If you’re anything like me, the start of a new year can often bring a mix of emotions: excitement for novel experiences in the upcoming year, but also disappointment at your failures or what you weren’t able to accomplish in the year prior — and often more disappointment than we’d like to admit.

A new year can especially difficult when comparing our situations to others in our age range or social circle, especially if things have been tough. Bethany had her third child, and you were served divorce papers. Steve got a raise, and you got laid off. Amber earned a degree, and you flunked out.

Or perhaps you find yourself drifting along through life like a sailboat caught in the doldrums and nothing going your way. Life feels directionless, meaningless, and hopeless.

Life’s Direction

People often judge a life by its direction: Are you moving forward? Are you behind? Are you on the “right” path? They look the map of your life, see your convoluted path, and try to give you guidance: “Ah, see? Here’s your problem! You should’ve taken a right turn here instead of a left! You need to go right in the future!” or the dreaded, “You aren’t working hard enough. Just hustle more!”

While this advice is ostensibly well-intentioned, let’s be real: it’s not helpful, and I’m not here to give you more advice like that. Instead, I urge you to be more compassionate with your circumstances — whatever they may be.

Let me explain.

Danny’s Journey

Imagine a map with two points: A and B. As you may recall from high school geometry, the shortest path between any two points is a straight line. Thus, if Danny is trying to get from A to B, he should take the straight path.

But what if Danny starts out on his straight path and encounters a dense, alligator-filled, mosquito-infested swamp between the points? He considers trudging through, but ultimately decides on going around the swamp, adding several days to his journey. He still ends up being bitten by mosquitos, and he coats himself in mud to try to keep the insects at bay. For Danny, a journey that should’ve taken a day and a half takes five.

For the people who had a smooth path to Point B, they might not understand what took Danny so long, or why he’s so dirty. Some of the prior arrivals had smooth rolling hills and a paved path to walk. Others were given a bike, and one drove a car. Even some people who started near Danny arrived well before he did — but only because they had an ATV to get them through the swamp. Danny didn’t have any of that.

A straight line means nothing if you don’t know what and how it crossed.

Map vs. Terrain

A map without topography tells you nothing about swamps, rivers, mountains, or canyons that weren’t visible until you reached them. Two people can travel the same distance and arrive in very different states depending on whether one crossed flat ground and the other climbed a mountain carrying weight they never chose. After all, no one has the same starting point in life.

If your life doesn’t look the way you were told it should, it doesn’t mean you took the wrong path; it means you were navigating terrain no one else could see.

A Topography Lesson

If you’re entering this year feeling bruised, slower, or uncertain, consider this: survival is movement, adaptation is effort, and detours are not moral failures. Before you judge your pace or compare your path, pause. Look down at the ground you’ve been crossing. Notice the mud on your boots, the weight on your back, and the struggles you’ve endured.

Remember that a straight line has never been the measure of a meaningful journey. And if your path looks complicated, it may be because it required courage, resilience, and choices no one else had to make.

Thanks for Reading!

Thanks for taking time out of your busy day to spend some time with me! I encourage all of my readers to RISE (Reflect, Improve, Strengthen, & Evolve) with me because healing is a lifelong journey — it’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it. You are loved, cherished, and valued. Don’t ever let anyone ever convince you otherwise.

My commitment to bringing you FREE, well-researched, and comprehensive content means I spend considerable time and effort writing each article or post without compensation.

Want to Support Me?

The simplest FREE way you can support me is by subscribing, sharing, or leaving a comment:

Subscribe now

Share New Autistic

Leave a comment

I believe in keeping my content accessible to everyone, without paywalls, because I know the work I do matters. For that reason, I’m beyond grateful for any financial support! If you’d like to support me and my work, check out my art website at AriesArtwork.com to bring home something unique or find a gift for that special someone in your life:

I’ll see you again when I’ve got a new info-dump for you, my Newtistics Crew!

—Skylar Aries

Breathing: it’s essential to life, functioning, and even regulating our nervous systems. Better yet, it’s done automatically and without thinking. You’re probably conscious of your breathing now (only because I mentioned it), and for illustrative purposes, I’m asking you to take three breaths while being conscious of doing so:

1. Inhale, exhale.

2. Inhale, exhale.

3. Inhale, exhale.

Pretty simple, right?

