The Things I Thought Were Just Me Were Actually Autism

Looking back, my life didn’t suddenly make sense overnight. It was more like finding the missing pieces to a puzzle I’d been trying to solve for years.

It’s hard to admit, but for most of my life, I’ve felt like I was just bad at being a person. I know that sounds harsh, but it’s true.

I was always trying to figure out why life looked so different compared to everyone else. I didn’t see other people struggle the way I did. They didn’t seem to be constantly second-guessing themselves, frightened to speak, or trying to figure out how to fit in. They seemed to know how to move through life in a way that I never quite understood.

There was one time in third grade when I was invited to a birthday sleepover. She was a classmate of mine, but she wasn’t someone I would call a friend. We rarely spoke. But all the girls in the class were going, and I didn’t want to be left out.

So, I went.

I remember feeling uncomfortable in the environment. The house smelled strongly like cats. It was small. There were way too many girls there that I was unfamiliar with. I just remember feeling so overwhelmed, thinking to myself, “How am I going to get through the whole night?”

This was a long time ago, so my memory is a little fuzzy, but I remember playing pin the tail on the donkey. Everyone was making fun of me because I was far off target and couldn’t find the right spot. I could hear their laughs, their quiet yet loud side conversations, and my anxiety building bit by bit the longer I stood there with my eyes covered, trying to pin the dang tail.

Afterward, when the humiliation was over, I called my mom to come pick me up. I was so overwhelmed and uncomfortable that I needed to leave. I saw no other choice.

The girls were making fun of me because I was going home, and I couldn’t handle the rejection. It just felt like it wouldn’t end.

That was one of the only times I experienced bullying, but that moment stayed with me. It taught me to keep quiet, isolate myself, and stay away from people who I thought would make me a target.

Looking back now, I realize just how sensitive I was—not only to environmental changes but also to social situations. I was always incredibly sensitive and so in tune with my feelings that it became a big part of how I saw myself.

I was extremely quiet in social settings. I felt awkward with my gestures, my facial expressions, and even the way I interacted with people. I never felt like I naturally knew what to say or how to act.

I truly thought my sensitivity made me become less… me.

I thought it was something I needed to fix.

I became really good at blaming myself.

When I started to wonder if I might be autistic in my 30s, I thought I would finally feel clarity. Instead, I found myself constantly second-guessing myself.

Did I really have autism?

I have ADHD, but does that mean I’m also on the autism spectrum?

What if I was wrong?

I didn’t want to take away from anyone else’s experiences with neurodivergence. I didn’t want to claim something that wasn’t mine or minimize someone else’s experience.

But the more research I did, and the more I learned about autism in women, the more things started to make sense.

I was learning more about autism because of my godson, who was diagnosed when he was three. I wanted to know more about it and how I could help him if he needed me for anything—support, care, or love.

But the more I read about it, the more the traits of autism stood out to me and made me think, “Gee, that’s describing me to a tee.”

Then I started looking more into the relationship and overlap between ADHD and autism. I also dug into what autism really looks like in girls and women.

That’s where everything started changing for me. It was a realization and a moment of confirmation.

I realized autism was a part of my story.

But with that clarity came something I didn’t expect: grief.

Not because I was autistic.

But because I realized how many years I had spent believing something was fundamentally wrong with me.

I grieved the person I thought I was supposed to be. The person I was constantly trying to become. The version of myself who wouldn’t overthink everything, who could walk into a room and feel comfortable, and who didn’t need so much time to recover.

Looking back now, I see someone who was trying incredibly hard to make sense of a world that didn’t always make much sense to her.

The realization wasn’t one big moment where everything suddenly clicked. It was dozens of little memories that suddenly looked different through a new lens.

Things I had dismissed. Things I thought were just personality traits. Things I thought everyone experienced.

I Thought Everyone Rehearsed Conversations

Before making a phone call, I would play the conversation over in my head. I’d think about what I wanted to say, imagine how the other person might respond, and come up with answers before the conversation even started. Sometimes I would rehearse a simple voicemail multiple times before finally calling.

I honestly thought everyone did this.

There was one phone interview where I acted like I knew everything about jewelry and fashion. I think it was for an office assistant position, but during the call, the interviewer asked me several questions about fashion and beauty—something I wasn’t very interested in or knowledgeable about.

She asked what designers and brands I knew. I could only blurt out one answer.

Then silence.

Nothing else came to mind.

It was awkward, tense, and embarrassing. I walked away from that conversation knowing I had messed up and replayed it over and over in my head.

I had rehearsed the essentials: tell us about yourself, what did you do in your last job, what are your strengths, and what are your weaknesses. I wasn’t prepared for a question that came out of nowhere.

So, I froze.

Afterward, I replayed the entire conversation, wondering what I could have said differently.

I didn’t realize I wasn’t just preparing for a conversation.

I was trying to prepare for every possible outcome.

I Thought Being Around People Was Supposed to Be This Exhausting

I have always loved spending time with people I care about. And I have a fear of missing out, so I’ve usually been right there, ready to go. But with that excitement also comes a lot of energy spent.

I have always felt like my brain works overtime when it comes to socializing.

