Once I had entered the public school system, I flew under the radar of kindergarten. It was only half-day at the time. I now believe I was masking my way through it. There was a lack of attention by the educators. But the next year, when I attended a full day of education, it was very challenging. I was quite disruptive in the classroom. It became clear that extra support was needed.

After a battery of psychological testing, the results showed that I had an IQ of 92. I had not become eligible for services under the intellectual disability umbrella of the county MH/ID office. For nine years, I would be without services due to the lack of communication. Mental health services were available to me, but both were under the same county program. For a few years, I was left to the wolves as I navigated my early school years.

Through research (not by a computer I have to add), we traveled to various places to find extra testing. For many years, I managed a wide range of diagnoses. They carried acronyms like ADD, ADHD, OCD, and PDD, among others. I was treated for years with Ritalin. I visited many doctors’ offices. These visits provided some relief, but not full relief, to the behavior I was experiencing. I was disruptive in school. I had a teacher who became abusive, which led to me changing classes. She had to switch buildings mid-year. This change led me to a great teacher who supported and cared for me. She adores me even today. The most tenured teacher in the district was bothered because she would “have to call the social worker.” It was prevalent that I no longer survive in the mainstream classroom.

But that was just one factor of my life and I often masked in that realm. There was so much that was holding me back from flourishing into the person that I needed to be. The signs of autism were there for a person of my caliber. Still, many believed that autistic people did not speak or communicate as I did. And if they were autistic, I would have been placed in a substandard out-of-district placement. That was warranted before entering public school. Yet, it was clear that public school was not the place for me. I realized there was more potential for me. Yet, a missing link prevented me from understanding my challenges and how to fix them.

It would take my mother calling the number on the back of my insurance card to seek help. That help was closer than where we thought it would be. And through that, in-home services came to see me. They found out what my challenges were. We worked together to find a way to improve myself. I did not make that process easy. On the first visit by a mobile therapist, I ran down into the neighborhood. Instead of giving up, they used my car to retrieve me in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Once things got settled, they had an inkling. This led me closer to where I needed to be to find the diagnosis I needed.