As my eighth grade school year neared its end, there was so much excitement & chatter among my classmates about high school. High school. Now those were two words I never wanted to hear. If you had asked me about anything having to do with high school that year, one of two things would have happened:
Throughout my life, each transition that I've experienced was harder than the one before. Now, I know why. Autism. We're known for having a tough time with change. Middle school wasn't a time that I would ever want to relive (I mean, who would?), but high school? Now that was terrifying. Eighth grade was the first time I ever had a male main subject teacher. My science & homeroom teacher, Gil, really took a liking to me. He gave me special treatment & gave me privileges that no one else in the class was allowed to have. He even intervened in situations where I didn't think it was necessary. He simply wanted to be there to take care of me. Being someone who didn't (& still doesn't) trust men, I considered myself pretty lucky to have had Gil be my first experience with a male teacher. He's retired now, but I've been able to reach out to him a few times since my college graduation to thank him for being so good to me. Anyway, Gil knew that I was nervous about going to high school, so he met my parents, my grandparents, & me one day over spring break to give us a personal tour. He used to work at the high school, so he knew it pretty well. My town was growing so fast, that the eighth grade needed to be moved to the high school for several years because there was no longer room for it in the middle school. By the time I entered eighth grade though, the grade had moved back to where it was supposed to be. I'm not sure how much that tour helped my transition to high school because just the idea of going to high school was SO upsetting. I knew I had no other choice because staying in eighth grade forever & skipping high school weren't viable options either. Having that love, care, & extra time from a teacher who could've been spending his spring break doing so many other things meant so much to my family & me. My First Day Of High School: Now, this is something I hate to admit, but on the first day of high school, as I was walking to the bus stop, there were big, ugly, fat tears that wouldn't stop forming. Like many parents, ever since I started school, my mom has always taken a picture of me on the first day. I couldn't pull myself together enough to take a picture that morning, so my mom took a picture of me after school instead. To this day, when I look at that picture, all I see is a sad, scared girl hidden behind the smile on her face. See below↓. On that particular morning, my next-door neighbor was looking out her front door at me walking to the bus stop, full of excitement for me. My neighbor was someone I have been very close to ever since I was a toddler, but I couldn't manage to turn to look at her for even a brief second because my face was so streaked with tears. Luckily, my mom could be my voice that morning, providing an explanation for my strange behavior which was completely embarrassing. What Exactly Was SO Terrifying?: There were three main things that were upsetting about going to high school.
I know that this is a very vulnerable & heartbreaking post, especially for those who know me personally. Please know that everything written in this post was written with my heart & soul & is absolutely true. School is very, very difficult for us autistics & my experiences are illustrations of why this may be.
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AuthorHello! My name is Kim, I didn't know I was autistic until I was in my thirties, & this is my story. Categories
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May 2024
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