
How and when I disclose to my autism diagnosis to friends and colleagues is a deeply personal decision. It is also one that has evolved with me as I have grown as a person and a professional. After receiving my autism diagnosis at age 20, I took two years to digest the news before telling my family and those closest to me. Following those two years, I was extremely open about my diagnosis. Almost all of my friends and acquaintances knew, and even if I did not come out to them myself, being autistic was a core part of my online identity. It was not that hard to figure it out.
My current philosophy on coming out of the disability closet is more nuanced than either of my previous approaches. It is not information I go out of my way to hide, but I only explicitly come out to people who have wholeheartedly earned my trust. Close friends who I have known for a year or more and have proven themselves worthy of knowing my true authentic self fall into this category. I am not ashamed of being autistic, but reserving this information for the trusted few who are real friends is both a form of protection and self-respect. Not everyone deserves to know, and not everyone needs to.
My one exception to this rule is when other autistic people disclose to me. One of the greatest parts about living and working in Washington, D.C. is the strong network of disabled professionals. This network looked out for me when I was an intern. The members of this community provided mentorship, guidance, advice, and valuable connections that helped me personally and professionally. I say with certainty that I never would have had the connections or the fortitude to secure permanent employment in this city without it. Because of this, I see it as a privilege to pay it forward for the next generation of disabled interns.
Being neurodivergent in a neurotypical world is difficult in ways that people outside of the disability community will never fully understand. And being neurodivergent in Washington, D.C. takes this to the extreme. These jobs push people to their limits. The constant stimulation, impossible expectations, and fierce competition are too much for most neurotypicals to handle – and autistic people are doing all of this with the additional work of masking, regulating their nervous systems, and often managing co-occurring medical conditions that they cannot be open about for fear of being perceived as weak. Thriving in this environment takes sacrifice; time, weekends, friendships, hobbies, and money are all in service of career. I think of all of this when a colleague or friend discloses to me. It is a privilege for someone to let down their guard, and reciprocating that vulnerability is the least I can do.
In short, when deciding whether or not I disclose my autism to another person, I simply ask myself, “Does this person deserve to know?” More often than not, the answer is no. The world judges autistic people harshly and sharing my diagnosis with the wrong people has cost me friendships, professional clout, and at times, peace. It is not a decision I take lightly. But for the few that I deem worthy of knowing, it has for the most part, strengthened the friendship and brought us closer together.
A writing test is a short on-demand writing sample that applicants complete when they interview to work on Capitol Hill. Writing tests directly reflect tasks applicants will do as full-time staff members. Some things I’ve been asked to write for writing tests include letters to agencies, hearing proposals, social media posts, newsletter drafts, press releases, memos to senators, and constituent letters. Writing tests are unique to every position and every office. No two are the same. Here, I will go through some basic information about writing tests and share some strategies I’ve used to ace them over the years.






