I came to write for the Massachusetts Daily Collegian because it was what I was supposed to do as a transfer student from a community college who was committed to being a journalist. I had to make a mark, compete in a difficult field (as acquaintances loved to remind me), and show that I had the skills to produce quality journalism.

I didn’t think about the Collegian in terms of enjoyment — when it comes to life, I hardly ever do. My life has been made up of commitments and duties, time spent learning sacrificed to time spent demonstrating useless knowledge on tests.

When I came to the Collegian, my 4.0 grade point average was almost all I had, the culmination of hundreds and hundreds of hours spent alone, filling out assignments I knew I’d never look at again. I thought my two years as a member of my previous college’s debate club was the only community I would ever know.

And for a while, that was true. I slunk into the office for news meetings, picked stories, reported them, (reluctantly) came down to the office to ask my editor questions and slunk out again.

But then I became an assistant news editor this semester, and all that changed.

Becoming an editor was not something I jumped at, as much as I love journalism (and I do, with a fervor that astounds many of my less-enlightened relatives). It was a new experience, and change is not something I handle well.

I am autistic. Few people at the Collegian know this. This was a deliberate strategy on my part.

My self-worth always came from the fact that people never guessed what was wrong with me, could never see how hard it is for me to understand the normal give-and-take of conversation, to manage my time, to understand the hidden aspects of human interaction that others seem born able to interpret.

I almost did not accept the position. How could I, I thought, when it would be so hard for me to handle changes in my routine when breaking news happened or something needed to be covered at the last minute? What if they could figure out how difficult it is for me to organize my time? What if I was offensive, annoying, rude?

I felt all these things. And I jumped.

I won’t lie and say I wasn’t right to be worried. Everything I worried about came true. There was breaking news I had to cover, making me change my routine when I was overwhelmed or didn’t think I could handle being around people. I did forget the dates of a number of events, and I’m certain I was inadvertently annoying.

But, looking at my time at the Collegian, the time I would give anything to go back and repeat, I realize that all these problems translate to assets in journalism.

Annoying became persistent, not taking no for an answer from people in power. Changing my routine became something I could handle, something that made me sure I can survive when the world isn’t easy to predict. Difficulties remembering events translated to a focused attention to detail and accuracy.

At the Collegian, my faults aren’t faults — they’re strengths. Here I’ve found people who value my persistence, dedication to accuracy (even when it means having to call writers about a story at 11 p.m.) and my ability to look at data and research for hours on end.

Here, people value who I am, not who I wish I could be.

As I leave UMass, and I feel sick when I think about not having a job, and how my whole world will change in the blink of an eye yet again, I think about the Collegian. I think about the nights that were hard for me and how I managed to handle them, even enjoy them. I think about the people I admire here — the unflappable editors, the dedicated writers, the hilarious columnists. I think about how this community accepted me when I didn’t accept myself.

And then I feel like I can handle it all.

Patricia LeBoeuf is a Collegian contributor and can be reached at [email protected].