I want to turn my attention this week to the part genes play in autism and how I think that ties into intergenerational trauma. There is increasing evidence that genes play an important part in autism, which most of us see to be true. New generations of children are being flagged and diagnosed by their care providers, and increasingly, their parents, who learn about autism to care for their children, are going back to get assessed themselves.

So, we know that an autistic child is likely to have at least one autistic parent, but what does this mean when we trace things back further? Contrary to the opinions of loud people on social media, there isn’t a new outbreak of autism. It’s not catching. The reason numbers are increasing is because more people are being diagnosed. The condition itself already existed, which means there are countless people spanning human history who were autistic but never diagnosed.

I’m autistic, so there’s somewhere between a 40 and 80% chance (I know, that’s a wild swing — the research is still very limited) one of my parents is too. Looking at their behaviors, I could argue for either or both. They were never diagnosed, but that doesn’t mean the autism isn’t there. And if one or both of them is autistic, there’s a 40 to 80% chance one of their parents is autistic. And so on and so forth, back through the generations.

What I find myself contemplating with this is, if none of these people were ever diagnosed, what does that mean about the way they had to live? And I think the answer to that question can be seen in some of the particularities of my family and the greater family dynamics I witnessed growing up.

Growing up, the pressure I felt to curb my autistic traits and behaviors was tremendous. Everything about my person was critiqued and controlled to such an extent that I don’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t feel broken and unlovable. As far back as my memories go (and they go further back than most people’s, as is the autistic way), I knew there was something wrong with me.

My family, both immediate and extended, made sure to drill into my head from day one the proper way of portraying myself to the outside world, and they made sure that I felt deeply ashamed of the way I was naturally inclined to behave so that by the time I reached an age where autism was likely to be diagnosed, I’d already developed a nice, thick mask to keep me “safe” from the world. They taught me to appear normal.

The trouble is, my family doesn’t really know what normal looks like either. The adults in my life all had hairline triggers in their anger; they drank heavily and constantly, and they had so little self-reflection that they blamed everyone else for how they felt in any situation. You’re feeling overstimulated in a crowded place? Scream at the children for always acting out to annoy you. Didn’t make a plan of action for a trip you’re making? Scream at the children for slowing you down. (Hint: most of the solutions involve screaming at the children.)

In the public eye, they did everything to act normal and functional, but behind closed doors, they were a mess. And from what I can tell, this wasn’t exclusive to just my immediate family members. It was widespread in the extended family as well. On both sides of the family.

Even now, when I point out a trait I had as a child that I think makes it pretty glaringly obvious that I was autistic (or even just that I wasn’t like other children and they should’ve maybe checked into some things), the responses I get from my parents are usually along the lines of, “All kids are like that,” complete with eye roll. But it turns out, no, in fact, not all kids are like that. Just the ones in our family are.

But even in these inflexible, high-strung behaviors from the adults in my life, I see further evidence pointing toward undiagnosed autism. See, there’s this persistent stereotype that autistic people are rigid and inflexible, that we’re controlling and need everything to be done their way. But what most people don’t realize is that those behaviors in an autistic person are actually indicative of overwhelm. And if the person is always like that, it’s a sign that they are living a life that has pushed them severely past their limits.

Control and rigidness are defense mechanisms, an attempt to control the world in a way that will soothe your overwhelm and anxiety. And behaviors like these are ones you see from people who are coping without proper knowledge or training in coping mechanisms. They’re toxic behaviors that are often just as damaging to the person as they are to their relationships.

When I was a teenager, I was high-strung and angry all the time because I always felt pushed beyond my limits, because I had no safe space to escape from the world, because the expectations set upon me far exceeded my threshold. I spent my time bouncing between overwhelm and exhaustion, simply pushing through to the best of my ability but always at the end of my tether. And because I didn’t know how to recognize what I was feeling or how to make it better, I not only regularly lashed out at the people around me, but I also felt the need for control.

When the whole world feels like it’s spinning out of control around you, you’ll hold on to everything you can control with a death grip.

I imagine that if I hadn’t moved away and created a life for myself where I could find peace and growth, if I hadn’t started therapy and learned more about psychology and coping mechanisms, my entire personality may have been consumed by these awful feelings. If I had simply gone through the motions of what was expected of me, followed the training I’d been given throughout my childhood about how I was supposed to act and who I was supposed to be, I would probably be a lot more like my parents now. In fact, I do see these behaviors now in my own generation. I watch my brothers get overwhelmed in noisy or busy environments and then snap at their kids. I’ve had to talk reassure my nieces and nephews when they tell me they’re broken or bad people because they’re always upsetting their parents, as if it is them and not their parents who are responsible for their own behavior. I’m watching the cycle of trauma loop back around in real-time.

Is all this baggage simply the result of my family’s misguided attempts at fitting in across the generations? Probably not. There are a lot more factors than that that also need to be assessed. Nor am I trying to make the argument that autistic people “go bad” when they’re abused (after all, I chose a different path).

I do think there’s a larger conversation that needs to be had about the demonizing of “otherness” in our society. Because children who are forced to hate themselves become adults who make children hate themselves.

But all it takes to derail all of these endless generations of trauma is one generation that refuses to take up the torch. One generation that says they refuse to be ashamed of themselves or to shame their children. One generation that takes responsibility for their feelings and their actions. One generation that says no more.

And I gotta hope that someday, that generation will come to light.