Hopko’s 24th maxim, ‘Be totally honest, first of all with yourself’, implies that we reject lies about God and lies about who you are before him. For autistic Christians, this will mean refusing the false stories that say ‘I am less human, less capable of holiness because I am autistic’ and also the spiritualized denial that pretends your sensory limits, executive dysfunction, meltdowns, and special interests are irrelevant to your life with God. To be honest with yourself is to say plainly, ‘This is what I can do; this is what I cannot do today. This is sin. This is weakness. This is trauma. This is simply how my brain is wired.’ Such honesty is not self‑hatred but alignment with the truth in which God already holds you.
Autistic people are often labelled – ’lazy’, ‘rude’, ‘too intense’, ‘too sensitive’, and so on – and may internalize those judgements or, conversely, retreat into a protective story that rejects criticism. Living this maxim means carefully sifting both your own self‑understanding and others’ words in the light of Christ. You might ask, ‘Where am I excusing real sin by blaming autism? Where am I condemning my God‑given neurology as if it were sin?’; you might keep a journal where you describe your actions in simple, factual terms before adding any interpretation, perhaps checking your conclusions with a trusted person who understands autism. Honesty here includes naming when you are masking, when you are overloaded, when you are dissociating, and when you are choosing selfishness or cruelty in order to make repentance specific and merciful rather than vague, global self‑hatred.
Because many autistic people struggle with alexithymia (difficulty identifying feelings) and with black‑and‑white thinking, ‘being totally honest’ can also mean admitting, ‘I don’t actually know what I feel’, or ‘I see only one interpretation; there may be others.’ This maxim then leans into Hopko’s later counsel to ‘face reality’ and ‘endure the trial of yourself peacefully’: you can bring your confusion, your misperceptions, and your rigid thoughts into the light without pretending to understand more than you do. Practically, that might look like checking your view of a situation with someone you trust (‘Did I come across as angry?’), reviewing your day once in the evening without catastrophizing, or asking God simply: ‘Show me where I am lying to myself’. Over time, this kind of honesty becomes a place of deep safety: you no longer have to maintain a mask before God or yourself, and you discover that the One who sees you most clearly – autistic traits, sins, virtues, and all – is also the One who loves you most.
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