We have decided to take a temporary break from publishing our usual posts in order to share how our contributors are handling current lockdown measures.
Joy, Morning joy, I’m always up before the birds and the sun, Always been a morning person, Partly due to a strategy developed in my early twenties, To hit the deck as soon as my eyes opened, In order to avoid falling into the depressive abyss.
I often lived inside of
Life as an autistic woman can be hard going sometimes, a balancing act between necessities that take energy from me in exchange for the means to survive and the pleasurable pursuits that replenish and restore
There are few things I find more soothing and energising than creating a problem to tangle my brain in. Sometimes when I feel utterly sapped of energy, and completely exhausted, I will spot an issue that needs solving and slowly wrap my mind around it.
Honouring my inflexible adherence to routines actually enables me to be more flexible when I need to be, not less.
With a late autism diagnosis, I am learning to better identify my sensory landscape, and to understand how social interactions work (or don’t).
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.
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.