Autism. It’s often described as neurodivergence. A disability. A spectrum of difference in communicating, connecting and more. Beyond just a label, it invites the empowering journey of self-acceptance.

Another day at the Faculty of Astrological Studies Summer School, I feel the lunch hour din engulf me. Trapped in my seat as I pick apart what’s on my plate, piece by piece. No escaping choruses of astrology talk bouncing off the majestic dining hall walls of Exeter College, Oxford. Or the dizzying blur of faces around.

Senses so stimulated, I wonder: what am I here to learn? To be a part of something?

The electric, communal buzz is a stark contrast from my solace of solitude a world away. Far, far away from ease. Somehow stumbling in dynamics unknown. Confronting traits I default to resisting.

Perhaps the autism self-acceptance journey is one of shifting between ease and pain, and back. And in between is where growth, the crux of healing lives.

Each person’s journey with autism is personal. Each a unique path where acceptance of one’s autistic self and healing is far from linear. Its timeline never precise. Far from written in the stars, for every person evolves through their active agency in their own time.

This thing about the stars. Astrology, where astronomical cycles meet symbolic language: planets and zodiac signs as archetypal symbols expressed within the vastness of our human experience. Astrology, a reflective means of exploring the narratives of our inner world.

Acquainting with the inner ‘why’ behind autistic traits is illuminating. It guides towards awareness and increasing self-acceptance surrounding the autistic identity – embracing one’s traits that feel comfortable and not so.

In modern astrology, the myth of Chiron reflects themes of wounding and integration. Half-human, half-horse abandoned at birth, Chiron became a renowned teacher to the mighty Greek gods of Achilles and Asclepius. Despite his knowledge, he lived with an unhealable wound – shot with a poisoned arrow in a cave. The centaur relinquished his immortality to end his suffering and Prometheus’ plight.

Chiron symbolises the archetype of the Wounded Healer. As the myth suggests, our wounds inspire growth. For Melanie Reinhart, the process of Chiron reveals where we may seek transition, release and healing: 

“Chiron describes the nature of how and what we learn from our experiences. Our wounds become the receptacle of wisdom, the hurtful grit in our oyster-like softness eventually becomes a pearl.”

– Melanie Reinhart, Chiron and the Healing Journey (2010)

Living along the autism spectrum, wounding often lies in connection. The world isn’t built for autistic needs, and so it can seem disconcerting; its aliens people the utmost complex, confusing beings. Communicating feels intricate. Connecting insurmountable.

My autistic self likes logic. Logic favours factual. Rational explanation over creative storytelling. Time to process. Great skills which time and time again cloud reading fluid realms of social rules and nuances.

It is such confusion in connecting that often pushes the autistic person to mask. To fight their autistic traits by etching facades to flow with social norms – to fit in. To be seen. Or at least appear approachable.

Such personal resistance towards autistic traits is the perfect cage to bury distinct needs.

For the autistic person: in feeling the feelings behind autistic traits, one leans towards self-acceptance. Feel over fight – feel where one is coming from. Feel the ‘why’ behind differences in connecting and say yes to autistic needs.

“Hi! Did you start Summer School today? How are you finding it?”

Her voice startles me. I emerge from my reverie of thoughts. Back to the din of reality – unsettling. She takes the seat next to me with her lunch. Her eyes are wide open, her lips turned upwards. Does she look happy? Sad? Facial expressions eclipse me – unsettling too.

The moment feels like it’s moving too fast. Slow, slow, slow… the instinctive voice in my head silently taunts. An emptiness in the air that’s my tense head and mind buffering to comprehend real time talk. A silent search for words for words eclipses me too. 

The longer I process in silence, the more others tend to assume disinterest. Or presume inability. Powerlessness.

But deep down my silence is a desire to give someone time as they are offering theirs.

Autism doesn’t have a particular ‘look’. But its traits are often met with pervasive misunderstanding and lack of support. In such striving for connection, ‘slow’ is patience to grasp words spoken and recognise the person behind them.

Like the myth of Chiron alludes to, our pain is our teacher. It’s the inspiring force living in our shadows inviting us to dance with where we feel vulnerable – igniting wisdom. Feeling the drives behind autistic traits, we move with them in the moment. Come to accept that such traits spark uniqueness and shouldn’t be something to hide.

I’m calmly unbothered by the extended pause. She seems to feel the same, lingering in our silence together.

My words find their way. “Since Sunday. It’s inspiring to see astrology come alive in person here. To love astrology, of all things, and being in the same place with others who are here for it. Guess you could call this magical. How about you?”

“I arrived today!” She leans over. “The classes this morning, hard to choose from as every one sounds good. You think you know astrology. And then you learn so much more. You know, it’s fantastic we all speak astrology! What’s your rising sign? Sun, Moon, Rising!”

“Not telling you.” My retort is quick as it is direct. There’s an ease when it comes to sharing my special interests – and my strong stance on things. She gazes at me in silence.

Immediately I shift in my seat. Was I overly blunt? Rude even? Maybe. But directness is also getting to the point. Cutting right into who you intimately are.

In meeting autistic traits with compassion, one leans into accepting them as something to care for. Autistic traits aren’t faults. Not weakness. Rather traits to recognise, integrate and blend as part of personality. Traits that shape character, driving authentic self-expression.

My autistic side yearns for directness. As with others along the spectrum, there lies a preference for saying what you want to say upfront. Direct communication is an aim to be clear, and an offer of honesty. And in telling it like it is, it’s volition to stand up for one’s autistic self in spaces unfamiliar.

But naturally not everyone gravitates towards upfront. Where upfront is received as rude, it can be jarring for the autistic person – for rude is usually never the intention.

Often the more freely I talk and gaze deeply into their eyes, the faster they run away. But the less I speak, the more I am misunderstood.

