living with autism: my routines, challenges, and small comforts.

you shine in your own color.

Autism doesn’t always look the way people expect. It’s often shown in media and stereotypes as a set of obvious traits, but the spectrum is much more complex.

I also know this is only how I experience life. Someone else on the spectrum might see the world completely differently, with their own routines, challenges, mannerisms, and comforts that make sense to them. Our expression can look different too. Sometimes what’s happening on the surface doesn’t match what’s happening inside. I can seem quiet or blank while my mind races, trying to find the right words to make sense of everything at once.

Fictional shows like Atypical have helped more people hear the word “autism,” but they also reinforce stereotypes, like how the main character’s fascination with penguins becomes his defining trait. It can make autism look like a single storyline rather than a spectrum. Reality-based shows such as Love on the Spectrum seem to approach things more genuinely, and while I haven’t watched much of it myself, I’ve heard positive things about how it represents autistic adults and their search for connection. I just hope that kind of visibility continues to come from a place of care, not exploitation, the way some shows on networks like TLC have used people’s differences for profit.

Because of that, I didn’t realize I was autistic until adulthood. Looking back, the signs were always there: the way I thought, the way I interacted, and the little habits I carried.

People often saw me as dramatic, but it was because I naturally overthought the smallest things. In high school, I felt stupid, but now I recognize I wasn’t. My brain was just processing things differently. Autism affected how I understood language, how I saw friendships, the people I struggled to keep, and the comforts I held onto. Living with autism shaped my life piece by piece, whether I wanted it to or not. Accepting that has been part of learning who I am.

growing up and fitting in.

In early middle school, my mom put me into speech therapy because of how literal I was. I went to learn idioms and different phrases. She told me recently that friends and teachers suspected I was autistic, but back then she was nervous that maybe she had done something wrong.

My speech therapy class consisted of two or three other kids. Some worked on their lisps while I tried to learn sayings that I honestly don’t even remember now. I’d leave class for a short time, learn a few new idioms, and then return as if nothing happened.

I’ve always been literal and logical in the way I think. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

One of the hardest parts of my childhood was forming friendships. I never felt like I fit in, which left me wanting to be by myself most of the time. I was awkward in groups, so I’d hang out with my dog, play video games, or make friends online.

There was a game called OurWorld where I met people who actually gave me a chance, even though they didn’t know what I looked like. That helped me feel less alone. My younger brother and I were forced to be at my dad’s apartment, where I’d sit on my twin mattress with my old Dell laptop, talking to my internet friends for hours. That’s one of the few things I miss about childhood, having people to consistently game with. We didn’t talk to each other because of how we looked in person; we were kind to each other because of who we were on the inside.

Having low self-esteem and insecurities, this was especially meaningful. I never liked who I was, to the point where I created a new identity for myself instead of using a name that was forced on me.

It reminds me of how trans people create names that align with who they are. That should be normalized. We should be able to create our own names because it’s our life, and a name is part of identity. Even though friendships were complicated, I always found comfort in certain things that gave me a sense of stability.

finding comfort.

Music production has been one of my main hobbies for years, along with video games. During the COVID-19 pandemic, Fortnite became my comfort game. There are so many parts of Fortnite I adore: the cosmetics, the collaborations, and the originality. Many say Fortnite doesn’t have its own identity, but I probably love the original material in the game more than the crossovers.

It’s one of those games where many of its brought-over IPs are on point. Whether it’s Spider-Man, Dragon Ball, or one of the original outfits, I’m always excited to use them. Fortnite has something for everyone, sometimes even something you wouldn’t expect to enjoy. If someone asked me to explain the lore of Fortnite, I could go on for hours. Honestly, if ASU had a class on Fortnite the way they had one on Taylor Swift, I’d probably be qualified to teach it.

These routines may look small from the outside, but they give my days structure and peace, the kind of stability I once thought I’d only find by fitting in.

My need for comfort also ties into how I experience the world through my senses. Being detail-oriented is part of that. I notice little things whether I want to or not, and I hold onto what makes me feel safe. That same attention to detail shows up in how I process sound, light, and movement.

sensory experiences.

My hearing has gotten more sensitive over time. While sensitivity can increase with age, I get overstimulated much more easily now, especially in loud places. AirPods Pro help filter sound, and I use them often to protect my hearing.

Even something as basic as walking gets noticed. People have called me out for walking “weird,” like being on my toes. At work, I’d sometimes try to walk in a way that looked normal. But the more I focused on it, the more unnatural it felt. I just hoped nobody would notice, because once someone points it out, it’s hard not to feel self-conscious.

One time, a co-worker mentioned her son walks the same way. It made me wonder if he might be on the spectrum or if it was just a coincidence. Either way, it reminded me how some people might not recognize these traits until later in life, the same way it took me until my late twenties to piece things together. These small differences often show up in how I interact with others.

conversations and social life.

