Underneath my yellow skin

Category Archives: Neurodivergency

More about (not-so) safe spaces

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Let’s talk more about safe spaces and why it’s so hard to make a space even minimally space. Well, it’s not hard, per se, but it’s difficult. I’ll explain more in a bit.

In yesterday’s post, I was talking about how it’s much harder to establish a safe space than it was to have a base tolerance for diversity. Back in the aughts when the question of queer rights became more visible, I was more on the side of tolerance rather than acceptantce because you can’t really mandate feelings and because tolerance is a much lower bar to clear. As to the question of legality, I would much rather get a law pass with the straights hating it but following it than waiting until they accept/are positive on it.

I still hold that to be true of laws because we need our legal rights protected (as we see now that they’re getting repealed and rolled back left and right), but it’s different when it comes to safe spaces. This is supposed to be a place where we’re not merely tolerated, but embraced and meant to feel included.

Side note: There is a robust debate about inclusivity versus diversity, and I do not want to get into that in this post. For the purpose of this post, I will just say that I do think both are important and  leave it at that.

Back to safe spaces.

I haven’t been involved in any community lately that has explicitly stated it’s a safe space with specific parameters. I think it’s easy at the very top level. No isms allowed. Easy-peasy. Until you drill down into what that actually means. Obviously, no overt racism, sexism, queerphobia, gender hatred, religious intolerance*, etc.


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Big braining and small braining, part three/seven

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Let’s talk more about how I brain–or don’t. One of the most frustrating things is to be told not to worry/be anxious, etc. Or to be told that it doesn’t help. Of course it doesn’t! I already know that. I try not to talk about my anxiety because I know it doesn’t help, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. I hide it better than most, but it’s still pretty bad.

I noted that when I had my medical crisis, I came out of it with my depression down by 90% and my anxiety down by about 60%. Now, it’s because up to depression about 80% of what I used to have and my anxiety is about 90%. I’m talking of the original depression and anxiety. Granted, it’s still down from what it used to be, but it’s still not great.

It’s so frustrating to know that much of my problem is (literally and figuratively) in my head. I am am used to thinking my way out of my problems, and I can’t do that when my brain is the  problem in the first place.

Side note: I have been working on my Taiji/Bagua routine. I have it somewhat hammered out in that I do all the Taiji stretches/warmups every day. I also do one section of the Taiji Solo (Long Form) every day. In addition, I do the Swimming Dragon Form (left side or right side) every day. All of these are easy and gentle, which is why I can do them every day. Before, I had all my weapons rotating on a weekly basis. This was fine when I only knew a few weapon forms. Now, though, I know…let’s count them. Sword Form (left and right); Saber Form (left and right); Cane Form (left and right); Cane Form with Saber (left and right); Double Saber Form (right); Double Fan Form (right); Fan Form (right); and I’m learning the Bagua Knife Form (right). I’m almost done with it; I’m hoping to finish it in a month or two. I also do a staff/spear set that is not a form. I’m hoping my teacher can teach me the two-person forms for the staff/spear–they’re all very short. Or the two-person form.

I want to work on Push Hands (which is the basis for the two-person form. I’ll write more about that later.

Back to the weapon forms. I was doing the forms a varying amount of times a week. The Double Fan Form I do every day as it’s my newest form, and I want to make sure it gets in my body. Plus, I’ll be doing it for the next demo, so I want to have it down.

When I knew four or five weapon forms, it was fine to practice them all every week. I did one a day, and I was good to go. Now, though, it’s overwhelming. The whole routine takes up to two hours, and that’s too much. I was starting to hate practicing my weapons. Or rather, not hate, but dread. That’s when I needed a change.


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The hidden costs of my way of braining, part…two/six

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I want to talk more about my brain and how it works, but also how I have to constantly monitor what I say. In the prior post about the former, I was talking about how fringe I am, even in places where I feel mostly welcome. In the latter category, in yesterday’s post, I mentioned how I have to constantly figure out what Ican say to normies and what I can’t.

Side note: Because I’m usually extremely good at reading the room, it really bugs me when I fuck  up. Quite plainly, it’s part of my anxiety and how I try to control my environment.

Side note to the side note: I see it in my mother, and it’s so clear how she tries to control her anxiety by endlessly spinning out over what might happen. She tries to plan for every little thing that could possibly happen in a vain attempt to make sure nothing bad happened. I do the same, but iI do it inwardly and not outwardly. That’s one reason it’s so hard for me to listen to her–it echoes the voice in my head.

