Key Takeaways
1. Late Autism Diagnosis Recontextualizes a Lifetime of Misunderstanding
‘If you’ve ever been on a night out where you got blackout drunk and have laughed the next day as your friends tell you all the stupid stuff you said, that’s what being autistic feels like for me: one long blackout night of drinking, except there’s no socially sanctioned excuse for your gaffes and no one is laughing.’
A sudden revelation. Fern's diagnosis with autism in adulthood, after years of misdiagnosis and feeling "strange," provided a crucial lens through which to re-evaluate her entire life. This moment, initially met with disbelief by her father and guilt by her mother, explained a lifetime of perceived social gaffes, intense interests, and emotional struggles that had previously been dismissed as deliberate difficulty or bad behavior. The diagnosis wasn't just a label; it was a key to understanding her unique way of experiencing the world.
Childhood re-examined. Many childhood experiences, from an aversion to being held as a baby to violent meltdowns over clothing sensations, were suddenly understood as autistic traits rather than signs of being "very, very bad." Her intense interest in learning Danish at eight, or studying multiple languages "for fun," were re-framed as special interests, a common autistic characteristic often overlooked in girls who are instead seen as merely studious. This re-evaluation highlighted how early signs were consistently missed or misinterpreted by parents and professionals alike.
A new perspective. The diagnosis offered a profound sense of relief, akin to reading "the most accurate horoscope ever" that explained why she had felt like an alien for most of her life. It clarified why she struggled with social situations, why her parents' emotional responses were often baffling, and why she felt a deep connection to inanimate objects like a tree. This newfound understanding, though initially met with resistance and a desire to keep it secret, ultimately became the foundation for self-acceptance and advocacy.
2. Masking: The Exhausting Performance of Normality
Though masking is incredibly taxing and causes us a lot of existential turmoil, it’s rewarded and facilitated by neurotypical people.
The constant act. For much of her life, Fern engaged in intense masking—suppressing natural autistic responses to appear neurotypical. This involved meticulously studying social skills online, observing others, and even adopting a "loud, hoarse voice" and "angry vulgar Scot" persona in comedy to manage perceptions. The effort was immense, like "trying to speak a foreign language 24 hours a day," leading to profound exhaustion and a feeling of being "frighteningly fake."
Consequences of camouflage. The continuous performance of normality took a severe toll on her mental and physical health. Masking meant she couldn't relax in social situations, constantly double-checking everything she said, and often misinterpreting social cues despite her best efforts. This led to misunderstandings at work, where her directness was seen as rudeness or anger, and her shyness as coldness. The internal pressure to conform was immense, leading to a constant state of hypervigilance.
The breaking point. The relentless effort of masking eventually led to severe breakdowns, particularly when she returned home. Her brain, forced to run "up to ten" programmes at once, would "overheat and shut down," resulting in meltdowns where she would destroy furniture. This internal struggle was invisible to others, who only saw her as "high-functioning," unaware of the immense energy expended to maintain that facade. The pandemic, forcing her to live with her boyfriend full-time, exacerbated this, as the constant presence of another person made decompression impossible.
3. Meltdowns and Shutdowns: The Unseen Reality of Autistic Overload
An autistic meltdown is when you ignore your sensory overstimulation – whether that’s a build-up of noise, lights, socializing or uncertainty – become dysregulated and lose control of your brain, speech, body and movements.
Beyond an outburst. Autistic meltdowns are far more than typical emotional outbursts; they are an "electrical shitstorm" that seizes the brain and musculoskeletal system, leading to a loss of control over speech, body, and movements. Fern describes them as "fucking mental," involving shouting, breaking things, and repeating words or questions, while feeling like a "tiny machine operator perched in the top of my head" helplessly watching the rampage. These are often triggered by accumulated sensory overstimulation, stress, or disrupted routines.
