How the Label "Necia" Led to My Autism Diagnosis

Soy Demasiado, a special issue for Juntos, celebrates Latinas who are reclaiming what it means to be "too much." Read the stories here.

The Māori word for autism is Takiwatanga. It means "in his or her own time and space." En un mundo propio, which means, "in my own world," is what my mother would say to me as a kid. Whether I was hyper-focused on a show for hours while lying on a cold floor because it felt stable; throwing a tantrum about the texture of everything from clothing tags to chewy mondongo; or succumbing to my compulsion to find the perfect word to express every emotion and thought I had, my behavior was always met with words like "intense" or "demasiado" (too much). Even the 'hood categorized me as "doin' the most." The many ways I've been told I was "too much" are endless.

As a kid, I was often described as difficult. A nonconformist of sorts, stubborn, unrelenting, "una necia" (a fool who doesn't listen to anyone). It was a trait that was often perceived as behaving badly by my elders. There wasn't a Christmas or birthday when I wasn't handed a gift with a hug and told, "Por favor, pórtate bien" ("Please be good"). As my sister would say, I'm a tough pill to swallow. My matter-of-factness and tone were often criticized by those close to me and in academic settings. I was the "talks too much," "asks too much," and "has too many opinions and convictions" kid. An early therapist recommended that my mother get me involved in theater, believing it would allow me to observe human behavior closely. I always felt slightly on the outside of people's expectations, and yet when I was alone, I was completely comfortable with myself as I was.

In 2023, I was diagnosed with Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). My curiosity afterward led me to an eight-month assessment process that resulted in an Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) diagnosis in 2024. I resent the word "disorder" because when you look up synonyms for it, you'll find words like "affliction," "ailment," "incapacity," and "dysfunction." Like my mom lovingly put it one day, "Es que ahora veo que siempre tenías un problema" ("It's just that now I see you always had a problem"). Although I know she meant no malice, her comment only underscored the way I've always felt I had to give extra grace to those who found it difficult to understand me. The diagnosis brought me relief and acceptance but left those close to me confused and struggling to see me that way. I suppose that's the downside of having built a convincing mask and living with the privilege of passing.

I want to say I've embraced my diagnosis and that everyone around me has, too. Honestly, I've been lucky to be loved by people who have made it a point to consider my traits as what makes me unique rather than perceiving them as a constant affront. Still, for every person who doesn't make it about themselves, there are those who can't help but do so. The unfortunate reality is that, despite our evolving bond, my mother's guilt for overlooking what was always there still lingers. I still have to remind her that my way of being isn't intentionally difficult — I'm just built differently. While I'm willing to explain myself to those I love, it's exhausting.

On the flip side, my diagnosis has given me a new sense of freedom. When my social battery dies, or I can't force myself to make small talk with a clerk. When I note that my eye contact is intense during a conversation or I'm struggling to make eye contact at all. When I have a new hyperfixation and can't stop talking about it with everyone I meet. Or even when my literalness makes me funnier than I expected to be, I'm happily aware that what was once — and still is, in many spaces — seen as being "too much" or difficult actually makes me wonderfully complex. Like a Rubik's cube. An acquired taste. In a world of my own. I'm still figuring out how to block the world from attempting to keep my mask permanently on for its comfort, and only accepting people who respect that my different operating system is a bonus, not a hindrance.

Below I'm including a poem I recently wrote that captures how people respond to my autism diagnosis. I hope it makes others like myself feel seen.

"A is for …" by Katherine G. Mendoza

It pains me when people say, "OH, so you HAVE autism?" like it's some type of malfunction.

As if it's something I contracted rather than how I was born.

"Aye, Kathie, es que ahora veo que siempre tenías un problema."

My mother's new method of giving compassion to something she turned a blind eye to. Something she once villainized.

A nuisance, a bother, TOO MUCH!!!

TOO MUCH talking Katherine

TOO MUCH thinking Katherine

TOO MUCH literalness Katherine

TOO MUCH bluntness Katherine

A is for Anguish,

the kind that desperately bleeds out of me when I can't comprehend that some folks' version of caring looks a lot like tolerance.

A is for Annoyance,

because I seem to irk others with my inquiries, my pattern recognitions, or matter of fact approach.

A is for Avoidance,

the preferred method of the people I was raised around and those I seem to attract.

A is for Affirmation,

A familiar cycle of seeking external emotional confirmation, a pattern I desperately want to break away from.

A is for Assuming,

the kind that society expects from me through "normal behavior" that forces me to gaslight myself.

A is for Acceptance,

the kind a diagnosis barely gave me in a society that says, "but you don't look autistic!"

A is for Anxiety

A is for ADHD

A is for Authenticity,

the contradiction of refusing to be anyone other than who I am while seeking external validation from those I love.

A is for Approval,

when the mask I was forced to create only lasted in circumstances where I feared for my livelihood.

A is for Autism. I am Autistic.

I grieve the years I wasn't aware.

I grieve the years without compassion.

I grieve the amazing kid I didn't get to be.

A is where I'm at.

The beginning.

Katherine G. Mendoza is a seasoned Ecuadorian American writer and producer, boasting more than a decade of expertise in social-first storytelling. Her work has graced the pages and screens of renowned publications and media outlets including PS, The New York Times, Entertainment Weekly, Variety, Univision, Telemundo, HuffPost, and Uproxx.