Me: Hello. I'm weird, and in this post, I'm going to tell you too much about me—

Inner Monolog: *rolls eyes* Dammit woman, you are not starting this post off very well.

Me: *sigh* I know. Do you have any better ideas?

Inner Monolog: Other than don't be weird? Why don't you try... Uhh... Umm... Nope. I got nothing.

Me: Fabulous. Very helpful. I'll just stick to the weird thing. I got it. Might as well flaunt it.

Inner Monolog: You do you, boo boo. It's your funeral. I'll pop in if things go too far off the rails. Afterward, we can frolic in the waves of dread you'll have after posting your weird ass all over the internet. Have fun!

Me: Sounds goo— Wait, what?

Inner Monolog: Sorry, darlin. Can't hear you. Have to run. Busy busy busy, dontcha know. Byeeee!

[crickets]

Me: *gulp* ...Oh, fuck it. Onward!

I work inside of other humans. I have to physically touch them with razor-sharp instruments in an intimate manner where my face is only twenty inches from the area most people vehemently protect in times of violence, fear, embarrassment, and danger. This body part is also the delivery system for people's thoughts, where some (unfortunately) breathe, or (horrifyingly) experience gastric upsets. So it's frequently moving about, making noise, forcibly expelling air, or involuntarily rejecting things I put in it while I'm trying to complete a highly detailed, physically strenuous task demanding immense concentration and control.

I must be aware of where my body is in space at all times while simultaneously assessing my patient's face and body with my peripheral vision for possible signs of stress or discomfort. I am doing my job in a place where many experience anxiety and genuine phobia, so I must be able to soothe their overreacting nervous system with empathy and confident reassurance. I have to be able to recall a litany of knowledge across a broad range of possible topics, ranging from highly specific biology and anatomy facts to product ingredients, benefits, retail locations, and prices.

If I do not deliver a pain and stress-free appointment thoroughly and without error, the body part in which I work will start making loud, angry, and occasionally threatening sounds that will cause me to lose my steely composure (or my job). I must do all of this in one hour... while pretending to be a perky, petite, pleasant, pretty, polished, personable professional exuding nothing but good vibes and bubbly charm.

It's fucking exhausting.

Doing the dental part of this job, I guarantee that I have given a considerable percentage of my patients the best cleaning they've ever had in their lives. I've been told this so many times, I've long lost count. I am expertly skilled at tissue management and deposit removal with minimal discomfort while being meticulous, regimented, and efficient. I have a firm but delicate hand that makes patients feel like they've gotten their money's worth. I'm pathologically thorough, passionate about dental science, and a stickler for the rules.

But those mouths are attached to people. And in this area, I'm an utter fuckwit.

I have autism. I am painfully introverted and socially awkward with rituals I can not deviate from without considerable upset. It is impossible for me to mentally block out ambient noises. I have misophonia that can become triggered with the use of suction, the Cavitron, coughing up mucus, or when patients try to swallow with their mouth open. Additionally, I am overly sensitive to smells like body odor. I'm constantly aware of my clothes and what my body parts are doing and feeling, which just adds to my overall sensory load.

I can't stand for anyone to touch me, so hugs always require invitations. I've had patients touch me in an unfriendly way, and each time, it resulted in an overwhelming panic response. I can't make small talk without wanting to hide under a rock. I have bizarre interests that make it difficult to relate to my patients and coworkers. And I'd rather take a beating than go to a birthday or holiday office party.

I am susceptible to getting "tunnel brain," where I become so hyper-focused on a task that it's like the world falls away and I lose track of time, making staying on schedule a constant challenge. I'm most prone to this when removing heavy stains or doing non-surgical periodontal therapy (NSPT). This can trigger a mental meltdown if I'm startled out of it, which has resulted in tears on a few occasions. When I'm home alone, losing hours of my day on a project is relaxing and productive (and how this post got written). In the office, it's something I have to fight during almost every appointment.

I critically analyze every aspect of my existence, ensuring my facial expressions, eye contact, vocal tone, and posture behave appropriately during each interaction I have with other humans. I do this with the information I've studied and gathered over the years or by mirroring the person I'm talking to. But even with this repertoire of knowledge, I still miss or misinterpret social queues and generally assume everyone hates me, thinks I'm a scary bitch, or that I'm super annoying.

I tend to take things literally, so I frequently miss jokes and sarcasm and say really dumb, blunt, and cringy things if I make the mistake of relaxing my mask for even a second. This has led to many anxiety-inducing "meetings" with doctors and office managers over the years where I have to sit embarrassed as I'm told my personality kinda sucks for this job. And they're not wrong.

