Have you had a dream where you wake up and realize you’ve overslept and are missing your exam? Where you scramble to leave home, sprint to school, and futilely run down an empty corridor to an exam that’s done?
That’s how I feel right now, but I’m not dreaming and, though the situation is different, there’s nothing symbolic about my mad dash to a bad conclusion.
I’m completing my PhD. I should graduate in a couple of years. That I’ve made it this far in my education feels miraculous. I wasn’t even sure I could get through my undergraduate degree. The academic and social struggles were overwhelming, and I was convinced that I wasn’t smart enough.
I depended on disability accommodations from Accessibility Services, but I finished my BA in six years. A master’s degree followed. A different university an ocean away and still with academic accommodations, but one year later I received a piece of paper that said I had unlocked a new level of expertise.
Then nothing.
For four years I could not find work. Not necessarily because of the job market. Not necessarily because I lacked specific skills. Not even necessarily because I didn’t have the knowhow to ace interviews.
Because I didn’t have the confidence to work. I’d only ever had one job, and it was short-lived and ended badly (the manager didn’t appreciate my attempt to put his clothing in color-coded order). Because I didn’t know how to work or what work I could do. My autism makes me socially awkward and somewhat inflexible and limits my interests and abilities. I find anything other than rote, repetitive, and predictable work highly anxiety provoking (and even this can be challenging), especially without sufficient patience and guidance from a dedicated supervisor.
So, even though I had an advanced degree, I didn’t have whatever you needed for the next step, for the after party.
I decided to pursue a PhD partly because I needed to do something with my life, partly to salvage the years of education I worked so hard for, and partly because I thought that a PhD would likely lead to work. That this third degree would enable me to find a position that benefitted from my niche knowledge and that could oblige my quirks and general uniqueness.
I’m in the sixth year of my PhD (two years beyond the ideal). I’ve published a handful of papers and several more are at various stages of development. I’ll soon begin recruitment for my research study (public toilet provision for children and youth with disabilities). Things are moving along slowly but steadily. In a couple of years, I likely will have another piece of paper in my hands and a few other letters after my name. I’ll be technically prepared for employment.
Yet I’m running down an empty corridor, terrified.
I want to graduate—to pass that exam. I want to put my education to use by making positive changes in our world.
But even though I’m plodding through my PhD, it feels like things are moving quickly, too quickly, and I’m afraid of the “what’s next.” It’s a supersized question mark looming ominously over me.
While I will have a PhD, I still don’t know how to work—the rules, expectations, and standards of employment, or what types of work I can do. I don’t know if there’s a place for me in the real, non-academic, world. If there is, then where might I fit in, and will I have the support I need to help me succeed—the patience and guidance, the encouragement and acceptance?
I’m afraid of moving out of the academic environment where the people I work with are aware I’m autistic and try to be supportive, to a work environment where I’m afraid disclosing I’m autistic will bring one set of challenges, and any potential work brings another set of challenges.
Where do I go from here?
What employment possibilities exist for me and other people in my situation, and what supports might I need to help me transition from PhD to profession?
If I could design my perfect job, I think this is what it would look like (I’m noting only my organizational and interaction preferences, not any possible environmental adaptations).
I’d be offered the option to work flexibly, both in terms of location (home/workplace) and hours (modified start/end times). I’d be able to take breaks when needed, though when I’m absorbed in my work, I tend not to require breaks. I work quickly and efficiently.
My schedule would likewise be amenable to my various needs. While I would have a set load of work to complete by a certain date, I could determine how much work per day I need to do to meet that target. I would also be given sufficient advance notice of any changes to my schedule or workload.
I would have a supportive and patient supervisor who I can rely on for guidance when required, and who accepts that I often have many questions before embarking on a project and that I like to occasionally check in to make sure I’m on the right track.
I would be provided with instructions, feedback, and expectations in writing in addition to verbally. This communication would be direct and precise, and without the assumption that I understand implied directives.
I would be given the option to skip non-essential social events. If I choose to attend, then there would not be the expectation that I participate “the same way” as everyone else. I would be given the space to interact with the group in a way that makes me feel comfortable.
These are the essential accommodations I would need to be successful at a job—the “must haves” not the “nice to haves.” And they’re important because when I trust and feel comfortable with my environment, and I know I’m supported, then my anxiety decreases and I’m able to work more effectively. Indeed, being in an environment that works for me—where I’m happy, feel accepted and valued, and know that my work is meaningful—is more important to me than the type of work I do.
It seems that the accommodation that I need is what any employee, even a neurotypical one, would also like to have. Perhaps not (I haven’t conducted a survey), but I think most autistic people would agree with my assessment that we more highly value a supportive work environment than any specific job title (don’t quote me on this!). You shouldn’t underestimate the importance of intangible workplace characteristics like kindness and compassion in creating a successful and fulfilling employment experience for people on the spectrum.
So, while I lumber my way through my PhD, trying to hold back my fear of what’s next, of the bad conclusion I foresee, I’ll hold out hope that maybe there is a place out there for me. I know I have great research and writing skills and could be an awesome asset to the right workplace. A workplace that values my intelligence, experience, dedication, and loyalty to my job and is willing to give me a chance to realize my potential. A workplace that is committed to working with me for our mutual benefit.
Because I really want to attend the after party.
Rhonda Cheryl Solomon, MSc., PhD (cand.) at the University of Toronto can be reached at rhonda.solomon@alum.utoronto.ca or (416) 820-9654.