Sometimes expressing open sentiments alongside honest thoughts is what supports clarity in communication.

If she’s unperturbed, she doesn’t show it. She presses me with eagerness. “Really! What’s your rising sign? Is it Gemini rising!”

Silence. My words find their way again. “You know, how wonderful it is to talk about astrology. All of us here with different views and practices of it. What signs mean to each of us, well, it’s more than we can ever describe. Depends on where we’ve been. What has shaped us. Our worldviews. Our choices.

“Have we forgotten how meaningful it is to connect with each other as we are?”

She reflects on this thought, lost in wonder. “We always have much to discover about each other, whether we’ve just met or known for so long. No matter how different we may be, one interaction of any kind with someone can go anywhere.”

Chiron highlights the experience of being the outsider. Of where we may feel inherently different and where belonging feels elusive. ‘Not enough’ might be what the autistic identity feels being on the outside looking in on social situations – for autistic traits are so often seen as strange, weird, or downright unacceptable.

Where we experience Chiron in our lives is not about what we lack there. But it’s where we may discover deeper understanding. The burn of it compels us to be honest with ourselves and accept where we are at – with greater awareness of our sense of self.

As Melanie Reinhart said, healing is not something to ‘fix’ but a journey of awakening:

“The goal of healing is not to be pain-free and ever-comfortable…and this may also be exactly what we resist.”

– Melanie Reinhart, Chiron and the Healing Journey (2010)

Confronting our wounds can be confronting. But wrestling with the rawness of vulnerability may be where we discover purpose in our pain.

For the autistic identity, the journey of self-acceptance empowers a sense of openness from within in how one sees their autistic traits. In turn there’s compassion to bring an openness in meeting others – inspiring belonging in difference.

Around us laughter rises through the dining hall amidst flowing conversations of astrology and more. Conversations in and out of Summer School classes, unfolding into experiences together – be it just for today or a week long sojourn of all things astrology. Shifting from surprise strangers to serendipitous connections – answering the call to be here in community.

It’s a gathering of souls: from the curious to seasoned folks of astrology, from the world over. No one better than the other. All one, all eternal students of astrology each bringing our experiences and stories right here.

Isn’t that what belonging in difference is about, at least in this magical place reminiscent of scenes out of Harry Potter? To freely come as we are and gather as one. To take a chance to meet. To share and inspire each other being just as we are – and openly receive each connection.

The purity of belonging as we are is simply magical.

I finish my lunch and wave her farewell. Stepping outside the dining hall, the cool late summer air greets me. So too does solitude, my old friend once again.

To me, solitude is freedom. It’s where labels and social norms fall away and we can just be. Where autistic is unapologetically comfortable – nakedly unmasked and never too weird.

I stand along the expansive green lawn, relishing the quietness out here. A moment of shelter from navigating social. A moment of ease to honour autistic boundaries and needs.

Do we ever heal our Chiron wound? Does socialising get easier for the autistic identity? As alluded to, healing is not to ‘fix’; the pain of being the autistic outsider is what offers a deeper understanding of what it means to belong. Notably every interaction and social context is dynamic; each one unfamiliar, unroutine territory for the autistic self. Every interaction brings a unique kind of connection and sense of belonging.

No doubt social skills and cues can be learnt. And can still be confusing. Like in striving to read facial expressions, time and time again it gets confusing for me, everyone, all round.

In this sense, awareness surrounding autism traits and connecting with others comes in different ways and at different times. That is if we choose to engage with our ‘why’ on a deeper level. For Liz Greene, Chiron’s sacrifice reminds us of the limits of our power as individuals.

“Where is this cave in which some part of us huddle up in pain?…Is it entirely unconscious, or do we sometimes get glimpses of it? Or do we persistently project it onto others?…Bringing light into the cave requires a slow, patient, and determined effort to achieve self-honesty, and an acceptance of the fact that it won’t come all at once.”

– Liz Green, Chiron in Love: The Astrology of Envy, Rage, Compassion and Wisdom (2005)

“You are so independent!”

I turn around. She makes her way down the dining hall steps. She approaches – striding and sliding into my slice of solitude.

I am baffled by her reappearance. Equally baffled by her thoughts. “Independent? What do you mean?” Like solitude, to me independence is freedom. The freedom to identify. The space to be myself.

There’s an enthusiasm in her voice. “Yes! Independent! This morning. At breakfast hour. You were sitting by yourself over there.” She gestures to the bench all the way across the lawn. “It gave the impression, well, you looked so independent. Capable. By yourself!”

I am amused. Somehow sitting at that bench is my routine each morning here. Solitude before the day unfolds.

Somehow she noticed my bubble of solitude. My independence, others find fascinating. One of my favourite books comes to mind: Everyone’s an Alien When You’re An Alien Too. A reminder that each of us hail from different spaces with our curiosities. And that no one fits in all the time.

We may never completely understand The Other and their experiences. The least we can do is openly accept each other as we are – as we openly accept ourselves.

For me, autism doesn’t define me as much as it does defines me. Accepting one’s autistic traits while connecting with the world is often about shifting between the paradox of ease and pain. Like the myth of Chiron, each of us is already whole. In pain, we find our light. And in standing in our light, we sense that pain all the more.

My muse and I stroll along the lawn and end up at the bench. We take a seat. The tranquillity out here midday at Summer School is the perfect ambience for intimate contemplation. And perhaps, connection too.

She turns to me. “So, what is your rising sign? Is it Gemini rising!”

Certainly astrology means different things to each of us. I can’t help but admire her enthusiasm. I also can’t help but think that the call for me to be here, is to simply be myself.

To be myself to be a part of something. And to share a space of something with someone.

How have experiences of being the outsider or being part of a community shaped you?