I know that other people aren’t thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about myself. However. I also know that people notice me because I stand out like a sore thumb. I’m Asian an a very white area, and I just have a distinct look. I wear all black, have a funky pair of glasses, and my hair (that I wear up in a high pony and halfway braid) reaches my waist (when done up). And I have huge boobs. Believe me–I don’t fade into the background.

You know that The Hulk quote, “That’s my secret, Cap. I’m always angry.” That’s me. I’m always angry. Before my medical crisis, I was able to keep in in control except on rare occasion. Now, I have a much harder time modulating it. I would add, “I’m always anxious” to that. Anxious about being outed as a weirdo. Or rather, as being super weird. I thin kit’s fairly obvious just by looking at me that I’m not normal.

You know what? I’m not sure that’s true any longer. Now that I’m middle-aged, maybe I can get more of a pass. I still have huge tits, though. And I still have people talking to me when there’s no need for that.

*Restrains urge to go off on a thousand-word rant about charisma*

This is how my brain works, by the way. Me going on tangent after tangent until there’s no main path any longer. I’m used to it by now, but I’m still slightly amused when I start veering wildly off path. I promise you that I fully intend to write what I initially thought about in my mind. It’s just that so many things are interconnected to me, I can’t stick with just one.

At least now I know why that is rather than when I was a kid and just thought my mind was haywired. Well, to be fair, at first, I thought everyone thought the way I did. I mean, it was so clear in my head, why wouldn’t it be clear to others as well?


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What I think versus what I say

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I have spent a lifetime figuring out what is ok to say in polite society and what isn’t. That doesn’t mean I always say the safe and bland thing, though. Sometimes, I say the ruder/more honest thing on purpose, and sometimes, it’s because I did not draw the right line. And, sometimes, I’m so tense about saying/doing the right thing that I just blurt out the first thing that enters my mind. Or do whatever my brain tells me to do. Thankfully, it’s never inappropriate–it’s just sometimes very awkward. And embarrassing. But I’m used to that.

I have a running track in my head that tells me what I’m saying is wrong, stupid, and I should just shut the hell up. That’s on a bad day. On a good day, the voice is calmer and not saying the mean words, but it’s basically the same message. “Dear, is that really what you want to say?”, “Maybe you should say that in a different way.”, and the like.

The track was installed by my parents when I was very young, and while I’m getting better at dampening it, it’s still there. It doesn’t help that I’m hard to understand when I’m not styling myself for normies to listen to me.

There are several reasons for this. One is that I think very differently than others do. And I think in very complex and, yes, convoluted ways. That’s part and parcel in having a broken brain. I see connections that other people don’t, and I can’t explain them to my satisfaction. I’ve told this story over and over again.

I once was talking to my then-therapist about how frustrating it was when I could not explain something to someone to make them understand what I was trying to say. In my mind, it was my fault because I could not find the right words. She said, “It’s because you think at a level five while they think at a level one or two.” She told me that they literally could not understand what I was saying, and that it wasn’t because I could not find the right words.

It was a relief to be released from the burden of trying to find the right words. I still tend to err on the side of me thinking I’m not saying the right words, but I have found some relief in the idea that maybe it’s not me.

See, this is one of the issues with being neurodivergent–I always assume it’s my fault. Before I knew I was neurodivergent, I just assumed that my brain was broken, and I was a weirdo. I mean, the latter is true, but the former is…not true in the way I used to think it was. It doesn’t mean I monitor what I say any less, but at least I’m cognizant of why I’m doing it.

It felt treacherous when I was younger to say what I really thought. I’ve done a lot of work to figure out what the ‘right’ thing to say is and what the ‘wrong’ thing to say is. In addition, I have been programmed to always put others feelings first, which makes it difficult for me to voice my opinion.


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The way my brain works (or not), part five

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I want to talk more about my brain, neurodivergence, and the constant masking I do. And why I don’t want to have a/any romantic relationship(s). At least, that’s the plan. As I have shown over and over again, I don’t always stick to the script. In yesterday’s post, I wrote about autism and how the stereotypes of who had it prevented me from seeenig it in myself for decades.

I got a decent amount of sleep last night. In fact, more than decent. Nine hours in total! That’s almost unheard of for me. Now, I’m exhausted. I always feel more tired after getting good sleep than before it. It’s because my body realizes how sleep deprived I am and then demands more. Before that, it kind of grits its teeth (stay with me) and just deals with it because it thinks it has no other choice. Once it become cognizant that I actually have a choice about how much I sleep (to a certain extent), it wants more. I don’t blame it, mind. I just find it hard when I actually do right by it that it then wants more.

