I’ve mentioned a few times before that I had an awful experience with a job training programme for Autistic people in Singapore. I talked a bit about it in my “Autistic As Fxxk manifesto” post, but after speaking with other Singaporean Autistic friends who had similar experiences, I now feel ready to share my story in more detail.
Just for context, this happened over ten years ago, when I was in my early twenties.
How it started
A family friend suggested to my parents that I should join this programme because he didn’t think I had the appropriate social skills for the working world. So I joined shortly after I graduated.
The red flags were apparent from the first meeting I had with the job coaches from the programme. One of them—who I believe was the head of the programme—told me flat-out to give up on my dream of becoming a graphic designer (she wasn’t the only one; growing up, several people told me I wouldn’t be able to work in design because of my disabilities). She said only very few people get to do what they love as a job—if she’d just stopped there, I probably wouldn’t have a problem with what she said. But right after that, she smugly bragged to my face that she was one of the lucky few who got to do what she loved for a living!
That wasn’t all. They also asked my parents—right in front of me—whether there were any kinds of jobs (like toilet cleaning) they wouldn’t want me to do, instead of asking me directly.
After the meeting, I told my parents and therapist I had serious doubts about the programme. But they all begged me to continue with it. It felt as if I had no other choice; this was the best I deserved as an Autistic person and I would be greedy and ungrateful to ask for more.
Soft skills training
Before placing us in jobs, they gave us “soft skills training”—basically social rules dictating how we should behave in the workplace. One rule stuck with me: we shouldn’t become friends with colleagues or talk too much about ourselves and our interests. It felt like they were telling me, “Your Autistic traits are annoying and an inconvenience. No one wants to know about the real you.”
The anxiety this created still affects me today, even though I now work at a much more accepting and easy-going workplace. I’m afraid of engaging in deep conversations with my colleagues because I hear a voice in my head telling me it’s the “wrong thing” to do.
This rule actively hinders me from developing deeper connections with my colleagues, keeping most interactions surface-level. I can’t help but feel jealous when I see my colleagues forming close friendships with each other. I’m trying to unlearn this “rule,” constantly reminding myself that I’m in a safe environment now, but it’s incredibly hard.
I believe the job coaches gave us these social rules to make us “easier to manage” without considering the lasting impact on our actual lives.
Two years of surveillance and infantilisation
The programme placed me in an office clerk job (it was either that or a cleaning job), and I was miserable for the two years I worked there. Job coaches monitored our behaviour all day, and if we did anything deemed “inappropriate” or “weird,” they’d pull us aside for a talk. It was a stifling environment; I felt like I couldn’t relax and had to be on my best behaviour at all times.
The infantilisation was rampant. My intelligence and capabilities were often underestimated because of the way I spoke (I speak in a very soft whisper due to my selective mutism). Whenever I mentioned something I wanted to do, the job coaches would inform my parents and ask them what they thought—as if I couldn’t be trusted to make my own decisions!
Performing “inspiration porn”
Sometimes they would invite guests to observe us Autistic people working, which made me feel like an animal in a zoo. The guests would ask the job coaches questions about us right in front of us. When the coaches mentioned that many of us had polytechnic diplomas, the guests expressed shock and disbelief—again, right to our faces.
After one of these visits, a guest wrote on the office board, “It’s so great how you’re helping the less fortunate!” which felt condescending AF. When I told the job coaches how much that message bothered me, they claimed they couldn’t remove it for some reason. This made me feel as if my feelings and concerns weren’t as important as making the company look good for “helping” Autistic people.
My body said “no”
I fell sick so often, I used up all my sick leave AND paid leave for illness. Looking back, I now see my body was desperately trying to tell me this job was wrong for me.
Eventually, I reached full-blown Autistic burnout and quit.
Aftermath
My self-esteem was the lowest it’s ever been after quitting. I couldn’t work at all for a couple of years. The programme offered to place me in another job, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to go back. That made my mom very worried for my future.
In 2017 (about 2 years after I quit), I wrote in my journal:
How [the programme] made me feel
- Unsure of myself
- I’m incapable of making the right decisions for myself
- My instincts are wrong
- Being myself is wrong
- I had no control over my life
It took a long time, but things eventually got better. I got lucky and found a job (as a graphic designer!) where people accept me in all my quirky glory.
I’m not the only one
The reason I’m only sharing this story now? Singapore still largely views Autistic people as a burden. We’re only seen as valuable if we’re able to work. For a long time, I was afraid that if I spoke up, most Singaporeans wouldn’t see anything wrong with what I went through. They’d probably say I was being difficult and ungrateful towards people who were only trying to help me be “useful to society.”
But now that I have Singaporean Autistic friends who’ve had similar experiences, I know it’s not just me. And I think it’s time more people heard our stories (although TBH, I still feel a little afraid; that’s why I didn’t explicitly name the programme).
I’m sharing this not because I’m fishing for sympathy, but because I want change. We deserve better than programmes that offer crumbs and expect us to be grateful for it. We deserve support that gives us autonomy. If you’re an Autistic person who’s gone through something similar: you’re not alone, and you deserved so much better.