Chapter Thirty #2
‘I couldn’t believe it. Reading about autism and how it often presents in girls and women was like reading about myself and my own life.
All the things I struggled with growing up, all the things I still struggle with …
it’s been really confronting to learn that the reason for it all is because I’m autistic. I’m having trouble accepting it.’
Hana’s expression was half-pity, half-sympathy. ‘I’ll be honest, Beth, I can’t really relate. Learning I was autistic literally saved my life.’
‘Really? How so?’
‘Well, I was in an abusive relationship and after it ended, I became suicidal and wound up in hospital. Soon after, I was diagnosed with ASD, and the understanding it gave me about myself …’ Overcome, Hana swallowed, shook their head as if to clear it, then continued.
‘My self-confidence had been destroyed by someone who was supposed to care for me, but I learned that all the things I’d been conditioned to hate about myself were actually my autistic traits.
Once I learned about the beautifully unique way my brain works, it opened the door to healing and put me on a path to self-love and acceptance.
I’ll always be grateful for that. For knowing who I truly am. ’
The beauty and raw honesty with which Hana spoke—of their diagnosis, of their disability—cut Beth to the core.
Because hating herself was something she was all too familiar with.
How many times had she wished to be braver, more confident, capable of conversing like a normal person?
She tried to hold herself together, she really did, but she simply couldn’t fathom what it would be like to value her differences rather than abhor them, and the realisation of that sad truth opened the floodgates.
‘Hey.’ Hana knelt beside her and rubbed her back with firm, soothing strokes. ‘It’s okay, Beth. Let it out. Just let it all out.’
Beth did. She cried as if she were exorcising demons. And perhaps she was. Perhaps she was finally purging all the shame and self-loathing.
Eventually, once her tears had run dry and it was warm enough, they shed Flo’s blanket and spent the next few hours talking and laughing and bawling, comparing their own experiences—the good, the bad, and the quirky—of living in a world not designed for them.
Hana helped her see that, yes, while she found some things challenging, she also had unique strengths as a result of her neurodivergence.
‘What do you value that the average person doesn’t?’
‘Um …’ Beth looked around for inspiration and her gaze fell on the tree she’d spied earlier, the one whose branches had shimmered in the morning light. ‘I guess I notice abstract details that some people might not take the time to notice. And I see beauty in the small things.’
Hana nodded. ‘I love that. They’re good qualities for an artist to have. And what are you skilled at? What comes naturally to you that another person might find difficult?’
Beth shrugged. ‘Sketching, maybe?’
‘Just maybe?’ Hana arched an eyebrow. ‘This isn’t the time to be modest.’
‘Okay, I’ll admit I’m good at sketching.’
Hana gave her a dubious look. ‘Beth, you do realise it would take the average person years to develop your level of skill, right?’
‘Really?’ Beth’s mind reeled.
‘Yes, really. Face it, Beth, you’re not normal, and that’s a wonderful thing to be.’
Beth’s smile was slow to come, but when it did, it brought hope with it. Because with a friend like Hana by her side, she knew she could learn not only to accept her new identity but embrace it, too.
* * *
Later, after Hana had gone, Beth emailed one real estate agent and let her know that she wouldn’t be formalising her offer on the Townsville property, then contacted the other to take this place off the market.
A call to the removalists to cancel her booking for the following day ticked off the final item on her to-do list. Her talk with Hana had given her a lot of clarity, not least of all that she deserved to be happy.
And leaving Karlup would not make her happy. She knew that now.
In fact, she’d known it for some time. Sure, her future might look a bit murky at present, but this was where she belonged.
Taking a stroll around the house, she imagined it as home for the first time since Flo had died. It felt good to daydream again.
She stopped in the doorway to the lounge room.
The place was a shambles—boxes everywhere, the mattress in the middle of the floor, the stuff she’d brought with her from the B&B lined up against the wall—but despite the mess, this was where she’d spent most of her time recently.
She didn’t know what it was about the room, but something about it just felt right. She felt at peace in here.
Her gaze fell on her sketchbook, which sat on top of a pile of books over by the window.
Side-stepping her way through the clutter, she retrieved it and flipped it open to the last sketch she’d done.
Flo’s sweet face was right there on the page, her eyes downcast as she crocheted.
The likeness was true enough that it brought both a tear to Beth’s eye and a smile to her face.
After she’d taken a moment to miss Flo and be sad, Beth studied the image a little more critically. She could see the imperfections, where she could improve, but her talk with Hana had buoyed her confidence.
Feeling the urge to create, she located her stationery supplies buried under a mountain of clothes and rummaged around for a pencil. Taking the sketchbook, she went to sit on her makeshift bed and wrapped herself in her sunflower blanket.
She snuggled down into the cosiness—it was like getting a hug from Flo herself—and tore the portrait from her sketchbook. Laying it beside her for guidance, she put her pencil to the page and tried again.