perhaps I had indeed played a part in the unfolding events, despite the overwhelming evidence pointing to my innocence. This denial was a coping mechanism, a way to protect myself from the painful truth that I was being unjustly blamed. It provided a temporary refuge, allowing me to escape the harshness of my circumstances, even if only for a little while.

However, the cycle did not end there. I often found myself back on the emotional rollercoaster, waver between rage and moments of clarity. The intensity of my anger would sometimes give way to a more reflective state, where I would begin to counter the accusations levelled against me. In these moments, I would gather my thoughts, recalling instances and evidence that clearly demonstrated my lack of culpability. I would engage in internal debates, weighing the arguments for and against my role in the situation, trying to make sense of the chaos that surrounded me.

Ultimately, this journey led me to a stage of acceptance. Accepting the truth of being a scapegoat was not an easy task; it required a significant amount of introspection and emotional labour. I had to confront the uncomfortable reality that, in the eyes of others, I had been unfairly labelled as the one responsible for problems that were beyond my control. This acceptance, however, was liberating in its own right. It allowed me to acknowledge the situation for what it truly was, freeing me from the chains of guilt and self-blame that had previously held me captive. It was like discovering that the heavy backpack I’d been carrying was actually filled with marshmallows—sweet, fluffy, and completely unnecessary.

Yet, even in this phase of acceptance, I found that the emotional rollercoaster was far from over. I would occasionally slip back into anger or denial, especially when confronted with reminders of the scapegoating. The journey was not linear; it was filled with ups and downs, twists and turns that challenged my resilience and fortitude. Each time I revisited these stages, I gained a deeper understanding of myself and my emotional responses, ultimately leading to a more profound sense of self-awareness and empowerment as I learned to navigate the complexities of being a scapegoat.

Time to Activate the Reset Button on the Toxic and Narcissistic Family Dynamics

The insights from my reading were straightforward, with each book or blog on narcissism offering its own guidance on how to escape toxic environments and focus on your own healing. It's like a neon sign flashing “Get Out Now!” while simultaneously handing me a cup of herbal tea for my nerves. It's similar to the airplane safety instruction—ensure you secure your own mask before helping others.

Although this guidance is simple, putting it into practice is far more complicated, as years of ingrained behaviour and strict adherence to family rules also conflict with the advice. So, I decided to give it another try before I fully activate the reset button to determine if it truly is as bad as my traumatic memories suggest, or if my brain is just throwing a K-drama in my head. I also wanted to experiment with defending myself whenever narcissistic remarks or actions were directed at me—where I have to outwit, outlast, and hopefully not outcry at the family table. Plus, I haven't visited my family for a while due to the pandemic, and I'm overdue for a long trip back "home".

During this visit, I truly understood the phrase "ignorance is bliss." Little did I know, becoming aware of the narcissistic traits and tendencies in others is like opening a mysterious parcel of chaos. Once I put on my detective hat, I started spotting these narcissistic traits like they were Pokémon. Remarks that once excused now felt like they had been crafted in a secret lab of dysfunction. Subtle actions? More like overtly inappropriate behaviours that could win an award for “Best Leading Role in a K-drama.”

So, there I was, armed with my newfound insights, trying to navigate the minefield of remarks and actions that could either lead to a complete disconnection or a family feud over who is the most manipulative. Ignorance may be bliss, but knowledge? Knowledge is like a triple espresso—jittery, a little too intense, and definitely keeping you awake at night wondering if you should have just stuck with the bliss.

Even at that point, I naively believed that visiting family might alleviate my burnouts and help me reconnect with myself. However, I was completely mistaken, as the demands became greater and more intense than during previous visits. I ended up injuring my back, dealing with an upset stomach, and experiencing the worst breakout of my life—something I had managed to avoid during my teenage years suddenly appeared to haunt me. Apparently, the universe decided it was time for my skin to have a crisis too. Who knew that family reunions could trigger a hormonal renaissance?

By the end of the trip, I had experienced enough evidence and confirmations that I could no longer deny. These validated my concerns about the narcissistic behaviour and abuse, and I couldn't bear witnessing the same situation affecting the children in my family. I decided to stop excusing such atrocities, and my cautious and diplomatic communications were no longer enough to get the points across. I also couldn't hide my true nature anymore, the facts and evidence were pouring out of me without fear of consequences. My only thought was that my family absolutely needed to hear the truth, with the aim of breaking the cycle and establish a healthy, supportive example for future generations.

The conversations were a disaster, excuses flying around like a snowstorm, victim-blaming so thick you could slice it with a spoon (not even a metal spoon, a Chinese soup spoon), and justifications for the perpetrators that could win a prize. Somehow, I was the villain for speaking up. The family motto is loud and clear: “Silence is golden, and so is your ability to be a mind reader.” Seriously, how did we get here? Have I been living in a delusion all these years? My time was up; I had to return to London without resolving anything, which left me feeling like a failure.

Upon returning, I thought, Why not give this another shot, maybe even ten! But no, I was met with comments and actions as harsh as a comedy roast. So, I decided it was time to hit the reset button. I finally chose the "Get Out Now" approach, secured my own mask, and began my own special brand of healing. It’s been quite the ride! But at least I’m not stuck in a cycle of abuse, right? Here’s to new beginnings, healing out loud, and hopefully a little less chaos—turning my burnouts (egg revelations) into gooey and delicious cookies... at least then I'd be serving up something I enjoy and spreading crumbs everywhere without fear of consequences.