I’m a bit down. I was talking about the channel of the Discord I’m in that is a chill place to hang out. Today, I was reminded of how I was still an outsider in several ways. One is because the Americans in the British-centric Discord have been talking about having an American get-together. I don’t think I’d be comfortable attending because of my immune system  issues, but I was interested in hearing about it. We all suggested places, and my contribution was Chicago. Several people suggested Southern cities, and that was when I knew that it was not for me.

I’m not going south of the Mason-Dixon line (and yes, I chose that for a specific reason). In 2026 with all that’s been going on, I’m just not. I mean, look, my own city/state has been iffy, but that wasn’t our fault. Let’s not forget that we were invaded and besieged by our own government half a year ago.

As a Taiwanese American bisexual agender person who is old and tired, I’m not going to the south. I’m just not. They are enacting a raft of anty-queer laws AND anti- immigrants laaws, and I don’t feel safe going to, say, Nashville. I don’t care that it’s a major city–it’s still in the Deep South that is DEEPLY hostile to people like me.

I don’t want to be the one to bring it up and make everyone feel bad, but I also resent the fact that I have to be the one to bring it up. Yes, I know that’s part of being a minority of the minority in a group, but that’s one of the reason it’s such a fucking drag to be a minority.

I haven’t brought it up because it’s all theoretical right now. We’re talking about ‘oh, wouldn’t it be cool to do this?’, which is far away from having an actual plan, not to mention an actual date. And, as I said, the chance that I will actually go is slim. But if it’s in the south, the chance of me going is zero. I just will not go. I am not willing to put myself in that position nor the discomfort it would elicit from me.

I hate that I have to think about this and weigh my discomfort at bringing it up with my discomfort of actually going to the south. I will say that I’ve always been chary of going to the south, but now, I just won’t do it. That’s not even a question in my own mind.


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Thinking about thinking (and my brain), part four

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Let’s talk more about my brain and how I think. In yesterday’s post, I was talking about how the stereotypical depiction of autism prevented me from recognizing that I might be autistic until just a few years ago.

One thing I  mentioned was how I know not to natter on and on about my obsessions because it annoys other people. I also don’t mention them for another reason–because they are precious to me and talking about them with people who don’t feel the same way can make me feel some kind of way.

One trait of autism is being easily swayed/manipulated. This was another reason I thought I could not be autistic. When it comes to important issues–I am an unmovable force. Take abortion, for example. Once I realized what it was and how important it was for the autonomy of women, I have not wavered in my support of it. And, by “it” I specifiaclly mean abortion. Yes, I am pro-choice, but in this case, I want to emphasize that I specifically support abortion.

Side note: It irks me how pro-choice has been crafted to mean, “Yes, it’s so terrible that some people have to get abortions, but we support them in their difficult moments”. It can be terrible/hard/traumatic, but there are plenty of people who felt it was an easy decision and felt relief/joy when they had it done. That never gets talked about. No, it has to be all about suffering and tragedy–as does most things that traditionally pertain to women.

Side note to the side note: When I decided I did not want to have children and realized I didn’t have to, I felt such a sense of relief and joy. I could not explain it, but I felt as if a million-pound weight fell from my shoulders. I knew deep in my heart that this was the best decision I hahd ever made in my life, and thirty-five years later, I feel it even more strongly.

That’s another thing that at that time, women were apologizing for–not having children, I mean. I looked for anyone who felt the same way (remember, this was before the internet was the behemouth that it is now). I found one anthology from women, writers and not, who decided not to have children. I was so eager to read it, but to my disappointment, every single one of them apologized, excused, or made themselves smaller as they talked about their decision not to have children.

If I were to write for an anthology about my decision not to have children, I would be celebratory and jubilant. I’m not being hyperbolic; if anything, I’m understating my emotions.

The other thing I read that stuck in my brain was an article about mothers. Not because of the article itself, but because of the commenter who was brave enough to say that she regretted having children and why. Other commenters chimed in with similar sentiments, and it was the first time I saw an honest conversation from women who wished they hadn’t had children.


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More about my brain and how I think, part three

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Let’s talk more about my brain, how I think, and the difficulty  I’m having with sleep. In my last post, I talked quite a bit about how I never really thought I could have autism because the stereotype of it did not feel like it fit me–at all.

I didn’t want to go on a thousand-word rant about the patriarchy because I’ve done it many times before, and it wasn’t the point of the post. But let’s all acknowledge that we know that the patriarchy has a long reach.

