When I hit burnout in May 2024, I was terrified.
I spent four days in bed, getting up only long enough to go to the bathroom and get my food order from the front porch. I couldn’t speak. My ability to communicate in any way at all was severely reduced. My body didn’t work. I was unable to effectively move around in space or manipulate objects with my hands without a concerted effort. I couldn’t think past the exhaustion and confusion to focus on even the most basic activities. The only thing I knew was that I couldn’t do it anymore. I had completely burned myself to the ground with all of the expectations I was meeting, all of the responsibilities I had taken on, some of which weren’t mine.
Here it was, autistic burnout, something I had suspected was impacting me the more I looked into the indicators of, and possible issues that come with, autism. Unfortunately, I didn’t know what to do about it until it was too late.
I had to walk away from my six-figure job, one I had spent years building the credentials for (not to mention the student loan debt). I could no longer participate. I wanted to keep going. But that option was no longer available. Even the shame, the masking, the internal and external expectations I had been pushing myself to meet, couldn’t matter to me. I was too exhausted to keep going.
I figured I could trust my friends and family to believe me when I expressed the depth of the disfunction I was experiencing. My mental health glitches were no secret among my closest people. I had had what everyone thought were anxiety episodes in the past. It turns out they were actually autistic meltdowns. That isn’t to say anxiety, depression, etc. didn’t play a part in my challenges.
Like many late-diagnosed neurodivergent adults, I also have a healthy serving of mental health conditions that I picked up along the way and have been dragging around with me for most of my life. And, like many late-diagnosed neurodivergent adults, I spent my entire life thinking I was wrong and broken. That feeling was reinforced by poorly prepared (or just bad) mental health professionals who told me as much. Except, it turns out, what they said wasn’t true. They continued to diagnose me with things I didn’t have to the point that I had to really try to get to know myself better so I could stop going to people who didn’t know what they were talking about. The truth was that I was literally not equipped with the tools I needed to understand or communicate needs I didn’t even know I had.
While I suspected autism for several years, I didn’t get confirmation until my formal diagnosis in October 2024. Autism assessments are expensive and often not covered by insurance. Many adults who suspect autism either have to rely on self-diagnosis (then hope they can find the assistance they require), pay for an assessment out of pocket, or as in my case, have to hit crisis mode and find a means of obtaining a diagnosis without cost. Not the best set of options, right?
As I mentioned in my previous post, I had to let everything go. I was urged by several people to put my house on the market as soon as possible to help alleviate the financial burdens I was now unable to continue to support. I went on short-term disability. I had to lean on family, my partner, friends, and do my best to get help from various sources between periods of crushing fear, even worse exhaustion, and a loss of even the most basic abilities. I had to (and still have to) take baby steps. Even one video meeting with the advocacy group, my therapist, adults with autism peer groups, or the Division of Vocational Rehabilitation meant I would be out of commission for days. I am still unable to handle phone calls and have to ration out how I communicate with my family. The fact that I am even able to type out my thoughts right now is incredible.
Eventually, I was able to move into a rental in a quieter city with my partner. I continue to struggle with exhaustion, sensory overwhelm, communication, motor skills, executive function…There was a chance all of this was going to be a new normal for me.
But I am not one to give up. I have wanted to, trust me. But it simply isn’t in me to throw my hands up and stop trying.
This experience was teaching me something. Shit had hit the fan for me because I was operating under conditions that were well beyond my abilities. I was a high achiever, a workaholic, a master masker, and none of those things were making me happy or healthy. As a matter of fact, my blood pressure had been consistently elevated during my annual checkups for years. After only a couple of weeks into this burnout, with no choice but to rest, my blood pressure had lowered from around 134+/80+ to 120/76.
I did several things to help heal myself, which I will speak about in various posts as I share my story. But the one thing I want to mention here is the self-imposed, self-guided, art therapy I started only a couple of months ago. My motor skills were trash, as I so eloquently put it. They were so bad in the beginning I felt like a toddler. Maybe the regression I had experienced would be with me for the rest of my life. But I had to try to recover.
So, I decided to start painting and drawing. This was something I hadn’t done since high school. I had partly let the idea of creating visual art go because music was my first passion. But I had also been discouraged by a specific experience in an art class. Those things aside, it seemed the best way to get my motor skills on track, provide me with a voice (as speaking out loud, finding words, has been rough), and tap into the creativity I haven’t had in my life for a long time, was to just give it a try.
I started with the supplies I had sitting around for years because I kept thinking I would someday have the energy to be creative again. I had colored pencils, watercolor crayons, paint, some old sketch books with 20-year-old sketches in them. I messed around with the watercolors and paint brushes only to realize my hands just aren’t up for it. So, I tried acrylic markers, which I found I could manipulate well enough.
I wanted to paint mandalas. I quickly realized that, even before my burnout, the ability to make them would have been hard. Now, with my toddler hands, there was no way I could get the symmetry to create a true mandala style. That fact required me to practice something that is very closely tied to my transformation, acceptance.
I wasn’t just trying to get my hands to work better. I wasn’t just trying to use art to aid in my overall rehabilitation. I was also having to face the deconstruction of my entire paradigm. I had created an entire person that I had projected out into the world, because the world seemed to want me that way. I wanted to do everything right. I wanted to achieve more and more. I wanted everything, down to my facial expressions and the words I spoke, to somehow blend me into a world that simply wasn’t made for me.
If I want to find out who I am, I have to accept myself as I am. That means I have to accept the perceived flaws in everything I do, and not just accept, celebrate. This is something I can do in creating my art. And that is one reason why I consider it divine.
So, I am proud to say that I have not only completed several pieces, I have also opened up my own store on fourthwall!
I currently have no income, and I have not yet reached the ability to start working again. I am hoping some time with the Occupational Therapist I just started meeting with yesterday will get me there in a few months.
Until then, my worst-case scenario is that I share my art, make no sales, and still have no income.
I have a few designs up now with more to come. I am ordering a couple of samples to see what I think. If you would like to order something that is available now and agree to provide a quality review to me, e-mail me at talethadance@gmail.com and I will see about providing a limited number of discount codes.
You can access my store HERE and via the button in my header. Check it out!
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