But what if you had to do that all the time? Can you imagine how much more mental effort life would take if you had to consciously think about every breath you take? Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—all day, every day, forever. I think we all can agree it’s a great mercy that we don’t have to be conscious of our breathing, or else it would be much more difficult to get just about anything done.

However, what does conscious breathing have to do with autism? Perhaps some of you might’ve already caught on, but for those who haven’t, let me elucidate further. As a reminder, if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. My experience as a Level 1 high-masking autistic is not everyone’s experience. Now, with that out of the way…

What Does Autism Feel Like?

I’ve been asked this question many times by friends and family, and I’ve been trying to find a good way to explain it in a way that non-autistics can understand and relate to. I’ve told them that I often have to script conversations in my head before they happen, closely monitor my word choices and tone, and ensure that I express the correct emotions and affect for certain situations.

“We all do that, though!” is what I’m often told—and you’re right. All people, neurodivergent or otherwise, sometimes make conscious decisions about their social interactions. It’s part of the human experience, for better or for worse. However, the key difference is that for non-autistics (and perhaps those without social anxiety), your thoughts aren’t wholly consumed by considerations regarding social interactions.

Conscious Breathing and Autistic Social Interactions

I bring up again the example of conscious breathing. Everyone consciously breathes sometimes (and I’m sure you’re now aware of your breath once more), but imagine that you had to do this all the time: constantly thinking about inhaling, then exhaling, then inhaling, then exhaling. That’s what social interaction feels like for many autistic people. It’s a constant mental barrage of questions and considerations:

Is my face showing the appropriate amount of emotion? What they said was exciting, so I need to look interested and happy—but not too happy, because then that’d be weird. I need to show an appropriate amount of excitement for the conversation at hand. Oh, they just mentioned they took a vacation to Spain. Should I mention that I’ve been to Spain? I don’t want to try to seem like I’m one-upping them, so maybe not, but I’m trying to connect with them and show that I’m listening, so maybe?

I just mentioned that I’ve been to Madrid as well, although I think I sounded too excited with my tone. People tend to misread my excitement for anger, so I need to correct that by following it up with something else that shows I’m not upset at all—or worse, trying to one-up them.

And (for me, anyway) it’s like this all the time whenever I’m interacting with anyone I don’t know well—and even some I do. It’s a similar amount of effort that would go into conscious breathing, only applied to social interactions. Can you see why many of us, especially those of us who are high-masking, find social interactions so draining and exhausting? It’s not easy for us.

Just as continuous conscious breathing would consume much of your mental bandwidth, so too does social interaction for many autistic individuals. This constant internal processing—monitoring facial expressions, analyzing tone, questioning word choices—represents an invisible and profound cognitive load that neurotypical individuals rarely experience to the same degree.

Finding the Space to Breathe Freely

Understanding autism isn't about assuming everyone's experience is identical, but rather recognizing that for many of us, social interactions require the same deliberate focus as consciously controlling each breath. It's exhausting, invisible work that goes unnoticed and unappreciated.

Next time you interact with an autistic person who seems tired after socializing or who needs extended alone time, remember the conscious breathing analogy. We're not being antisocial; we're simply catching our breath after the mental marathon of social interaction.

My hope in sharing this perspective is to foster greater empathy and understanding. By recognizing the effort behind our social interactions, perhaps we can create more accommodating spaces where autistic individuals don't always have to “consciously breathe” through every social encounter. All of us—neurotypical and neurodivergent alike—deserve moments where we can simply exist without the exhaustion of constant self-monitoring.

Thanks for Reading!

Thanks for taking time out of your busy day to spend some time with me! I encourage all of my readers to RISE (Reflect, Improve, Strengthen, & Evolve) with me because healing is a lifelong journey — it’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it. You are loved, cherished, and valued. Don’t ever let anyone ever convince you otherwise.

My commitment to bringing you FREE, well-researched, and comprehensive content means I spend considerable time and effort writing each article or post without compensation.

Want to Support Me?

