With a late autism diagnosis, I am learning to better identify my sensory landscape, and to understand how social interactions work (or don’t).
Encountering the extremes of cold drew us both into that most clichéd space, the Moment, forcibly pulling our minds away from ruminating on the past or future, or tilling over an endless to-do list.
I stim away, clicking my fingers, speaking my truth. It’s therapy and activism. It’s self-care and self-challenge.
My bedroom is my safe place. It has always been my refuge from a sensory hostile world. There was a time two decades ago when it was also my prison.
“If I don’t actively carve out time to be inactive, I fall apart.”
For me, mindfulness has become one of my techniques that allows me to make sense of the world around me. It allows me to take control of my thoughts and bring into context how frequently they are overstimulated.
Once I found out I was autistic my body started integrating more of these moves and so I started to realise that when I’m me, being my open self, it’s normal behaviour and this is a way to cope.
In 2019 I carried out a study to explore how late-diagnosed autistic women (like me) managed their health and wellbeing. This is the last of four blog posts describing the themes I identified when analysing the interviews
Growing up as I did – trans, bicultural and autistic – without knowing how different and sensitive I was, I had accumulated layers of emotional debris that would randomly explode, wrecking life projects and relationships.
In 2019 I carried out a study to explore how late-diagnosed autistic women (like me) managed their health and wellbeing. This is the third of four blog posts describing the themes I identified when analysing the interviews