I'm sure y'all are falling over each other to be friends with me. Come on now, no pushing! There's enough of me for everyone! I know I'm such a catch, but you'll just have to share, ladies.

Wait, why are you running the other way? Hey! Don't go!

Well, shit...

Sheesh, I'm not that bad.

OK, OK, I get it. I sound like an irritating daemon twatwaffle in scrubs wielding scalers of doom. I just like to get the unflattering, self-deprecating parts out at the beginning. It feels more honest, and people tend to be more interested in why someone is a clusterfuck than why you should care.

Like most humans, I find listing my positive qualities about as comfortable and enjoyable as scrubbing a toilet after a spicy meal. But here it goes...

I like making people feel good about themselves, celebrating little victories while acknowledging kindness whenever I see it, big or small. I'm courteous and always try to leave things better than how I found them. I love to teach people things and love to learn. I only ever do my best work for every single patient. If you come to me with a problem, I'll do everything I can to fix it and then some. I'm good with extremely anxious patients because I know what it's like to be utterly terrified of something silly or trivial. I do well with the mean patients, too, because I'm a grumpy smart-ass and they seem to relate to me better than they do with the sweet, squeaky hygienists. And once you get used to me, I'm told my goofiness can be kinda charming and makes people laugh (which makes me happy that it's good for something).

Whew. Glad that's over.

So why am I telling you all of this?

I am nakedly oversharing all of my flaws with you lovely strangers because there are others out there just like me: weird little autistic girlies who are working with you and suffering in silence.

We eat lunch in our cars and get upset when that time is taken from us. Sometimes, we say uncomfortable things, talk too fast about too many personal details, or go on a diatribe about seemingly obscure topics without letting you get a word in. Or we may say nothing, speaking only when spoken to, appearing aloof and detached from the rest of the team.

We may get complaints that we're not "friendly" enough or misunderstood a patient's question or request that got us reprimanded. We may have no social life, getting home and instantly falling asleep or seeking solitude because our brains have essentially been running a timed obstacle course, competing in a beauty pageant, dancing in a ballet ensemble, playing a game of Trivial Pursuit, repairing a wristwatch, and cleaning up a murder scene all damn day and we are too rundown to function after the workday is over.

Every. Single. Day.

Autism doesn't care how old you are, whether you're pretty or not, what gender you are, or where you come from. It's often hidden by a mask that makes the wearer seem normal-ish, but only if you don't look too closely. We typically (80% of us) get diagnosed much later in life (if at all) and have a difficult time coming to terms with the realization that the vast majority of people don't think like we do. It can be very isolating and traumatic to learn that the things you do to exist normally in the world every day are NOT normal.

When we do get diagnosed and are not too ashamed or afraid to share this with others, many of us are not believed (this is especially true for "attractive" women), so we are not given any grace for our mistakes or solutions for our limitations. We get fired more often, experience burnout at alarming rates, and have more physical health issues due to stress that leads us to call out of work sick more frequently. We're living and working in a world that wasn't designed with us in mind, and the constant demand that we conform to it is killing us slowly and ending our careers quickly.

I'm only asking for your patience and your compassion. We just want to feel seen.

So, if you're reading this post and thinking to yourself, "Huh, I work with a girlie who is an odd duck, and much of this sounds familiar," consider the possibility that she might be autistic. You don't need to handle us with kid gloves (it is best not to touch us at all, actually; most of us are highly averse to this). We're not stupid, and autism isn't an excuse for being a bad hygienist. We just might need a little wiggle room to do our best work.

Here are some issues I've experienced that you may have noticed a coworker struggling with (or maybe yourself) and the solution that best helped me overcome them:

If she/you tends to run over during appointments, she could use an interval timer (worn like a smartwatch) that gently vibrates every 10 minutes. This will help her stay on time but won't startle her with loud noises or alert the patient that anything is unusual.

If she/you has misophonia, she could wear noise-reducing earplugs or use a leaf suction system to avoid headaches and auditory meltdowns.

If ambient noise is too distracting, she/you could play music from her operatory to help nullify the other sounds throughout the office.

If she/you gets overwhelmed during the day, don't be surprised if she hides in her car during lunch or stands in the stock closet or a private bathroom for two minutes between patients to breathe and reset. Nothing nefarious is happening, so leave her alone (unless you notice shit is missing, then you have a thief on your hands, which is a different problem I can't help you with).

If she says weird, random shit, don't be a bully. She probably already knows what she said was weird and random and will spend the next twenty years over-analyzing the level of cringe she just expressed and is currently choosing the best cave wherein she can disappear. So be gentle with your words because she probably deciphered your face is saying, "What the fuck?" and you don't need to add insult to injury.