I’m constantly thinking: Am I saying the right thing? Am I being awkward? Am I talking too much? Am I fitting in?

Because of the fear of missing out and the rejection sensitivity I experience, I push through events without hesitation. But afterward, my body and mind are completely exhausted.

This happens almost every time I go out, whether it’s all day or only 20 minutes. I become overwhelmed and completely drained of energy.

I thought everyone felt this way.

I thought socializing was just something everyone had to recover from.

I Thought I Was Just Too Sensitive

Bright lights bothered me. Crowded stores made me want to leave almost as soon as I walked in. Certain fabrics felt unbearable against my skin. Strong smells would linger with me long after everyone else seemed to forget about them.

Anytime I go shopping for new clothes in person, I get overwhelmed. The bright lighting in fitting rooms, which already makes you feel like you look so unflattering, doesn’t help. The different scents of perfume filling the air, the constant bombardment of salespeople trying to talk to you, and the different fabrics to try on that always make me overheated all add up quickly.

It all becomes too much.

I feel overwhelmed, anxious, and overstimulated so quickly that I sometimes become nauseated.

I honestly can’t shop for hours on end. I’m more of the see it, like it, buy it, and go home immediately to decompress kind of person.

For years, I thought I was just being too sensitive.

I didn’t realize my brain was processing everything around me all at once.

I Didn’t Realize How Much Energy I Spent Pretending I Was Fine

One of the hardest things to recognize wasn’t what I did.

It was what I hid.

I learned how to smile when I was overwhelmed, how to make eye contact even when it didn’t feel natural, how to laugh because everyone else was laughing, and how to push through situations that left me completely drained.

The hardest part about masking is that I didn’t know I was doing it.

I thought I was just trying to be polite.

I thought everyone was constantly monitoring themselves and adjusting themselves.

I got so good at masking that I fooled myself, too.

I Thought My Need for Routine Meant I Was Inflexible

I never really knew how much I relied on routines for comfort and safety. Perhaps it’s because I never saw my routine as a typical routine.

I didn’t have a set schedule or a calendar filled with things to do. I had a routine of my own.

Wake up. Eat breakfast. Go to school or work. Come home. Do homework, activities, or housework. Cook dinner. Eat. Relax and unwind.

Nothing was timed or overly structured. It was just a normal day that most people would probably consider typical.

But outside interruptions to my routine were overwhelming. I couldn’t handle unexpected changes.

Unfamiliar food during a weeknight dinner.

People unexpectedly coming over.

Plans changing.

They might have seemed like small things, but they changed the course of what I expected, and I didn’t always handle them well.

I like knowing what to expect. I like having a plan. I like familiar things.

It brings me more comfort and grounding than I ever realized.

I Thought My Interests Were “Too Much”

When I find something that lights me up, I don’t just casually enjoy it.

I dive in completely.

I want to know everything.

I want to research it, talk about it, and understand every detail.

People who really know me know how much passion I hold for my interests.

One of my biggest interests has always been sports. I love everything about them—the game, the camaraderie, and the competition. Having that feeling of representing your country, your state, or your city has always been meaningful to me.

I take so much pride in the city I live in, and I support all of our sports teams.

But my biggest passion is baseball.

More specifically, Los Angeles Dodgers baseball.

You’ll probably never see me as vocal about anything else. This is an interest I can talk nonstop about.

I’ll tell you about every player on the team. I’ll tell you about Kirk Gibson’s legendary walk-off home run during the 1988 World Series. I listened to the great Vin Scully and absorbed every word he said about the game.

So, if I find another Dodgers fan, I get excited because I finally have someone to share that passion with.

And when I’m talking about baseball, I don’t have the same hesitation I have in other conversations.

I don’t have to search for the right words.

I don’t have to wonder if I’m saying too much.

I can just be myself.

For years, I worried that I was too obsessed or that I cared too much about things other people moved on from.

Now I see those interests as some of the places where I feel most like myself.

The Biggest Thing I Didn’t Realize

The biggest thing I didn’t realize wasn’t one specific trait.

It was how much of my life had been shaped by believing I needed to change.

I spent years trying to become someone who wasn’t overwhelmed so easily. Someone who could keep up. Someone who didn’t need as much quiet. Someone who seemed effortless.

But no matter how hard I tried, I always ended up feeling like I was falling short.

Learning I was autistic didn’t suddenly make life easy.

I still get overwhelmed. I still need quiet. And I still have days when my brain feels like it’s processing everything all at once.

But the difference is that I no longer see those things as personal failures. I see them as part of how my brain works.

And that has changed the way I speak to myself.

Instead of asking, “What’s wrong with me?”

I find myself asking, “What do I need?”

It seems like such a small shift.

But for me, it has changed everything.

For most of my life, I thought I needed to become someone else. But now, I’m learning that I was never bad at being a person.

I was simply trying to understand myself.

And finally understanding myself has been one of the most freeing experiences of my life.

Have you ever looked back at parts of yourself and realized they made more sense than you originally thought?

“The greatest thing in life is to discover who you are.”— Michael Crichton

Listen to the podcast episode here:

https://embracetheunseen.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/07/Things-I-didnt-realize-were-autism-until-my-31.mp3