By Yamila García

Recently, I had my first photo session for a yearbook. I had never had to take one since, in my country, school photos are only in groups. I don’t like photos; they make me feel exposed. As a child, I really liked them, but at some point over the years, I became very self-conscious, and now photos generate the same level of anxiety that an oral presentation in front of a lot of people would cause me. Days before my turn for the session, I was worrying and even dreaming about it. I had nightmares that it would be in a giant place, full of people and that while they were taking my photos, everyone would be there, judging me with their eyes. On the day of the session, I arrived early, and there was no one there. I stayed waiting for the photographer at the door, and when he returned, I entered a small room. Small spaces help me feel more in control of the situation. The photographer was extremely friendly, so I felt free to tell him that I suck at taking photos and that I don’t like them at all. He was extremely kind and really helped a lot to make it more bearable.

In any case, the anxiety inside doesn’t stop even with a miracle. I sweated the entire session, which was probably 10 minutes but felt like 10 hours. I don’t even sweat in the summer, just because of anxiety. I felt like I had a kind of rash on my face; I knew I was probably red. I was totally overwhelmed. I would like to describe the million thoughts that came to my head while the kind photographer stood behind his camera, but it is impossible. It was like a stream of hurtful things, things I would never think or say to anyone. I was out of breath because my thoughts were drowning me. When I finally finished, already turning on my automatic mode, I thanked the kindness and left. A meeting I had was canceled, and nothing gave me more relief, not because I didn’t want to have it, but because I didn’t have a drop of energy left. I drove home, and as soon as I got there, I sat on the couch and fell asleep. Consumed as if instead of a photo session I had run a marathon! Anxiety is like 5 marathons put together, all at the speed of 100 flat meters, with a backpack full of weights and no shoes. A complete nightmare that not only remains in your head, but you feel it with your entire body and it exhausts you like the most extreme physical activity.

 

By Yamila García

When my mind is filled with self-doubt and insecurity, I silence it with facts. As if it were an investigation that I am carrying out, I search my memories for information that will help me prove that those thoughts are a lie. If my mind tells me that I am not enough, I search my memories for moments when I was able to do great things, people who have told me how much they admired what I had done, memories with friends who showed me that my presence was important in their lives. I contradict each of those thoughts with facts. I prove to myself that none of that is true. When my mind describes myself with some hateful adjective, I say to myself: okay, let’s see if this is true. What evidence do I have? Has anyone ever told me this? And if they did, what were their intentions? Has anyone ever told me otherwise? Likewise, when I think I won’t be able to do something, I ask myself: Have there been other moments when I thought I wouldn’t be able to? And what happened then? How many times out of all the times that this voice told me I was incapable of achieving it, did I not achieve it?

I learned that my thoughts are not going to be actually silent, but that I can contradict them with facts and concrete evidence. I learned to use my curiosity and ability to logically argue everything so that my way of seeing life is not conditioned by that voice. I know that many have this voice torturing them. I have talked about it with friends and many feel that they could only live better if they got rid of this voice. The truth is that it is not like that and I don’t even know if that could be possible. Many times when we listen to this voice and let ourselves be guided by it, our gaze is very narrow. If we can talk to ourselves to take weight away from that voice, we can broaden our vision. Most of us have already achieved much more than we believe, we are loved and valued much more than we think, and we have much more capacity than we ever thought we would have. We just need to look back and be objective with ourselves as if it were someone else we are rooting for.

By Yamila García

It’s been 5 years since I received my diagnosis. Since confirming that I have ASD, I’ve had numerous experiences disclosing it to others. It’s not something I share with everyone all the time, but when I do, I encounter a variety of reactions. Some seem uncomfortable with the topic, perhaps due to ignorance, quickly changing the subject. Their discomfort makes me wish I hadn’t mentioned it. On the other hand, more open and informed people respond with curiosity and respect. Some even reveal that they’re neurodivergent too, leading to enriching exchanges. This relieved me, showing that I’m not alone and that many of us perceive the world differently.

Among these people, I’ve found a particular group that has helped me understand when I want to disclose my diagnosis. Parents of neurodivergent children often have fears and doubts about how they’re handling things. When I meet these parents, they have many questions and express deep gratitude for sharing my experiences. It made me realize that the decision to disclose or not must be accompanied by the question: why do it? In this case, sharing my diagnosis is about offering help, support, encouragement, and showing parents that their children will be okay. For them, seeing someone who shares similar challenges succeeding is a source of hope.

But there are other reasons for disclosure too, like seeking accommodations or helping others know us better. As we continue on the journey of self-discovery, we also learn when and why we want to disclose our diagnosis. It’s important to remember that our diagnosis doesn’t define us entirely, and disclosing it can result in different reactions due to a widespread lack of education about neurodiversity. It’s up to us to decide when and why to disclose. We’re not obligated to tell everyone, nor are we obligated to hide it. My decision to disclose comes from self-awareness and my answers to the question: why do it?