The silent sister. While meltdowns are outwardly explosive, shutdowns are their less visible counterparts, where an autistic person goes mute or becomes unresponsive, often misinterpreted as sulking or being difficult. Fern experienced shutdowns, like the one in Sydney, but notes that meltdowns, being disruptive, compelled her to seek answers. The lack of understanding around both phenomena means that autistic individuals, especially women, are often misjudged, with their distress seen as manipulative or aggressive rather than a genuine loss of control.
Societal dangers. The profound misunderstanding of meltdowns has severe consequences, particularly when law enforcement is involved. Incidents like Courtney Topic and Kayden Clarke, both autistic individuals, being shot dead by police during meltdowns, highlight the critical need for training and empathy. These tragic events underscore how society's inability to recognize and respond appropriately to autistic distress can escalate situations, treating a neurological event as a criminal act, akin to punishing someone having an epileptic seizure.
4. Sensory Overwhelm: A Constant Battle in a Neurotypical World
My sensory problems were also a daily issue.
A world not built for us. From childhood, Fern experienced intense sensory issues that profoundly impacted her daily life, often leading to meltdowns. Simple things like an itchy lace dress at a wedding, tightly braided hair, or the sensation of her own clothes on her skin could trigger violent reactions. These were consistently misinterpreted as her being "deliberately difficult" or "evil," rather than a genuine response to unbearable sensory input.
Everyday challenges. The fluorescent lights and noise of a school dinner hall, the smell of washing powder in supermarkets, or unexpected physical touch all created a "special kind of sensory hell." These experiences were not just uncomfortable but overwhelming, forcing her to seek refuge in places like school toilets for lunch or to scratch her skin frantically after being touched. The lack of understanding meant she had to hide these reactions, leading to internal distress and maladaptive coping mechanisms.
The impact on routine. Autistic individuals thrive on sameness and routine, and any disruption can be deeply dysregulating. Fern's aversion to holidays, for instance, stemmed from the unpredictable nature of travel, the sensory assault of airports, and changes to routine. Even seemingly minor changes, like a manicurist cutting her nails too short, could trigger a cascade of sensory distress and meltdowns, highlighting how deeply intertwined sensory experiences are with emotional regulation and overall well-being.
5. Navigating the Labyrinth of Unspoken Social Rules
If you could be fluent in a foreign language then surely you could become fluent in social skills. But it didn’t seem logical – the rules of social skills weren’t anything like as fixed as the rules of language.
A foreign language. For Fern, social interaction felt like navigating a foreign language without a dictionary or consistent rules. She literally didn't understand common phrases or the nuances of conversation, leading to constant confusion and frustration. Her attempts to learn social skills, like studying a Swedish high-class hooker's YouTube channel or consulting Debrett's for cheeseboard etiquette, often backfired, resulting in further social faux pas and isolation.
The "social game." She gradually realized that much of neurotypical interaction involved a "social game" of pretense and unspoken expectations, such as "building relationships" by feigning friendship for work purposes or understanding that "we don't want Fern this time but maybe for the second series" actually meant rejection. This deception, considered a "kindness" by neurotypicals, was appalling to her direct, logical mind, making genuine connection incredibly difficult and leaving her feeling perpetually "out of sync."
Misinterpretations and consequences. Her directness and "fact-finding" questions were often misconstrued as rudeness, prying, or even "manipulative." Complimenting a friend's weight loss by comparing him to Kirstie Alley, or asking a comedian if he had Marfan syndrome, were genuine attempts at connection that resulted in hurt feelings. This constant cycle of misunderstanding, where her sincerity was taken as calculation and her insincerity as truth, led to social exclusion and reinforced her feeling of being an "alien."
6. Vulnerability and Misinterpretation in Relationships
Autistic girls are way more vulnerable to grooming and exploitation.
A magnet for trouble. Fern's autistic traits, combined with a lack of social intuition and a desperate desire to fit in, made her highly vulnerable to exploitation and toxic relationships. Her inability to read intentions or understand complex social dynamics meant she often befriended anyone who showed her kindness, regardless of their true motives. This was evident in her experience with "Mo," an elderly Pakistani shop owner, whose initial kindness mirrored the early stages of grooming scandals she later recognized.