The simplest FREE way you can support me is by subscribing, sharing, or leaving a comment:

Subscribe now

Share New Autistic

Leave a comment

I believe in keeping my content accessible to everyone, without paywalls, because I know the work I do matters. For that reason, I’m beyond grateful for any financial support! If you'd like to support me and my work, check out my art website at AriesArtwork.com to bring home something unique or find a gift for that special someone in your life:

I’ll see you again when I’ve got a new info-dump for you, my Newtistics Crew!

—Skylar Aries

Warning: This blog post contains mention of suicidal ideation and a suicide attempt. If you’re struggling yourself, please reach out to the 988 Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

I think just about everyone’s familiar with the classic fairytale where a damsel in distress is saved by a knight in shining armor. Someone (typically a woman) needs to be saved from some antagonist (perhaps a dragon or evil duke), and a knight in shining armor (typically a man) comes along to slay the enemy and save the girl. They get married at the end, and everyone lives happily ever after.

It’s a nice story, but that’s all it is: a story.

Of course, when you’re a child, you don’t really know any better and you think that such things really do happen. The bad guys get what’s coming to them, the good guy gets the girl, and everyone lives in peace forevermore.

And then you grow up and realize that real life isn’t a story. There are no fairytale endings. In fact, far more often than most of us would like, the bad guys end up getting away with their misdeeds, the good guy doesn’t turn out to be so good after all, and many people end up in horrible situations through no fault of their own. On top of that, you come to understand that there isn’t a knight in shining armor coming to save you—no matter how nice that might be.

Life’s Not a Fairytale

For a while, I held onto this perhaps childish belief that, one day, someone or something would come along and save me. There were certainly many people in my life who provided some guidance or conditional support in bursts like parents, teachers, coaches, and friends. However, I still felt like I lacked genuine connection in many regards, and that no one really understood what I was going through.

Many nights when I finally managed to fall into fitful sleep, my last thought would be, “It’d be nice if I didn’t wake up tomorrow.” The thought of not existing, too, has been pervasive even since childhood. I often wished that I was never born, or that I would suddenly cease to exist. It wasn’t that I wanted to die, but rather that I didn’t want to live anymore. I now know that is called passive suicidal ideation, though I didn’t know that at the time. Unfortunately, suicidal ideation—both active and passive—is a common experience among many autistic people.

Since I couldn’t just will myself to cease to exist, I instead dreamed of some vague knight in shining armor to come and rescue me, save me from my painful existence, and to live happily ever after.

But no knight ever came, and life’s not a fairytale.

Numbing the Pain

To numb the pain of existing, I drank. I drank a lot. I drank more than most would deem humanly possible. Everything suffered: my health, my studies, my career, my relationships. But, it didn’t matter, as is the nature of addiction—that is, continuing to engage with the problematic behavior even when it’s having negative consequences in your life.

I later learned that autistic people are at a higher risk for addiction to all sorts of things, including drugs, alcohol, and problematic behaviors. Go figure.

I admit that undiagnosed autism wasn’t the only reason that I drank, but it certainly was a contributing factor. Speaking from personal experience, I drank because I felt like I was a bad person, and I felt like I was a bad person because I drank. It’s a vicious shame-based cycle that continues to perpetuate over and over again… until something stops it.

I spent years trying and failing to quit, or quitting for a little while before going back to the bottle. I tried and failed again and again and again and again. What I really needed was a knight in shining armor to rescue me!

But no knight ever came, and life’s not a fairytale.

Rebirth

It took a suicide attempt for me to finally stop drinking.

I survived (obviously), but little did I know that quitting would only be the beginning. Giving up drinking meant that I had to confront all of my trauma head-on without anything to numb the pain. I had to fight off my demons largely alone, enduring the excruciating pain of existence, stumbling forward an inch at a time even when I felt like I couldn’t go on any longer. Literal blood, sweat, and tears forged the road on which I crawled.

All of my perseverance eventually paid off. I am thankfully in a much healthier place now due to a mountain of personal growth along with many different types of therapies.

One thing that always stuck with me, however, was how I’d spent so much time wishing that someone would come and save me—all those nights dreaming about a proverbial knight in shining armor, hoping that I’d be rescued and saved, and how he had never come.

Now, I’ve come to understand the truth: the knight is me.

Thanks for Reading!