Even now, in my late twenties, I still struggle with conversations. Sometimes I cut people off by accident, which is something I’ve been called out for before. It’s not because I think what I have to say is more important. It’s just hard to find the right timing. I often find myself trying to match others’ energy, but it can backfire, especially when the other person is much more energetic, and I’m just trying to catch up.

Group conversations are just as challenging. By the time I work up the nerve to say something, the topic has already moved on. Then I’m unsure whether to mention it or let it go.

I’ve been alone most of the time. I never really had a solid friend group, and that outcast feeling has stuck. Alongside the social side of autism, mental health has also played a massive role in my life.

mental health overlaps.

Mental illness has been part of my life, though not really addressed until recent years. Antidepressants helped me think more rationally and feel stable enough to manage daily life again.

I suspect I also have ADHD, which is common for people on the spectrum. My mind runs nonstop until I’m drained at the end of the day. Thoughts jump everywhere, which makes it harder to decide what to say out loud. It can make me look slow when I’m really just stuck choosing.

I also have a habit called stimming, which is common among autistic people. For me, one form of it has been air-writing.

Since childhood, if I heard a phrase or word that stuck with me, I’d trace it in the air with my finger in almost cursive. I haven’t shared that with anyone before, but I’d often catch myself doing it while watching TV or movies, mainly when my mind drifted. It hasn’t been as common in adulthood, but once in a while, I still notice myself doing it when I’m drowsy.

Sleep has been another challenge. I’ve talked in my sleep, recorded myself saying gibberish, and even acted out things while half-awake. Stress made it worse, but I’ve learned to manage it better now. Another challenge that comes with autism for me is how I handle unpredictability and control.

anxiety and control.

Unpredictability is hard for me to cope with. I deal with death anxiety, especially in my twenties. I overthink mortality and the unknown of what happens when we die. The uncertainty and lack of control make it overwhelming. When I’m overwhelmed, I sometimes wish I could just disappear for a while. But then I remember that even the idea of being nothing, of not existing, terrifies me. I hope that, as people say, you learn to accept reality more with age. But part of me wonders if this is something I’ll always carry, even knowing nothing changes.

Other unpredictable situations trigger me too. Things like smoking weed or having an edible heighten my sense of being out of control. Even when I logically recognize what’s happening, it doesn’t stop the panic until it passes. It feels like a mental fight or flight response. It’s similar to being put under anesthesia, when you’re aware that your eyes are shutting and there’s nothing you can do about it. Or being so tired that your eyelids close even while part of your mind stays alert and panics at the shutdown.

That lack of control is probably part of why I hold onto routine so tightly, especially when it comes to work.

work and routine.

For about five years, I stayed at the same remote position because it felt safe. Having never worked at another company, I struggled with the idea of leaving for a place where I might be valued and paid a wage that would allow me to eat more than one meal a day. Given my financial struggles, part of me wanted to leave. But I was also afraid of the risk of being employed somewhere new where I might be more likely to be fired. Stability felt better than uncertainty, especially when I was already stretched thin financially and emotionally.

Over time, I realized that holding onto stability came with its own cost. My work life started to feel like a version of myself that didn’t exist anywhere else. It was something that hadn’t bothered me until the past year, but I began to notice how much energy went into pretending I was fine. I recognize that we fill a role and are often seen as a position rather than a person, but I think over time that drains us more and more. My color fades little by little until I feel like there’s no life left. I’ve always valued being transparent and true to myself, but in a space where authenticity is replaced by performance, it becomes harder to stay whole. I’ve come to understand that this is a form of masking, something I’ve done most of my life without realizing it. Even though I only connected that piece last year, it explains so much about the exhaustion I’ve carried for years.

reflecting on living with autism.

Autism isn’t one thing, such as a single trait or stereotype. From my experience, it’s a mix of literal thinking, comfort in routine, struggling in groups, ADHD traits, sensory differences, and anxieties I can’t always dismiss. But it’s also shaped who I am today.

It’s helped me see that my way of thinking isn’t scattered the way I once believed. It’s interwoven. My thoughts move through layers of emotion and detail, connecting things that might not seem related at first. I’ve learned to see that as a strength, a different kind of rhythm that helps me find meaning where others might not notice it.

I’m learning how to bring color back into my life by being honest about who I am, even when it feels easier to fade into the background.

Autism is becoming more recognized and accepted, but the misconceptions still linger. Every time I see public figures spread false claims, like the idea that something as ordinary as Tylenol causes autism, I’m reminded of how easy it is for people to dehumanize what they don’t understand. These statements don’t just spread misinformation; they erase real people who live full, complicated lives. I’ve spent years learning to accept who I am, and I wish more people understood that autism isn’t something to fear or fix, but a different way of existing.

We’re not stupid or broken. We just see the world differently and keep learning how to make that our strength.

Originally posted August 21, 2025. Edited on November 8, 2025.