I came out as autistic during the pandemic. Being isolated for so long finally revealed that I had been “masking” or performing social behaviors considered neurotypical my entire life. And the less I masked, the happier I became. I believe autistic people know they’re autistic, just like gay people know they’re gay. As a bisexual woman, I didn’t have to go to the psychologist to take a test and have an old white man tell me whether or not I was into women. But for some reason, this is what society requires of autistic people. We’re not recognized without a diagnosis on paper ― even though a diagnosis still rarely helps us in the community. But I knew I was different for much of my life, even though I didn’t know why.
After hours of telling my psychologist my life story, doing multiple-choice personality tests, and emailing him traits I identified with, I was devastated when he told me he didn’t think I was autistic. I tried to keep eye contact and look calm while I dissociated.
I asked him why he didn’t think I was autistic when I had been so sure. I had suspected I was autistic for years ― but now I knew I was. I had stayed up until 3 a.m. watching TikTok videos of other people around the world who made me feel less alone ― and suddenly, my whole life made sense. Suddenly I knew why being diagnosed late with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) wasn’t the complete answer.
“Oh, I just don’t think someone autistic would be able to do your job,” he said like it made perfect sense. Unable to keep a job in my 20s, I went on disability and started escorting to make extra money. I told my psychologist I had been an escort for the last few years. I found it incredible that men would pay hundreds of dollars an hour to spend time with me and that the more I was myself, the more they wanted to see me.
Disabled, chronically ill, and mentally ill people could relate to me ― and I loved working my hours while giving others the affection they desired. I knew how it felt to feel lonely in your skin. Instead, the doctor diagnosed me with an avoidant personality disorder ― because I’m a 31-year-old woman who doesn’t want “a family.”
I went home and stopped myself from throwing furniture. Sobbing, I paced around my house and yelled, “I don’t have a personality disorder!” I didn’t know how to deal with the psychological pain telling me that my experience didn’t fit his expertise. Who was I to argue with someone who went to school for this?
If it wasn’t for other sex workers, I honestly don’t know what I would have done. “My psychologist doesn’t believe I’m autistic because I’m a sex worker,” I desperately wrote on Twitter. “If you’re an autistic sex worker, please contact me?”
I wasn’t sure if anyone would respond. Maybe my psychologist was right. Maybe being an escort was too social of a job for someone who was autistic. “y psychologist said the same,” commented one woman. “t our next appointment, I showed her Reese PPiper’swriting.” It’s absurd to think that autistic people can’t stay in jobs where they have to socialize,” Another autistic sex worker DMed me. ” Have a Master in Clinical Psychology, and nowhere in the DSM does it have exclusionary criteria about a pperson’sprofession.”Numerous sex workers came out individually in the comments or in my DMs. Suddenly I had more confidence. I made a TikTok video about my experience, and thousands of people replied that they had a similar experience. They had been told they were too bright, too good at socializing, too good at eye contact ― even too pretty.
I realized that psychologists may study autism, but tthey’llnever genuinely know what I dislike about being autistic. They wweren’taware of the lengths we went to mask our traits to appear “normal.”
For me, iit’sthe perfect job for someone with ADHD and autism because there’s routine, but there’s also variety in my clients and how we spend our time.
As women or those who are AFAB (assigned female at birth), we learn to mask more than men because wwe’resocialized too. We know to smile, look someone in the eye (even though iit’spainful), nod that wwe’relistening, and internalize our meltdowns because tthey’renot socially appropriate. TThat’swhy the world doesn’t see us as autistic ― because we ddon’talways fit the “in Man” stereotype of the emotionless genius.
And while this helps us appear normal, it also works as a disadvantage because we seem normal enough not to be autistic but not sufficient to be given accommodations when we can’t keep up in school, hold a job, or feed ourselves anything other than a bag of chips. And if yyou’relike me, that means burning out from trying to fit in with the 9-to-5 and switching to a less conventional job like sex work.
While dating in my civilian life gives me extreme anxiety when working as Hayley, I know exactly what to do and when. I greet clients at the door in lingerie and a robe, take their coat and cash, excuse myself while I count and put it away ― and then join them on the couch for refreshments II’velaid out. All my years of masking made me perfect for providing the Girlfriend Experience.
We chatted; I moved closer, put my hand on their thigh, and kissed them. From there, we become more intimate, and when our time is up, I ask them what they will do with the rest of their day to signal that intestine for them to put on their clothes.
For me, iit’sthe perfect job for someone with ADHD and autism because there’s routine, but there’s also variety in my clients and how we spend our time.
Sometimes iit’sjust an hour in a hotel room. Other times we go out for sushi or head to a sex club. Because our dates are about making my client feel good, I don have to worry about knowing what to say like I would on a civilian date. My clients already want to be there. TThey’veseen my advertisements and know who I am. They read my outgoing Twitter feed.
So I ask them questions about themselves and enjoy listening to them talk about their lives. And if they are aaren’ttalkative, I break the tension by becoming more physical because, as a semi-verbal autistic, I’m much more comfortable not talking anyway.
I still have social anxiety on every date, but it helps to know that this date is about them ― not me having to navigate social cues, such as whether they want to kiss me. I know they want to kiss me: TThey’repaying for it.
Since my misdiagnosis, II’veemailed my psychologist’s evidence that autistic people can be sex workers. It’s been over a month, and I haven’t heard from him. HHe’ssaid hhe’sgoing to consult with other psychologists who specialize in autism and get back to me.
Though I would love a diagnosis, I’ve accepted that I ddon’tneed one to be fulfilled. I’m waiting to receive the COVID-19 vaccine to see clients again, and in the meantime, I’m writing a book about being autistic and hoping to have it published.
After a year of unmasking alone in my house, I’m unsure how I feel about returning to masking as an escort. Part of me wants to completely unmask and brand myself as an autistic sex worker ― in all my awkward glory. And part of me doesn’t know how to do this job without masking.
As I grow more comfortable coming out as autistic, this confidence will also show in my work. After all, the best part of this job is getting paid to be authentic. Do you have a compelling personal storyyoyou’dlike to see published on HuffPost? Find out whatwewe’relooking for here and send us a pitch! Calling all HuffPost superfans! Sign up for membership to become a founding member and help shapeHuHuffPost’snext chapter.