Thanks for taking time out of your busy day to spend some time with me! I encourage all of my readers to RISE (Reflect, Improve, Strengthen, & Evolve) with me because healing is a lifelong journey — it’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it. You are loved, cherished, and valued. Don’t ever let anyone ever convince you otherwise.

My commitment to bringing you FREE, well-researched, and comprehensive content means I spend considerable time and effort writing each article or post without compensation.

Want to Support Me?

The simplest FREE way you can support me is by subscribing, sharing, or leaving a comment:

Subscribe now

Share New Autistic

Leave a comment

I believe in keeping my content accessible to everyone, without paywalls, because I know the work I do matters. For that reason, I’m beyond grateful for any financial support! If you'd like to support me and my work, check out my art website at AriesArtwork.com to bring home something unique or find a gift for that special someone in your life:

I’ll see you again when I’ve got a new info-dump for you, my Newtistics Crew!

—Skylar Aries

I Dream of Italy

Imagine that you’ve always wanted to go to Italy ever since you were a child. You did a school project on Rome and the Colosseum, on gladiator fights and crossing the Rubicon, and ever since then, you’ve always dreamed of visiting Italy one day. You want to see it all: from the Vatican to the vineyards.

Then, as an adult, you’re given the opportunity to do so. You spend months, if not years preparing yourself for the trip, learning a bit of Italian to get yourself around, reading up on all the best sights to see, planning out your path around the Italian peninsula to make sure you hit all those landmarks and towns, exchanging your US dollars for euros, planning your flights, hotels, and rental cars… Suffice it to say, you are as prepared as anyone can be!

You board the plane, get settled, and fall asleep on your way there. You dream of all of the sights you’ll see in the coming weeks. A bumpy landing wakes you, and as you open your eyes and remember that your plane has just landed, your excitement peaks. Yes, you’ve finally made it! All those dreams and plans you’ve made over the years and decades have finally come to fruition! All that hard work has finally paid off! You’ve finally arrived!

Over the intercom, the muffled and distorted voice of the captain says, “Welcome to Holland!”

“Welcome to Holland!”

You blink, confused. Holland? Wasn’t this a flight to Italy? You check your ticket, and it reads “Italy.” What’s the captain talking about? Perhaps you misheard the announcement.

You get the attention of one of the flight attendants who informs you that you are indeed in Holland and there is no mistake, nor is this a joke. “You’re in Holland, and you’re staying in Holland,” you’re told over and over again. No amount of arguing or trying to fix the situation gets you anywhere, and after going at it for a while, you get frustrated with the flight attendant and deboard the plane. Someone else has to have more information.

In the airport, you try asking and reasoning with other workers, but they all tell you the same thing: “You’re in Holland, and you’re staying in Holland.” Many try to reassure you that there are plenty of great things to do in Holland, and that there are plenty of interesting people living in Holland.

But… What About Italy?

After hours and days of arguing and crying and reasoning, you finally give in, accepting your fate. You’re in Holland, and in Holland you’ll stay. You acknowledge that, yes, there are plenty of amazing things about Holland, and it’s not like you were averse to visiting at some point; you just were really excited about finally seeing Italy, and all of your plans and preparations were for Italy.

You spent months learning some Italian. You don’t know any Dutch.

You printed out maps and guides of Rome. You have no maps or guides for Amsterdam.

You wanted to see the Colosseum — not the Van Gogh Museum.

You’re woefully ill-prepared for a destination that wasn’t even on your radar. Through no fault of your own, you’re thrown into this new and foreign chaotic situation, struggling to figure out what is going on and how to adapt and survive.

While you recognize that there is plenty of beauty in Holland — Dutch is a complex and intriguing language, Amsterdam is a beautiful city, and the Van Gogh Museum is world-renowned — it’s just… not Italy.

It’s not what you planned for. It’s not what you wanted.

The Grief for What Might’ve Been

In the same way that someone who always wanted to visit Italy and ended up in Holland might be disappointed, many late-diagnosed autistic people feel the same way. We were told throughout our lives by our families (hopefully), society, movies, books, and shows: “You can do anything you set your mind to!”

But for those people who have physical or intellectual disabilities or disorders, that simply isn’t true. In the contemporary era, someone with an IQ of 50 is not going to be an astrophysicist. Someone with no legs is not going to play in the NBA.