Misreading intentions. Her directness and sexual precociousness, stemming from a lack of regard for gender norms and a logical approach to sex, were often misinterpreted by adults. A doctor, for instance, saw her seeking contraception as a sign of "something being 'up'" rather than responsible self-advocacy. In relationships, her autism was often romanticized by men as "mysterious" or "aloof," masking deeper issues and making her susceptible to partners who projected their own ideals onto her.
Toxic dynamics. The lack of clear boundaries and her difficulty in asserting herself made her prone to abusive relationships. Her experience with John, who physically assaulted her, highlighted how her inability to "perform the role of victim correctly" (e.g., recounting trauma in a flat, disaffected tone) led to further misunderstanding from professionals. This vulnerability, coupled with a tendency to over-identify with fictional tropes, meant she often struggled to recognize and escape dangerous situations, leading to repeated cycles of trauma.
7. Special Interests: A Deep Dive into Passion, Even for People
For many of us, our special interest is our romantic partner.
Intense focus. Autistic individuals often develop "special interests" – intense, focused passions that bring immense joy and a sense of purpose. While stereotypes often link these to trains or science, for autistic women, these interests can manifest in people, particularly romantic partners. Fern consistently made her boyfriends her special interest, becoming "hyper-aware" of their needs and desires, often to the detriment of her own identity and other pursuits.
Overlooked in women. This manifestation of special interest in people is frequently missed in autistic women, as society often expects women to orbit around men's lives. This societal norm makes it difficult for doctors to identify this intense focus as an autistic trait, leading to misdiagnosis or overlooked symptoms. Fern's intense preoccupation with her relationships, sometimes to the exclusion of friends or academic life, was a clear example of this, yet it was never recognized as an autistic characteristic.
The double-edged sword. While special interests can be a source of deep engagement and knowledge, they can also lead to an imbalance, especially when directed towards people. Fern's intense focus on her partners meant she struggled to develop a strong sense of self outside of these relationships, often adopting their interests and opinions. This intense dedication, while sometimes leading to deep connections, also made her vulnerable to manipulation and emotional dependency, as her entire world could revolve around another person.
8. The Mental Health System's Failure to Understand Autistic Needs
CAMHS started a lot of us on a pathway that doomed us to be in and out of psychiatric treatment for pathologies we didn’t have.
Misdiagnosis and ineffective treatment. Fern's journey through the mental health system, from a teenage diagnosis of OCD and depression to later psychiatric units, was marked by profound misunderstanding. Doctors, relying on outdated criteria based on autistic males, dismissed her self-identified autism because she made eye contact and had boyfriends. This led to inappropriate treatments, like high doses of Prozac that exacerbated her self-harm, and therapies like CBT that failed to address the root causes of her distress.
The "Westleigh Way." Her experience in a teen psychiatric unit, "Westleigh Way," epitomized this systemic failure. Instead of genuine therapy, she encountered patronizing staff, arbitrary rules (like "crap is not a Westleigh Way word"), and a focus on "discipline" rather than understanding her mental state. The unit's environment, with its performative language and lack of real support, felt like a "holding pen" designed to make adults comfortable, rather than helping the "young people" within it.
A cycle of harm. The system's inability to recognize autism in girls led to a cycle of misdiagnosis, ineffective interventions, and the internalization of being a "problem" girl. Staff misinterpreted her directness as "manipulative" and her attempts at small talk as "intrusive," further isolating her. This systemic failure, which Fern argues likely affected many undiagnosed autistic individuals in the unit, not only wasted resources but also instilled identities rooted in pathology, setting them on a path of repeated psychiatric treatment for conditions they didn't truly have.
9. Finding Belonging and Acceptance in Unconventional Spaces
Everything about my personality that made me a problem at university or in most jobs seemed to be treated as some sort of magical power in stand-up.
