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Proud Autistic Woman: My Journey to diagnosis

I first knew there was something different about me when I was in primary school. I would prefer to stay in the classroom and help teachers organise than go outside and play with everyone else. At the time, I would be called the teacher's pet, but it had more to do with not knowing how to talk to my peers than wanting to help a teacher out. I found myself, age 8, rehearsing conversations in my head on the walk to school or asking my younger sister what she talked about with her friends or how she knew how to respond to people. Now, of course, I can see so many traits of autism in my younger self, but back then I just felt like I was weird and not as good as other people. No one around me picked up on what was going on; instead, I was labelled as 'shy', or often described as an old woman in a child's body. I obviously internalised these labels and spent my teenage years feeling as though there was something wrong with me, asking myself, "Why can't I be normal like everyone else?". I was told off by teachers for not engaging in class and found myself arguing with my parents due to taking things too literally.


Still, I had no idea why I was like this. It wasn't until I was 21 and came across an Instagram post listing autistic traits in women that I even considered the possibility I was autistic. Going through this list felt like something had clicked into place. The things that stood out were:


  • Wanting to spend lots of time alone

  • Trouble recognising social cues or anxiety in social situations,

  • Inability to give eye contact whilst talking,

  • High levels of empathy,

  • Struggling to make friends,

  • Having obsessions or fixations with things (that didn't have to be trains, planes, or maths), having certain ways of organising things,

  • Difficulty with imaginative play, stimming, and so much more,


I Finally, I could recognise myself for what I am: autistic. I mean, I still wasn't sure, but for the first time, it felt like something fit, and there was an explanation for all of the things I'd spent my childhood blaming and hating myself for.


I educated myself more and more on the topic, and I think autism itself became a fixation for me; I would stay up late researching and obsessing and feeling more and more convinced this was me (to the point my final year dissertation was around autism).


I was too afraid to mention it to my parents for a long time, though; I didn't want to make them feel bad for not noticing when I was younger. I also felt like I couldn't tell my friends; I mean, if I didn't know the signs of autism in women, how could I expect anyone else to? I imagined everyone would respond, "But you don't look autistic because in our society and the way autism is presented, I guess I don't. I had 21 years of experience in masking by this point, so I'd gotten pretty good at not looking autistic. Not that I think something like autism should ever have a "look" – how can something so individual and unique to each person have a look, anyway? Regardless, it still took me a long time to talk to anyone about it.


I finally explained everything to my mum during a rambling phone call whilst I was at university, barely giving her a chance to talk for fearing her reaction. However, after I'd explained all the research I'd done and the traits I felt I had. We had such a good discussion about it. A few days later, I got a call from my mum, who was listing off all sorts of anecdotes from my childhood that she could now see were traits of autism. My favourite was when I was 4, and we were setting up my sister's birthday party – a teddy bear picnic. I meticulously set up all the teddies and their crockery in a perfect circle, annoyed at anyone who tried to take over. Once I was happy with the set-up, my mum asked me if I wanted to play with the teddies and drink tea with them, to which I responded, "No, thank you, they aren't real, so I can't drink tea". There were many other examples of me refusing pretend play, spending any time I could alone, fixating on different musicians, films, books, etc., stimming and wanting a rigid routine.


After opening up about my suspicions with a close friend, I spoke to my GP, who referred me for an autism assessment. However, after moving back from university I had to start the referral again, meaning around a 2 year wait. Since I'd already spent so long waiting, I decided to go ahead with a private autism assessment. At this point, I felt like I just needed an answer. I wanted justification for myself that I wasn't just "weird" and that the way I've been growing up isn't because I've done anything wrong. I've spent much of my life feeling as though I wasn't good enough, which has had detrimental effects on my mental health, and if I could tell myself "It wasn't my fault", things might feel easier.


I felt anxious prior to my assessment, trying to think of all possible outcomes, how it may feel and what I would do if they told me I wasn't autistic. I think being autistic had already become part of my sense of self, and I was afraid of that being taken away. I told myself that no matter the outcome, I still had a better understanding of who I was and that I could use that knowledge to educate the people around me about my needs. Following my assessment, I was diagnosed with autism. Although that was over a year ago now, it's something I think I will still be coming to terms with and trying to understand for years to come! I recently read Fern Brady's book, Strong Female Character (for the second time), and if there was one thing I'd recommend to any woman who wants to understand autism in women or feels they may be autistic themselves, it would be this book.


I definitely feel some relief and peace knowing that I'm the way I am for a reason, and there is nothing wrong with that.


I'm learning to embrace my autism, and I'm proud to call myself an autistic woman.




By Charlotte

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