And that’s okay. It’s okay to be in Holland.

It’s also okay to grieve for all of the work, plans, and preparations you put into going to Italy. It’s okay to grieve the loss of what might’ve been if you hadn’t landed in Holland — or if you didn’t have autism.

Just remember that Holland has a lot to offer as well.

Thanks for Reading!

Thanks for taking time out of your busy day to spend some time with me! I encourage all of my readers to RISE (Reflect, Improve, Strengthen, & Evolve) with me because healing is a lifelong journey — it’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it. You are loved, cherished, and valued. Don’t ever let anyone ever convince you otherwise.

My commitment to bringing you FREE, well-researched, and comprehensive content means I spend considerable time and effort writing each article or post without compensation.

Want to Support Me?

The simplest FREE way you can support me is by subscribing, sharing, or leaving a comment:

Subscribe now

Share New Autistic

Leave a comment

I believe in keeping my content accessible to everyone, without paywalls, because I know the work I do matters. For that reason, I’m beyond grateful for any financial support! If you'd like to support me and my work, check out my art website at AriesArtwork.com to bring home something unique or find a gift for that special someone in your life:

I’ll see you again when I’ve got a new info-dump for you, my Newtistics Crew!

—Skylar Aries

Even if you aren’t a gamer, you’re probably aware that most games offer a range of difficulty settings, typically in the form of easy, normal, hard, and heroic (or some other term to that effect) in ascending order of challenge level.

I use this preface to explain what living with undiagnosed neurodivergency is like. Of course, everyone in life has their struggles, and I wouldn’t say that anyone’s life is necessarily on easy mode. Most people, statistically speaking, would probably rate their life’s difficulty level as normal. You’ve got your issues, sure, but overall, you’re able to make it work through determination, effort, and struggle.

Like other people, I’ve had my struggles, and I also thought my life’s difficulty was perhaps rated from normal to hard. So, if that was the case, why was I struggling so much more than other people in similar circumstances?

“I’m on Normal, Right?”

Living with undiagnosed neurodivergency is like playing a game on heroic difficulty while everyone else is playing on normal — but you don’t know that, and they don’t know that. You think you’re on normal too, and so people ask why you’re dying all the time, or why you’re stuck on a boss, or why playing so carefully.

“It’s so easy! Why are you struggling so much? Everyone else can do it!” they tell you. Your parents don’t understand why you struggle with things that other kids find easy. They compare you to others: “See Kimmy over there? She can do it, so why can’t you? You just need to try harder!”

Your coaches and teachers also sense that something is off about you, even if they can’t put their finger on it. They view you as quirky at best and lazy or even disrespectful at worst.

Your friends, if you’re lucky enough to have any, also sense that there is something off about you — or perhaps they don’t, because they’re like you: undiagnosed neurodivergents just trying to survive in a neurotypical world.

And indeed, you look around and everyone else seems to get it, so clearly you must be the issue, right?

You Must Be the Problem

After years, if not decades of hearing the same refrains over and over again, you decide that you must be selfish, incompetent, or lazy — or perhaps even all of the above because you can’t make things work where other people always seem to be able to.

Other people can make friends easily, so why can’t you? Other people find navigating the complex social reality of middle school, high school, college, and beyond with ease, so why can’t you? Other people can network, find jobs and partners with only a bit of trouble, so why can’t you? Other people can figure out what they’re doing with their lives, so why can’t you? Other people can socialize for hours and hours every day at their job and never feel drained or depleted, so why can’t you? Other people can make eye contact with people consistently, so why can’t you?

Other people find changing habits not necessarily easy but doable, whereas you have to put in Herculean efforts to make even small, beneficial changes to your life or routines. Other people can say they’re doing something and then do it, whereas you’ll have to struggle for months to implement necessary changes — even those you know are good for you in the long term. Other people can do “simple” things with ease whereas you end up drained and depleted doing the exact same tasks.

Why can’t you just figure it out? What’s wrong with you?! You just need to work harder! You just need to try harder! You just need to be better! Stop being lazy! Stop being selfish! Stop being stupid!

But What if You’re On Heroic?

