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A review by chloe_liese
Funny, You Don't Look Autistic: A Comedian's Guide to Life on the Spectrum by Michael McCreary
5.0
“I was taught how to ‘act normal.’ I learned to hold the door for people. I learned to tell the truth, but to understand when it was okay to lie for politeness. I learned to use my manners, not to swear, to respect personal space, and to stop talking when it was time for somebody else to have a turn.
And then I got to school. And I discovered that no one else had learned these things.”
I've never read a memoir/nonfiction that so deeply resonated with what it's like to be an autistic young adult. To learn so well how to hide your weirdness and confusion, only to become mired in the rigid, unadaptable framework of "normal" that no autistic can authentically or safely occupy. Your blessing of being able to hide becomes your isolating curse. As a young person, I was the one always trying to help, to smile, to get it right, to be a good friend, to be dependable and honest; but no one truly operates that way, and it ultimately led to deep disillusionment, distrust, and pain. This is the story of many adult autistics (often females seeing as they're not given diagnosis as girls because they're taught so well to present as "good girls" who exhibit "normal" behavior) who only reach diagnosis after experiencing burn-out.
While I was not diagnosed until adulthood, this book gave me the gift of looking back on childhood and young adulthood with humor, healing, and lots of bittersweet recollection. This book also gave me something many/most autistics love: closure, finality, a sense of order made and the curtain closed.
While I found the first two thirds most relatable (the last third being heavily focused on his journey toward his comedian work), I truly appreciated his ongoing challenges of being a very literal-minded, altruistic person in a world that doesn't operate literally and often abuses such rose-colored generosity many autistics have for others. I've been used and hurt much how Michael was as a young person. Like him, I went through my angry phase where I was hellbent on righting the wrongs done to me. And now, like Michael, I have learned that forgiveness and moving on is what truly heals both the abuser and the abused. I have accepted that I will not "prove" autism to anyone, and it is not my responsibility to convince them. I won't let anyone define autism for me, either, and if my voice can even in a small way shift the collective attitude towards positivity and openness toward autism, then what I went through will have been worth it.
The world needs more books like this, that illuminate the true spectrum nature of autism. I think a wonderful and important inclusion in his story is his nonverbal autistic brother, Matty. Matty teaches Michael lessons that all of us--neurotypical and not--continue to need to learn: we grow and deepen our wisdom and empathy when we see each other as equally valuable, worthy, lovable humans; when we turn toward each other and genuinely try to share space and commonality and understanding. When we make that effort, we realize something--understanding and embracing each other even through deep difference is not nearly as complex as we think it's going to be. In fact, it proves to be the greatest of gifts.
And then I got to school. And I discovered that no one else had learned these things.”
I've never read a memoir/nonfiction that so deeply resonated with what it's like to be an autistic young adult. To learn so well how to hide your weirdness and confusion, only to become mired in the rigid, unadaptable framework of "normal" that no autistic can authentically or safely occupy. Your blessing of being able to hide becomes your isolating curse. As a young person, I was the one always trying to help, to smile, to get it right, to be a good friend, to be dependable and honest; but no one truly operates that way, and it ultimately led to deep disillusionment, distrust, and pain. This is the story of many adult autistics (often females seeing as they're not given diagnosis as girls because they're taught so well to present as "good girls" who exhibit "normal" behavior) who only reach diagnosis after experiencing burn-out.
While I was not diagnosed until adulthood, this book gave me the gift of looking back on childhood and young adulthood with humor, healing, and lots of bittersweet recollection. This book also gave me something many/most autistics love: closure, finality, a sense of order made and the curtain closed.
While I found the first two thirds most relatable (the last third being heavily focused on his journey toward his comedian work), I truly appreciated his ongoing challenges of being a very literal-minded, altruistic person in a world that doesn't operate literally and often abuses such rose-colored generosity many autistics have for others. I've been used and hurt much how Michael was as a young person. Like him, I went through my angry phase where I was hellbent on righting the wrongs done to me. And now, like Michael, I have learned that forgiveness and moving on is what truly heals both the abuser and the abused. I have accepted that I will not "prove" autism to anyone, and it is not my responsibility to convince them. I won't let anyone define autism for me, either, and if my voice can even in a small way shift the collective attitude towards positivity and openness toward autism, then what I went through will have been worth it.
The world needs more books like this, that illuminate the true spectrum nature of autism. I think a wonderful and important inclusion in his story is his nonverbal autistic brother, Matty. Matty teaches Michael lessons that all of us--neurotypical and not--continue to need to learn: we grow and deepen our wisdom and empathy when we see each other as equally valuable, worthy, lovable humans; when we turn toward each other and genuinely try to share space and commonality and understanding. When we make that effort, we realize something--understanding and embracing each other even through deep difference is not nearly as complex as we think it's going to be. In fact, it proves to be the greatest of gifts.