Discovering Myself: My Journey to Understanding Autism in My Late 30s

Making peace with my past—learning to love and understand myself.

For most of my life, I felt like a puzzle piece in the wrong box—close, but never quite fitting where I was told I should. I didn’t know why I struggled in certain situations, why I felt things so deeply, or why I couldn’t process the world the same way others seemed to. It wasn’t until my late 30s that I found the missing piece of my puzzle: I’m autistic.

It was a revelation that cracked open the world in the most extraordinary way. Suddenly, all the quirks, struggles, and idiosyncrasies I’d fought to hide or explain had a name and a reason. Alongside this discovery, I learned something else: I’d been diagnosed with ADHD as a child—something that had been tucked away and forgotten but made perfect sense in light of everything I was uncovering.

A Lens of Understanding

When I look back on my life through the lens of my diagnosis, it’s as if someone turned on the lights in a dimly lit room. My sensory processing challenges, for example, finally made sense. The way multiple conversations, background noise, and chaotic environments made my brain feel like it was wobbling inside my skull wasn’t “just me being dramatic”—it was how my brain processes sensory input.

I now understand why I often need structure and routine to feel grounded, but also crave bursts of spontaneity to feel alive. Why driving—just me and the road—feels like the only time my thoughts are truly clear. Why I’ve always been prone to anxiety, why stress can push me into a meltdown, and why my brain holds onto moments from years ago only to process them fully on some random Tuesday.

It’s as though my mind works on a different timeline. I can wrestle with a concept for years, and then one day, like flipping a switch, it clicks. When it does, it’s profound. I not only understand it, but it becomes part of me in a way that will never leave.

Living Authentically

Since my diagnosis, I’ve learned to embrace my needs instead of fighting against them. I’ve stopped forcing myself to handle environments that are too much for me. I’ve started giving myself permission to step away from conversations, mute the chaos, and take control of my sensory input. I’ve realized it’s okay to need order in my space to calm the storm in my mind.

I’ve also begun to forgive myself for the years I spent misunderstanding my own reactions, breakdowns, and struggles. I know now that my meltdowns weren’t failures but overwhelmed responses from a brain processing more than it could handle. My “quirks” are not flaws but parts of a neurodiverse mind that sees the world in vibrant, sometimes overwhelming detail.

And I’m learning to let go of the negative comments I heard growing up—words from unaware adults who didn’t understand what I was struggling with or why. All the times I was called a brat, difficult, stubborn, defiant, or spoiled rotten because of meltdowns, breakdowns, or simply being direct and literal—those words now carry a different meaning. They weren’t reflections of who I was but rather of a world that didn’t yet understand neurodivergence.

Looking back, I see how hard it was to be a neurodivergent child in a neurotypical space, trying to process information, emotions, and experiences that often felt overwhelming and impossible to manage. What others saw as defiance or stubbornness was often my way of coping or making sense of a world that felt too loud, too fast, and too confusing. Recognizing this now helps me extend grace not only to myself but also to the people who didn’t understand me back then.

Understanding this has been freeing. It’s helped me replace the guilt and shame I once carried with compassion for the child I was—a child doing their best in an environment that didn’t yet have the tools to help them. That compassion has allowed me to finally start letting go of the pain those words left behind.

Growth Through Understanding

This journey hasn’t been just about looking back—it’s about moving forward. With every passing day, I discover more about myself. I’ve started to view my brain as a mosaic of strengths and challenges, each piece unique but contributing to the whole.

Understanding my autism and ADHD has been like opening a door to myself. It’s helped me embrace the things I need to thrive, even if they don’t look like what others might expect. It’s given me the tools to better navigate my anxiety and sensory overload. And it’s helped me live a fuller, richer life, one where I don’t have to constantly apologize for who I am.

Conclusion

Finding out I’m autistic in my late 30s wasn’t the end of a journey—it was the beginning of one. A journey toward self-compassion, understanding, and growth. If you’ve ever felt like a puzzle piece in the wrong box, I want you to know that there’s nothing wrong with the piece. Sometimes, you just need to find where it belongs.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your story. Let’s share the ways we’ve found clarity and understanding in our lives. Life in full spectrum is messy, beautiful, and worth embracing.