What if I told some of you (statistically speaking, some of the people reading this post will also be on the spectrum) that the reason you’re struggling so much is because you’ve been playing on heroic difficulty this whole time? The reason things seemed easy—or at least easier—to other people is because it actually was easier for them? That they don’t have the same struggles with socialization and relationships that you do? That they don’t spend hours scripting conversations, or ruminating over social interactions, or trying to muster up the willpower just to brush their teeth?

It’s apparently not normal to have so much anxiety over every social interaction you have. It’s not normal to worry about how your face might appear to others, if you’re expressing the right amount of anger or sadness or happiness. It’s not normal to carefully consider the words with which you choose to express yourself in the hopes that others might not misunderstand or misinterpret your meanings or motivations. It’s not normal to carefully consider when you should look someone in the eyes, or when you should look away, or if it’s okay to look away.

Realizing You’re on Heroic

So, you’ve spent your whole life thinking you’re on normal, and you finally realize you’re on heroic. After immense struggles and failures and repudiations in your life, you finally understand why things that are seemingly easy for others aren’t for you: many things actually were more difficult for you than the average person.

Furthermore, you were always justified in expressing your frustration, anger, or sadness in those situations, even if you were called stupid or selfish or lazy for it. You were right in your perception that things were fundamentally more difficult for you than they were for other people; other people simply didn’t have the capacity to understand or recognize it.

However, learning and understanding that you’re on heroic mode also means accepting that you can’t change the settings. You can’t swap to easy, normal, or even hard. Worse yet, other people still won’t understand because they’ve never known or experienced anything else other than normal, so you can’t even explain it in a way that they can comprehend. To them, you’ll always be that person who’s struggling with the “simple things” in life.

But now you know the truth, and as the saying goes, “Life doesn’t get easier; you just get stronger.” For us late-diagnosed autistics, the task is learning how to not only survive but thrive on heroic… and it’s not easy.

Thanks for Reading!

Thanks for taking time out of your busy day to spend some time with me! I encourage all of my readers to RISE (Reflect, Improve, Strengthen, & Evolve) with me because healing is a lifelong journey — it’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it. You are loved, cherished, and valued. Don’t ever let anyone ever convince you otherwise.

My commitment to bringing you FREE, well-researched, and comprehensive content means I spend considerable time and effort writing each article or post without compensation.

Want to Support Me?

The simplest FREE way you can support me is by subscribing, sharing, or leaving a comment:

Subscribe now

Share New Autistic

Leave a comment

I believe in keeping my content accessible to everyone, without paywalls, because I know the work I do matters. For that reason, I’m beyond grateful for any financial support! If you'd like to support me and my work, check out my art website at AriesArtwork.com to bring home something unique or find a gift for that special someone in your life:

I’ll see you again when I’ve got a new info-dump for you, my Newtistics Crew!

—Skylar Aries

I remember always feeling "different" — whatever that meant. Some of my earliest memories are those of me in daycare or pre-kindergarten. While other children laughed and played and chased one another, I often could be found with my nimble fingers grasping at the rough, salt-crusted chain link fence that overlooked the I-5 freeway in Southern California. I would watch the cars go by for what felt like hours, and in many cases, it probably was.

That's not to say that I never interacted with the other children, because I did, but usually only with one or two that I really liked or got on with. Being in larger groups was difficult for me because I couldn't keep track of what everyone was saying or doing, and then I'd end up feeling overwhelmed and shut down or meltdown. I'd get frustrated at the overwhelming stimulation coming at me from all directions: voices, people, lights, sounds, smells.

Most of all, I'd get frustrated at myself.

If everyone else could manage this somehow, why couldn't I? I must be stupid or inept, I thought, or just plain weird. Maybe I was crazy. I just had to try harder. I just had to work harder.

Growing Pains

This same pattern repeated itself often through my formative years, through middle school, high school, and onto college and beyond. Because I have no intellectual disabilities and always earned excellent grades in school, I was able to make friends in certain situations, but in the vast majority of social situations, I was viewed as weird, strange, or odd. I was the one on my sports teams who was never asked to hang out outside of practice. I wasn't invited to parties or get-togethers, except very rarely, and typically I had to use alcohol in those situations in order to feel "normal" — whatever that meant.

