This First Person article is the experience of Gavin Stephens, a playwright, actor and comic based in Hamilton. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
I’m a comedian and writer who found out two years ago I was neurodivergent with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder and extreme anxiety. (Only top shelf anxiety for me!)
It wasn’t until after my diagnosis that I found myself thinking about how anxiety, neurodivergent traits and racial profiling overlap.
I’m 49 so this was a pretty late-in-life revelation although unsurprising. We live in a time where the general public seems to have a better awareness of mental health. I grew up in the 1980s in Scarborough. If you told someone back then you had anxiety, they’d just tell you to walk it off.
I also had hard-working Caribbean parents, who were afraid of stigmatizing their child for being different in an environment which already stigmatizes him for being Black.
As an adult, a lot of my anxiety is triggered by public interactions, such as shopping. Trying to behave “normal” has always been a thing in the back of my head, so I’ll go into a store and overcompensate with my actions and words because I know I’m going to do or say something dumb. The more I overcompensate, the more likely something dumb is going to happen.
Like the many times a Starbucks barista has handed me my coffee and said, “Enjoy,” to which I replied, “You too.” (She wants me to enjoy the coffee and I want her to enjoy, what? Me? Gross.)
When I’m weird in a store, best case scenario I walk away with a cringe story. Worst case…
An unsettling interaction
About six or seven years ago, I was flying out of Ottawa to Calgary. I wanted to grab a snack so I stopped at a store inside the airport. I stopped in front of the section with the gum at the front of the store. (I hadn’t noticed up until now that we have way too many choices when it comes to gum. Whenever I see this many gum choices, I quickly think that “a dictatorship wouldn’t be a bad idea. That one gum could be called “Dear leader gum” or something like that and it would taste like newspaper and cod liver oil.)
I was standing there so long trying to choose a brand that I started to dissociate from what I was looking at.
I looked up and saw a store clerk glaring at me from across the store. I know this look. I’ve seen it before. That look of someone who’s suspiciously watching me.
I know from experience — as a Black man and as a neurodivergent person — I need to diffuse this situation. I need to make the woman feel comfortable. In these scenarios, I typically like to channel the most charming white guy I can think of, like Chris Hemsworth or Owen Wilson or whoever hasn’t been cancelled.
I give her my best non-threatening plea for help that sounds close to “Excuse me madam, I was wondering if perchance you could direct me to your water inventory?”
She gave me a grunt and led me over to the “water inventory.”
I paid for the water and a pack of gum. Then, she looked at me with disgust and asked, “Where is the other pack of gum?” Before I can do the math on what she’s saying, another woman shows up behind me and asked, “If everything is OK?”
I angrily dismissed both women and headed to my gate. While waiting for my plane, I stewed over the incident.
Soon, I notice three airport police officers with fully automatic weapons coming toward me. They stopped in front of me and demanded that I let them check my belongings. Even though I was thoroughly embarrassed, I refused their request and told them that this is racial profiling. The leader of the group informed me that “they don’t have this sort of thing here in Ottawa.”
After threatening to not let me get on my plane, they told me not to go back to the store. They left and I was so embarrassed and shocked by the interaction that I just sat there quietly, trying to make myself as small as possible.
A matter of mental health literacy — and compassion
Being racialized means living in a system where I need to be constantly aware of my actions, and how they are perceived by people around me. Acting “off script” has the possibility to lead to harassment, arrest or worse. So, when you add in my sensory issues and anxiety or just the need to zone out, it can lead to some uncomfortable scenarios.
After my recent diagnosis, I’ve looked back on that airport incident and, to be honest, I’m not sure if the women reacted to my social awkwardness, my skin colour or a combination of the two.
Being comfortable in my skin in public places shouldn’t be an act of bravery. Instead, we need to normalize and share the experiences of racialized neurodiverse people.
In recent years, I’ve gained awareness and understanding through my own experience, diagnosis and even through discussions on social media. Now I try to put myself in the shoes of others more often because I know I have no idea what that person is dealing with. Really it’s a matter of mental health literacy and compassion.
Today, I feel that compassion from my family now that I’ve shared my diagnosis. Behaviour that once seemed odd or quirky, such as fidgeting or sitting on the ground, is now seen as just something I do rather than a problem.
I’ve learned a few things in the past few years: that compassion and understanding of experience beyond your own can go a long way.
And, there has to be a market for “Dear leader gum.”
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For more stories about the experiences of Black Canadians — from anti-Black racism to success stories within the Black community — check out Being Black in Canada, a CBC project Black Canadians can be proud of. You can read more stories here.
