Autism: Understanding Myself at 29

For a long time, I thought about writing this but wasn’t quite ready. Being diagnosed with autism and ADHD at 28 didn’t come as a shock I had suspected it for years but having it formally recognised changed everything. It made me reflect deeply on how autism has shaped my life, both positively and negatively. This isn’t a professional analysis; it’s a personal one.

Feeling “Different” Without Knowing Why

Growing up, I always felt slightly out of sync with the world. Not in a quirky or endearing way more in a way that made me feel separate. I didn’t quite fit in, and even now I’m not sure I ever fully will.

I have vivid memories of standing beside friends, silent, frozen, unsure how to join in. Small talk felt like a foreign language. I watched people chat easily about the weather, football, weekend plans but I didn’t know how to enter the conversation. I didn’t “look autistic”; I’m tall, athletic, and outwardly typical. But internally, my mind was somewhere else entirely: deeper, distant, absorbed.

I wanted to connect. I just didn’t know how.

Learning Social Skills as an Adult

Recently, a friend who is brilliant at small talk tried to teach me how to do it — how to look less awkward, how to appear more typical. I even went to coffee shops to practise speaking to strangers, but I often froze. I couldn’t gauge how people would react to my attempts, and the fear of misreading them kept me quiet.

I’ve tried improving my presentation gym, better clothes, skincare, regular haircuts (despite the sensory overload of buzzing shavers and awkward conversation). People notice me more now, but underneath I’m still someone who struggles socially. Scripted interactions help, but only slightly. I’d love to talk about my special interests or current hyperfixation, but small talk still feels unnatural.

Many autistic people find comfort in friendships with others who are autistic. They “get” each other. I understand why but I still want to be able to socialise more typically. Not fitting in led to bullying at times. I was called “Dougal” from Father Ted because I seemed spaced out. In reality, I was just somewhere else — somewhere different.

Misreading Social Cues

One of the hardest parts of autism is misreading social norms. Years ago, I engaged in workplace gossip. Many people enjoyed it, so I assumed it was fine. But a few were hurt by it, and the consequences for my reputation were serious. For most people, “don’t gossip” is a guideline. For me, it became a strict rule black and white because nuance is difficult.

Meltdowns, Burnout, and Sensory Overload

Something many people don’t see is how severe autistic meltdowns can be. I haven’t had one in about 18 months, thanks to a lot of work on myself. I take medication occasionally to slow my mind down and prevent burnout.

The hardest part is that I can’t tell when burnout is coming. By the time I realise it, I’m already overwhelmed crying, rocking, lying in a dark room, unable to process anything. In the past, I thought I was becoming psychotic. I couldn’t read people’s intentions at all. Someone close to me could walk in and I wouldn’t know if they were happy, sad, angry, or about to hurt me. My brain simply couldn’t interpret anything.

It’s terrifying. And for years, it led to hospitalisations.

Thankfully, that hasn’t happened in a long time.

Moving Forward

Being diagnosed late has been both a relief and a challenge. It gave me language for experiences I never understood. It helped me stop blaming myself for things that were neurological, not moral. But it also forced me to confront how much I’ve struggled silently.

Autism doesn’t define me, but it explains me. It helps me understand why I think the way I do, why I feel the way I feel, and why I’ve always lived slightly differently from those around me.

I’m still learning. I’m still growing. And I’m still figuring out how to belong in my own way.

Autism