Most of all, I've always felt like there's been a fundamental disconnect between myself and (what often seems like) the rest of the human race. This is apparently a common feeling amongst autistic people in general, and especially those who went undiagnosed until they were adults. I've read that many people describe it as feeling like an alien, like you don't belong, or having an overwhelming sense of otherness.

Looking for Solutions

Like many people, I tried numerous forms of therapy and medications over the years. Some was helpful, but most wasn't. What worked for most people didn't work for me. Litanies of tests were run for many of my unexplainable physical ailments, including migraines, light sensitivities, stress sensitivities, temporomandibular joint (TMJ) dysfunction, digestion issues, and chronic pain among others. It was eventually ruled, in more words and by many different doctors, that it was "all in my head."

I thought I was crazy. I had to be crazy.

Everyone in my life was telling me that I was too sensitive, that I just needed to try harder, or that I was just being selfish or lazy. Even the doctors were telling me that it was all in my head, so clearly, I had to be the problem!

Learning About Autism

In my early 30s and for unrelated reasons, I was doing research into attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). I didn't identify with most of the ADHD traits that I was reading about, but I did read that ADHD is often comorbid or found together with autism.

So, I started reading about autism. What was once a fleeting curiosity soon became an obsession (which I now know isn't uncommon among autistics). I was watching autistic creators on YouTube, listening to psychologists lecture about autism, delving into studies on the causes and potential treatments for autism, how autism presents itself differently in men and women, the various levels of autism (which I'd never heard of before), and far more than I could ever hope to include in one blog post.

I was so intrigued by autism because it was the first time in my life that I had felt seen, heard, and understood. These autistic people were talking about all of the things that I had experienced — things other people had told me I was crazy for experiencing. Common refrains I heard throughout life include: "No one feels like that," "No one thinks like that," or "No one does that."

But I did.

I've come to learn and understand that it's actually completely normal for an autistic person to be sensitive to certain stimuli, to have social compatibility issues, and to have otherwise unexplainable medical issues. (Please note that this is only the smallest tip of the iceberg when it comes to experiences that some autistic people have, and is not at all an exhaustive list of my own symptoms.)

Seeing the Light

When you learn that your sense of fundamental difference from most other people is actually real, and you're not crazy, and it's not all in your head...

It's liberating.

At once, almost everything suddenly makes sense. You replay situations in your head, looking at them through the lens of autism, and you realize that you weren't actually a weird person; you were just an autistic person trying to make it work in a world not meant for you.

Those social faux pas that you ruminated on over and over again, trying to determine what you might've done better or could've otherwise said, actually happened because you were an autistic person trying to communicate in the best way you knew how. It didn't work out, but it wasn't that you'd intended to be mean or rude; you were truly trying your best, and your best often wasn't good enough. All of the scripting of dialogues that never end in your head may seem strange to a "normal" person, but it's quite common for many autistics.

I could go on for a long while about such topics, and I'm sure I will in future blog posts, but the purpose of this one is to say that getting diagnosed with autism has been a life-changing event. Whereas I didn't have any explanations before — aside from the suggestion that I was crazy — I now have answers, understanding, and most of all, a much more empathetic lens through which to view myself.

Autism has given me permission to be kinder to myself, something even I didn't realize I sorely needed.

Thanks for Reading!

Thanks for taking time out of your busy day to spend some time with me! I encourage all of my readers to RISE (Reflect, Improve, Strengthen, & Evolve) with me because healing is a lifelong journey — it’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it. You are loved, cherished, and valued. Don’t ever let anyone ever convince you otherwise.

My commitment to bringing you FREE, well-researched, and comprehensive content means I spend considerable time and effort writing each article or post without compensation.

Want to Support Me?

The simplest FREE way you can support me is by subscribing, sharing, or leaving a comment:

Subscribe now

Share New Autistic

Leave a comment

I believe in keeping my content accessible to everyone, without paywalls, because I know the work I do matters. For that reason, I’m beyond grateful for any financial support! If you'd like to support me and my work, check out my art website at AriesArtwork.com to bring home something unique or find a gift for that special someone in your life:

I’ll see you again when I’ve got a new info-dump for you, my Newtistics Crew!

—Skylar Aries