It’s not often than I say plainly that the patriarchy is the reason I reacted in a certain way (or didn’t), but it’s completely true in this case. I had no idea I could have autism because the image of it in my head up until maybe four years ago was of a boy (probably white, but not necessarily) between five and fifteen.  Someone who fidgeted and stimmed constantly, and, of course, someone who was awkward in social interactions and could not make (or sustain) eye contact.

None of that fits me. Except maybe the last. I don’t make eye contact, but I can do the ‘look at their nose’ thing.

When my autistic friend told me to take an online autism test unmasked as much as possible, that was eye-opening. The test itself talked about masking and how so many autistic people did it automatically. They wanted you to take the test as unmasked as possible, and they even padded the scores to include masking.

Knowing all that, I still struggled taking the test without automatically masking. I have been doing it most of my life–for fifty-years plus. I don’t know how to be unmasked any longer. It had a Likert scale and would make statements like, “I feel comfortabel with my social skills in a crowd”. Then, of course, you had to pick a number. 1 was like highly agree, 2 agree, 3 neutral, 4 disagree, 5 highly disagree or something like that.

The instructions explicitly said to put down the number that described you before you put on your mask–and I had no idea. As I said, my mask was installed in me at such a young age and so firmly, I just could not imagine myself without it. I tried. I knocked a point off here and there, but I honestly had no idea what to score myself. That’s how ingrained the mask is on my face. Er, on me.

I scored in the low range (meaning the very bottom of I could possibly be autistic). The thing that was important, though, was that it opened my eyes to the idea that I might be autistic. It might be harder for me to find my way to what the actual truth is (and I don’t know if I’ll get tested or not), but just knowing it’s possible that I have autism has lifted a huge weight from my shoulders.

The thing is that even if it’s not autism per se, it helped me realize that I definitely have some kind of neurodivergence. I’m pretty sure it’s autism–just heavily masked. When I look at a list of the traits, I fit most of them–at least in my heart. Oh, and there have been studdies that suggest that transgender and nonbinary people have a higher rate of autism. Which is very interesting to me.


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Diving deeper into how I think, part two

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Let’s talk more about how my weird brain manifests itself. In yesterday’s post, I was talking about how my neurodivergent brain thinks very differently than how normies think. for the longest time, I thought there was something I could do to make my brain work more normally. I didn’t want to do it, mind, but I always thought it was possible.

I did briefly consider in my early thirties that I might have ADHD. I had the hyperfocus part down pat, but too many of the other symptoms/traits didn’t fit. At that time, I had a great memory and was never late. I did ping from one thing to another, but I was also able to focus–not just hyperfocus. It really was only the hyperfocus and the changing from interest to interest that pinged the ADHD meter.

I can’t stress how much at the time (twenty years ago) that autism was portrayed as a young boy’s diagnosis. It was definitely considered a kid’s thing–and only boys got it. OBVIOUSLY. Most people never even said that because the thought that it could be present in girls was unthinkable.

Side note: This is how medicine works in general, by the way. It’s heavily skewed towards white cis males, so much so that some studies that talk about pregancy use ‘he’ when talking about the patient. This is an extreme example, but it’s littered throughout medical documentation. Also, Asian people need much less meds than do white people–but that isn’t mentioned, either.

I realized this when I tried sleeping pills when I was in my late twenties. The psychiatrist didn’t even examine me. She just listened to me for two minutes, then wrote a scrip for sleeping pills. I felt really seen, I’ll tell you what (that’s sarcasm).

I took a pill and did not wake up for over sixteen hours. Same when I cut it in half, and then in half agaian. No, I didn’t sleep quite as long, but it was still longer than I wanted, and I felt so groggy when I woke up.

When I tried Valerian, I felt as if I could not make my thoughts connect. I was three steps behind, and my tongue felt so thick. I am always chary about taking drugs because they affect me so much. And, sadly. many medical people don’t listen when I say that I react strongly to meds. when I was unconscious in the hospital and the medical professionals were trying to wake me up. My mother said to my medical team that I was more sensitive to drugs because of the Asian thing, but they apparently didn’t listen or pay attention.

Not surprising, really, as medical people are pretty notorious for ignoring information that does not agree with their preconceived notions.

This is one reason that I had no idea I was autistic. I’m AFAB; Asian; have a very high EQ; have excellent social skills; and I don’t do any kind of stimming. That was all I knew about autism, that it was for boys who couldn’t stand still, who stimmed, who thrashed when touched/hugged, who could not maintain eye contact, who could not relate at all to other human beings, and who were did not feel anything at all.