Escape through performance. After years of feeling like a misfit in conventional settings, Fern found an unexpected sense of belonging and validation in stand-up comedy. Her directness, unique observations, and "weird" personality traits, which were liabilities elsewhere, were celebrated as "magical power" on stage. This environment, populated by people who were "more mentally ill than not," offered a refreshing acceptance that contrasted sharply with the judgment she faced in academia or office jobs.
Stripping as a pragmatic choice. Similarly, stripping, though often stigmatized, provided a surprisingly accommodating work environment for her autistic traits. It offered a predictable routine, minimal fluorescent lighting, and repetitive interactions with men that required "no tricky social cues to read." The job's brutal honesty about transactional dynamics, and the freedom to call out male harassment, felt more straightforward than the subtle misogyny and "studied informality" of other workplaces. It was a pragmatic choice that met her financial needs without the exhausting social demands of other jobs.
The power of shared experience. In both comedy and stripping, Fern found communities where her experiences were understood, or at least tolerated, without the need for constant masking. Other strippers, many of whom were also "impulsive" or "misfit women," offered a "shorthand" of understanding. In comedy, the shared experience of being an outsider allowed her to be "just you," a profound relief after a lifetime of trying to be someone else. These unconventional spaces, despite their own challenges, offered a rare sense of authenticity and acceptance.
10. Autistic Honesty vs. Allistic Social Deception
I tried to work out how lying to someone’s face was a kindness.
The truth, unvarnished. Fern's autistic brain operates on logic and directness, making the pervasive "social game" of neurotypical interaction deeply confusing and frustrating. She struggled to understand why people would say one thing but mean another, or why "lying to someone's face was a kindness." This fundamental difference in communication styles led to constant misunderstandings, as her sincere attempts at directness were often perceived as rude, aggressive, or manipulative.
The cost of authenticity. Her inability to play along with social pretense, such as adhering to "studied informality" in TV meetings or perpetuating stereotypes about Scottish people in comedy, often put her at a disadvantage. While neurotypicals easily adopted "two-dimensional recognizable caricatures" or feigned friendship for professional gain, Fern found the "dishonesty of it" jarring. This commitment to authenticity, though noble, often resulted in her being edited out, overlooked, or deemed "difficult" in industries that valued palatable performance over genuine expression.
A double empathy problem. Fern's experiences highlight the "double empathy problem," where autistic individuals struggle to understand neurotypical communication, but neurotypicals often fail to reciprocate the effort. Her direct questions, like asking a producer the "point of the meeting," were met with discomfort, while her earnest attempts to explain her background were dismissed. This imbalance meant she was constantly trying to decipher a secret language, while others made little effort to understand her, leading to a profound sense of isolation and the realization that "the world wasn't going to change to accommodate me."
11. The Journey to Self-Acceptance and Autistic Self-Advocacy
You have to accept not everyone will like you and that some people love you for being the way you are.
Initial resistance. Post-diagnosis, Fern initially resisted embracing her autistic identity, fearing it would invalidate her achievements and lead to others thinking she was "stupid." She vowed to keep it secret, to "never mention it or complain about it and I’d act normal at all times," hoping neurotypicals would still like her. This internal conflict reflected years of societal conditioning that taught her to hate her autistic traits and strive for an elusive "normalcy."
A floodgate of understanding. Despite her initial reluctance, the diagnosis opened a "floodgate" of self-discovery. She binged on autistic podcasts, books, and online communities, realizing she was "way closer to the people who ‘looked’ more autistic" than to the allistics she pretended to be. This immersion helped her understand that her struggles were not personal failings but common autistic experiences, leading to a gradual shift from self-loathing to a desire for self-acceptance.
Empowerment through knowledge. The journey involved meticulously tracking her meltdowns, identifying triggers, and implementing self-advocacy strategies, such as demanding reasonable accommodations and learning to say "no" to draining social situations. She learned to value her autistic honesty, recognizing its power to expose "what is false or hypocritical or a collective delusion." This path, though challenging, ultimately led to a profound sense of self-understanding and the realization that an "autistic brain could provide an escape route from the traditional paths laid out for women."
Last updated:
Similar Books
