My Autism Diagnosis Gave Me A Map For Well-Being

It’s been about a year and a half since I was diagnosed autistic. But only about 6 months since I’ve shared it out loud with anyone. For most of my life, my autism went unrecognized - and I’m not the exception. Research is now showing that a huge percentage of autistic women go undiagnosed or misdiagnosed well into adulthood - often because we don’t fit the version of autism people have been taught to look for. I didn’t line up toys, act out or struggle in school in obvious ways (I was always the “teacher’s pet” actually) - I didn’t “look autistic.” Even as a child therapist, it never crossed my mind, because my struggles didn’t match what I’d been taught to look for. What I did do was adapt. I became incredibly good at studying people. I watched conversations and decoded them - tracking tone, timing, facial expressions, when to laugh, when to nod. I memorized social “rules” instead of intuitively feeling them, and forced eye contact (even though it made it harder to understand what I was hearing). I rehearsed what I was going to say, scanning for the exact moment to jump into a conversation. I replayed interactions afterward - analyzing what I missed, what I got wrong, what I’d do differently next time. Consciously adjusting my social algorithm. I learned how to be easy. Just low maintenance, high-achieving, and I built systems - so many systems. Routines that kept me grounded, environments I could control, and predictability that made the world feel more manageable. And underneath it all was this quiet belief that life is just hard. But overall, I could mostly keep things on the rails. I wasn’t thriving, but I was functioning well enough for people not to notice. Then, I became a mom. And everything I had carefully built to keep myself regulated started to collapse. Because motherhood is the exact opposite of what my brain relies on to function well. It’s constant noise, nonstop touch, sooo much unpredictability. It’s being needed before you’ve finished a thought, it’s plans changing without warning (my nightmare!), and never fully completing a task - just kinda pausing it mid-way, over and over again. It’s overlapping sounds - crying, talking, toys, questions - all at once, all day long, and having your body touched when your nervous system is already maxed out, and it’s decision fatigue that starts the moment you wake up. It’s social interactions with teachers, parents, doctors - where you’re expected to just show up and respond in real time - no script, no prep, no recovery time. And slowly, I started unraveling. Internally it just felt like my nervous system was constantly buzzing - like I was always one step away from overload. Small things felt big, transitions felt hard, and my patience felt forced - I knew who I wanted to be, and I was using every ounce of energy to try to get there. And the hardest part was that I just couldn’t figure out why. I’m a therapist, understanding people - understanding myself - is literally what I’m trained to do. But something wasn’t adding up. Why did everything feel so hard? Why was I so burnt out that even “breaks” weren’t helping me recover?? (Which is almost funny now, because part of being autistic is this relentless need to understand why - a great strength if you harness it!). Getting diagnosed didn’t suddenly change my life, but it made my life make sense. For the first time, I wasn’t looking at my struggles through the lens of why can’t I just handle this better? Or what do I need to heal further to grow? But now it was ohhh, this is how my brain and body process the world. That shift sounds small, but it’s not. Because I stopped trying to “fix” myself and started actually supporting myself. And for the first time in maybe my whole life, I feel good. Like, deeply good. (Especially now that I’ve worked my way out of my postpartum depression - but that’s a different story). I’m finally able to work with my wiring, instead of against it. My autism lens gave me a roadmap for wellness. So here are the tools that I use daily now: Sensory overload. I reduce input before I hit the edge (as best I can). Before, I pushed through - until I snapped. it was what I was taught to do. I’d stay in the noise, the chaos, the overwhelm, until yoink - my last string would snap. Now, I monitor my inside sensations and catch it earlier. I keep earplugs on me at all times (love my Loop earplugs) and throw them in during high-noise moments (play spaces, restaurants, just at home). I build in micro-breaks - even just 3 intentional moments alone in the bathroom, to consciously reset. I lower stimulation, where I can - dim lights, sunglasses, less background noise OR calm music to stabilize the background noise (really depends on the moment), fewer competing inputs. We leave places early if I start to feel my energy getting drained. I don’t wait until I’m overwhelmed to respond to overwhelm. I tell my kids, “My cup is getting full - I need to reset before it overflows and I spill my feelings on other people.” I have no shame in saying it, because I want them to learn to do the same. Constant touch. I now set boundaries before resentment builds. There used to be this part of me that thought being “available” meant always saying yes to physical closeness. I knew that wasn’t true, but I felt compelled to say yes. Now, I’ve fully embraced that my body has limits - and honoring them makes me more available. So sometimes it’s, “I need a body break, but I’d love to sit next to you.” Or “I can’t pick you up right now, do you want to hold hands?” Or “Let’s snuggle in a few mins.” Connection still happens - just in ways I can actually sustain. And honestly? This is how kids learn boundaries too. Executive function overload. I externalize everything. My brain is not meant to hold a million moving pieces - it’s just not. So I stopped trying. Everything lives outside my brain now - notes app lists, visual reminders, alarms, written routines (you should see my calendar lol). If it’s important, it exists somewhere I can see it. Transitions and unpredictability. I prep my brain ahead of time. Sudden changes still throw me. So, I build in predictability where I can. I look at the next day the night before, I mentally walk through what’s coming, I give myself “heads up” language, kind of like I do for my kids. And? I say “no, that doesn’t work for me, let’s find a new solution” more freely now when things pop up. Flexibility isn’t forcing myself to adapt instantly - it’s planning in a way that works for me. Social exhaustion. I design connection around my capacity. I used to push through social plans, then crash for days. Dread beforehand, total shut down during at some point, then full-body burnout for days after. And the constant thought of what is wrong with me?? Socializing is supposed to be GOOD for you and fill your cup?? Now I know: Nothing is wrong with me. I’m autistic. So I don’t force eye contact, or stay “on” the whole time, or overextend then pay for it with a social hangover later. I do shorter hangs, clear exits, and very intentional settings - places I’m comfortable in. And I build in recovery time with Mike, my husband. We’re such a better team with this new understanding. But overall, I don’t force connection at the expense of myself anymore. Emotional overload. I repair without turning it into a story about who I am. I still get overwhelmed and have meltdowns sometimes - even with all the prevention tools I just shared and try my best to use. But I don’t spiral about it anymore. I own it, repair, reset, and move forward - without dragging shame behind me. Just like I’d want my kids to do with their mistakes. Fixating. I interrupt the loop instead of trying to “solve” it. Fixating - looping on the same thought, conversation or feeling - has been one of the biggest invisible struggles for me. Replaying something I said, overanalyzing a look, a tone, a moment, and running the same mental loop over and over, trying to figure it o…