I Am Lucky To Be Autistic. You Shouldn’t Have To Be.

So much this.

I got my autism diagnosis this year, aged 31, after struggling for years with so many things. I was a high flier at school and university, struggled through a PhD with very limited support, and no-one noticed or suggested it as a reason for my struggles. I went to primary school in the 90s and Asperger’s was not a diagnosis they considered for girls who were spectacular at learning (Gifted! Woo!) but sucked at making and _keeping_ friends.

Aut of Spoons

Three years ago I knew almost nothing about autism. I didn’t know what sensory sensitivities were, what a meltdown was, or why a weighted blanket might be someone’s lifeline. I had been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, anorexia, and subclinical borderline personality disorder. I had been in therapy for almost seven years, including two intensive programs, multiple groups, individual therapy, and family therapy.

Three years ago I would have laughed if you told me I was autistic. No therapist had ever suggested the diagnosis to me. I’m highly emotional, not analytical. I’m overly sensitive, not someone with flat affect. I’m highly successful in school, I don’t struggle at all.

Here I am three years later with an autism diagnosis that makes sense of my life in a way that no prior diagnosis ever has. And I have to be honest; it was luck and privilege that got me this diagnosis. Not…

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