Unmasking Me: My Journey to Understanding Autism
"I was successful, yet anxious and depressed. I felt stupid and slow." On paper, I was doing well. I did fine in school, held jobs, and raised two wonderful kids with the love of my life, whom I met at 17. But under the surface, I was constantly overwhelmed. Socially, I felt awkward and unsure. Friendships faded as quickly as they began, and I spent most of my time alone. But around my husband, I felt different - more myself. It took years to understand that it wasn’t just love or comfort. I wasn’t changing for him; I was unmasking around him. Motherhood heightened everything. I doubted myself constantly. I felt like I was always two steps behind everyone else. Why was everything so hard? So draining? Despite it all, I held onto my version of success: love, family, a home I was proud of. But beneath that was an inner voice whispering, You’re broken. It wasn’t until I started seeking answers for my daughter that I finally found answers for myself.
Stupid & Slow
The assessment came in two stages. The first involved a detailed history - my childhood, adolescence, motherhood, daily life. I qualified to move to stage two. The second appointment was clinical and cold: a hard floor, a desk, two chairs, and a hospital bed. I couldn’t focus. The environment swallowed my attention. I masked through the entire thing - without even realising I was doing it. Eventually, I was told I’d receive a report. It never arrived.
The First Assessment
A routine doctors appointment for antidepressants turned into a turning point. The doctor asked about my life - school, friendships, daily functioning. Then, she gently said something that stunned me: “You remind me of other women I’ve seen - intelligent, capable, but possibly autistic.” Autistic? That word had never entered my mind. She explained how women often go undiagnosed or misdiagnosed until later in life. She referred me for an autism assessment. For the first time in a long while, I felt hope.
I'm Autistic?
Two Years Later
Two years passed. In a family therapy session, I was asked, “What do you want to get out of this?” I said I didn’t want my daughter growing up feeling the way I had - confused, anxious, lost. Autism came up again. My sister pointed me to a course from the National Autistic Society about autistic girls. It was like reading my life story. I returned to my doctor: “Whatever happened to that report?” Eventually, it surfaced. The conclusion? Social anxiety. That was it. Of course I had social anxiety! I’d masked through the entire thing and didn’t even know what masking was back then. Determined, I compiled a 15-page document - hyperfocus in full swing - filled with notes, evidence, and reflections. I sent it to the GP and assessor. It worked. I got a new assessment and a fresh start.
This time, the approach was different. The assessor, a speech therapist, explained that the Autism Diagnositic Observation Schedule (ADOS) tool often fails to capture autistic traits in women. She used alternative methods. One task involved listening to a story and summarising it. All I got from it was, “A man flew to Ireland.” She asked if there was more. I added, “He had a map?” That was it. She explained that my brain filtered out details - it summarised, not out of carelessness, but out of difference. Another task: name as many animals as possible in 60 seconds. I closed my eyes and visualised Chester Zoo, naming animals I remembered from that day. I got to 15. When I tried this with my husband, he named over 40. I asked which zoo he had walked around. He looked confused. That was the moment I realised - I am a visual thinker. He joined me for a few appointments. The therapist asked what I’d been like to live with, as a partner and mother. Before long, COVID hit, and appointments moved online. But she had seen enough. I was autistic. She helped me create a Health Passport - a tool I now hand to reception staff before any medical appointment. It tells them how best to communicate with me: avoid jargon, check understanding. It helps them help me.
Take Two
Relief. Sadness. Clarity. The diagnosis reframed my entire life. It made sense of my past - friendship fallouts, family dynamics, work struggles, even how I parent. I began revisiting memories and wondering how different life might’ve been if I had known sooner. I hyperfocused on learning. Books, podcasts, online communities, courses. Social media turned into a source of connection and validation. Five years on, I’m still learning. But now, I’m anchored. I’ve stopped calling myself “stupid.” I ask for clarification when I need it. I understand that my brain may take longer to process some things - but it also excels in ways others might not. I no longer try to be someone I’m not. “My brain isn’t broken. It just works differently.”
A Life Reframed