The Generational Dimension of Neurodivergence - A Gen-X perspective

Youngsters, we've lived this shit-show so you don't have to

Photo by Yan Berthemy on Unsplash

Each year, autistic advocacy organisation the Yellow Ladybugs delivers a multi-day conference that is accessible online, including on-demand. The YLBs are autistic-led and fiercely neuro-affirming and inclusive in their support and advocacy for autistic girls and women.

The agenda is packed with engaging presentations based on professional expertise and lived experience that demonstrate what is possible for autistic girls growing up today. But the flip side is that it highlights what I missed out on as a child. The way it tugs at the grief of being denied recognition, validation and support and the loss of what might have been makes the experience bittersweet.

Adults born prior to the 1990s were children at a time when an autism diagnosis was barely a thing for anyone. When the diagnostic process was developed, it was so narrowly focused that it continued to exclude many, especially girls. Most flew under the radar because the possibility of autism didn’t even occur to parents, teachers or anyone else. Given that girls are still on average being diagnosed later than boys, this phenomenon has a long tail.

My experience of neurodivergence is a very particular one, defined not just by being identified later in life, but also the fact that I spent my younger years in the 1970s and 1980s. Born in 1971, I fall squarely into the Gen-X era. That also means I’m at particular stage in my life, most notably navigating peri/menopause and a whole bunch of other life challenges that tend to explode around middle-age.

Any discussion around generational characteristics should come with a caveat, especially at a time when they are being used as a wedge around issues like housing and employment. And the way that Gen-X gets lost in the faux battle between Boomers and Millennials/Gen Z speaks volumes about the attention we’ve been given throughout life.

The generation you’re born into doesn’t explain everything about you, given the numerous threads of circumstances that shape who you are. But what unites Gen-Xers is that a great many of us were parented by Boomers, themselves a product of a particular set of historical conditions.

Not all Boomer parents were the cool ones who went to Woodstock and marched in civil rights demonstrations. They were more likely content to settle into post-war stability and prosperity. Life was mapped out for them and they just turned up at each milestone and ticked the box of whatever was expected of them, including parenthood. There was little alternative, especially if you were a woman, so there was no point questioning it. You just got on with your lot in life.

By contrast, their Gen-X offspring emerged in a world that offered more possibilities but also more complexities. We had opportunity and choice but carried too many burdens to feel anything like freedom. We were prepared for a simple life in a simple world that didn’t exist anymore and we didn’t have the tools to equip us for what was ahead. I’m convinced Gen-X has more unprocessed trauma than any other generation because we just didn’t know what to do with it.

For my parents’ generation, parenthood was about duty and obligation, not so much to their children but to society. They didn’t think too much about what it involved, just got on with the job of being a parent as opposed to parenting which implies some level of intentionality.

A good parent was one who adequately, fed, clothed and put a roof over their brood and turned them out as well-presented and well-behaved members of society. As long as they could tick that box, how they got there didn’t matter so much. Besides, Social Services didn’t tend to show much interest in clean-faced children who were nicely dressed. Not that it was anyone else’s business anyway.

Boomer parents could be pretty particular about lots of things, like using the right cutlery when you stayed at someone’s home but less so about any child protection risks that home might be harbouring. Many people of my generation still fondly cradle memories of being able to roam the neighbourhood at all hours thanks to the largesse of parental neglect. It’s as though they’re still honouring an unspoken pact where we stayed out of our parents’ hair in return for having all manner of adventures.

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