And if you're an autistic girlie reading this, a few words of advice:

If you're struggling with your patient interactions, listen to how other hygienists talk with their patients (preferably one you respect and that patients have an affinity for). If you hear patients laughing with her and leaving pleased, that's generally a good sign she's doing something right, and you need to be doing more of that. Don't be too proud to learn from those around you. It's an invaluable source of knowledge.

If you need help, ask. The worst thing someone can say is no.

If people say you look angry all the time, consider getting Botox to relax your "resting bitch" or "concentrating" face. My patient interactions improved dramatically when my face didn't always look like I had a twist in my knickers or was trying to defuse the atomic bomb. My tension headaches also disappeared, which was an added bonus.

If you have trouble staying employed, I can't recommend doing full-time fill-in hygiene enough. I generally work three (sometimes four) days a week, rarely working three days in a row. I've found that working a two on-one off-one on, or a two on-one off-two on schedule makes my brain much happier than working four straight days in a row at the same place with the same people and the same mind-itching annoyances. I'm always learning something new, either from the doctors I work with or from the staff teaching me new dental software. I've had to learn to be resourceful with the equipment at my disposal, which keeps my brain sharp. If I hate the office, I don't have to go back, making it easier to just get through the day and move on with life. And there are more considerable consequences if I call out of work with instant gratification by getting paid after each shift, so I'm more incentivized to push through and show up. I get to come and go, so I'm not around anyone long enough for them to know my life story, creating much healthier boundaries between work and my personal life. Doing fill-in is honestly the only way I can keep doing dental hygiene as a career. If you can, you should try it.

I used to hide that I was autistic and wouldn't dare tell anyone. But then something would happen, the mask would slip, and the consequences would always be catastrophic. Now, I let people know (when pertinent) because I have certain limitations that require an explanation, and the truth has been the best option—in my experience. I understand it's not always safe or appropriate to tell people we work with, so be 100% sure it's absolutely necessary they know this about you before info-dumping the intricacies of your mind.

For example, I can't use walkie-talkies (many corporate offices use them). Those damn things are a sensory chuckle of fuckits I refuse to contend with. The ear pieces hurt my heavily adorned ears and get tangled in my loupes, the wires make my back tickle and itch, the device makes my jacket sit crooked ruining my posture, I don't want to hear everyone's voices in my head all damn day, and every time someone talks, it scares me causing me to jump, potentially harming my patient and giving me a panic attack. Need to tell me something? Use an in-office computer messaging system like civilized people, or you'll just have to walk your lazy ass over here and tell me yourself.

[grumble grumble]

Since I can't actually say any of that to an office manager, a simple "I'm autistic with sensory issues" will generally suffice and keep me employed with very little (if any) pushback.

I'm still learning how to navigate the dental field as an autistic girlie, and I certainly don't have all the answers. But I hope this post will inspire some of you to see people in a new light or help you to realize that you're not alone. I see you, fellow autistic mouthmaid. I know it's hard, babe, but we can do this. We just have to do it a little differently than everyone else, and that's OK. You're not defective.

I've learned to lean into my weirdness and make it work in my favor. It was hard, and it took many years with hours devoted to honest introspection and asking questions of my friends, coworkers, and this community. Sometimes it backfires, but it's not the end of the world. I learn from my mistakes, shake them off, and remind myself that I get to start over every day with every patient at every new office I work in. I have to eat, so I have to work, so I have to figure it out. This community has been a big help in the past, even just as moral support, so hopefully, it can help you, too.

If you're autistic or neurodivergent, sound off in the comments and tell me what you do to make your life easier in the dental field. If you're struggling, ask others for advice and tools you can use to overcome a limitation.

The more you know 🌈

[hums Down in a Hole by Alice in Chains]

Inner Monolog: You done? Ready to frolic in the vast oceans of anxiety and regret? I brought my goggles and bathing suit. Need sunscreen? I'll cover your back—

Me: You go frolic. I'm going to sit on the beach and have a cold drink with a tiny umbrella. Maybe I'll join you in a bit.

Inner Monolog: Numbing it with intoxicants won't make it go away, dumb-dumb. It just delays the inevitable. Your mother would not approve. She would be very disappointed...

Me: Oh, do fuck right off and let me enjoy this moment of rare positivity. Jeeze, you're driving me nuts.

Inner Monolog: *indignant huff* You sassy twat! I get no respect around here. Do you know who I am?? I rule this land between your ears, and you will obey me. There will be consequences for this, you insubordinate nitwit. You come here and frolic, or so help me, I'll—

Me: *sip*

[shoves Inner Monolog into an oncoming wave]

Me: Or you'll what? I know exactly who you are. You're mean, and you were just leaving. Byeeee!

[peace and quiet]

Me: Cheers, weirdos. *sip*