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Celebrities and keeping my chill

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So, in the Discord channel I’ve been talking about in the past few days (because it’s a place I can go and talk about a variety of tihngs I normally wouldn’t), there’s someone who works in a bar/restaurant in LA. He mentioned that he got to meet Mike Ness, the lead singer of Social Distortion when he (Mike Ness walked into his (the person in the Discord) place of employment. The latter, let’s call him Bob,  got to talk to Mike Ness and said that while he (Bob) wasn’t the type to ferak out over celebs, he was pretty stoked to meet Mike Ness.

I chimed in and said I loved Social D, even though I had only heard of them for the first time a few years ago. I did not say this in the Discord, but Mike Ness could still get it. I said that the only person I would get a bit giddy meeting would have been Alan Rickman (yes, still). Other than him, though, I didn’t think I would be at all freaked out.

My brother and I talked about if we ever met Obama, how we would act. I respect him a lot*, and I would enjoy speaknig with him about weighty issues and topics, but I would not be starstruck. There is no one alive I can think of who would make me squeal or freak out. And it’s not because I’m better than other people or anything like that, but it’s because…well, for a few reasons.

One, I believe that everyone is equal in terms of hierarchy when it comes to worth as a human being. I know that’s an incredibly awkward way to phrase that, but it says what I mean the best. I mean that everyone is worthy of a base degree of civility just for being a human being.** I can appreciate someone who shines in their area of expertise/popularity/fame, but I don’t think of them as better than me as a person.

I think this is partly beacuse of my neurodivergence. Not that my way of thinking about hierarchy is necessarily tied to neurodivergence, but that the way I think might be. Or rather, the latter might be influencing the former. It’s true that neurodivergent people don’t necessarily see social constructs in the same way as do ‘normies’.

I mean, that’s kind of our thing–being socially awkward, I mean.*** It’s only with several decades of intense training (by carefully scrutinizing other people) that I can mimic normies to a probably unhealthy degree. In fact, I do it better than many normies do. That doesn’t mean I like it, though. Donig it, I mean. It’s second nature by now, and I would feel uncomfortable not doing it–but that still doesn’t mean I like doing it.

I have a flat affect by nature (and by nurture). When I explained to my autistic friend how I processed information and transformed it into emotion, she said that it was a very autistic way of doing things. Note, she wasn’t saying that it meant I was definitely autistic–just that it might be a reason for it.


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Groups, labels, and feeling at home, part two

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One thing I’ve been thinking about a lot throughout my life is how much my sense of being an outsider is me and how much is them. Them meaning society. In yesterday’s post, I wrote about how there’s a channel in the Discord to which I belong that is really good for discussing various topics. It got threateneed to be age-verified when Discord switched to that (not getting into the inane politics behind it, but just, ugh), and some people who never visited the channel thought that was just fine.

Here’s the thing. It’s the one channel I felt comfortable talking about queer things, nonmonogamy, and an array of other things that did not fit into the other channels. In fact, the channel was created (before my time) when there wasa a college student (19 or 20, I think) asking questions about sexual slang. I gather this was in one of the general channels, and some people were uncomfortable with it.

Then, one of the owners of the Discord created the channel for After Dark topics and said, “Don’t make me regret this.”

We got that lifted when the threat of intrusive age-verification became a reality, for which I am profoundly grateful. In this channel, we have talked about music, dating, lightly touched on politics, and, yes, sex. We’ve talked about nonmonogamy/polyamory (and what the difference is), whether men and women can truly be friends (and introducing nonbinary/agender people into the question), and have encouraged people to go on dates.

The last few days the channel has been super-busy. No idea why, but the messages have been flying. We’ve pondered what ‘milkshake’ means in the classic R&B song of the same name by Kelis. Boobs? Butt? Blowjobs? Je ne sais quois? I’ve always thought it was the first, but I’ve heard people say it’s the second. Never heard the third or fourth until today. Other people said it’s what she has within–pretty much the same as the fourth.

How did we get on this topic? Because it’s been stuck in my head for several days, and I shared that in the channel. I think it was tangentially related to something that was going on in the channel–though I’m not absolutely sure. My brain works in werd ways (which is the whole point of the last ten or so posts), so who knows what connection it made?

Side note: when I was  younger, I would write or talk in ways that just assumed others could see the connections I was maknig in my brain. They were so clear to me, I couldn’t understand why they weren’t as clear to other people.

We also talked about dating woes people have had and muffins. Those are not related topics, byway. Oh, and it was muffins and cupcakes. We were discussing the difference between them because someone shared a meme about them. It had something to do with what the actual difference was–was it just the frosting? And then we migrated to talking about did that mean muffins were tops and cupcakes were bottoms? Because muffin tops were a thing.


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