Self-discovery is a winding and often surprising path. For me, it’s shaped by a series of realizations—some small, some life-changing—that are being revealed as I go. This is all still very new to me, and many of these realizations feel raw and current. After being diagnosed as autistic in 2019, I started uncovering the reasons behind so many things I’d struggled to understand about myself. Without supports for adults newly diagnosed—especially those diagnosed later in life—it has been a challenging journey. I still uncover things that shake me. I still question a lot of what I have been doing and why.
Reflecting on my high school experiences through a daily prompt recently brought one of my biggest breakthroughs in a long while. I realized why math never made sense to me, while chemistry felt intuitive. Abstract numbers—theoretical symbols or values not tied to real-world objects—felt untethered, like random elements floating in space. Chemistry, on the other hand, grounded those numbers, connecting them to tangible, real-world reactions: how certain ingredients interact to create new substances or how molecules change form. This realization wasn’t just about academics—it helped me understand how differently my brain processes information.
It’s fascinating how these discoveries often emerge unexpectedly. One realization that stands out is why I hate taking my own photo but feel okay when someone else takes it. When someone else takes my picture, I feel beautiful, desired, and seen in a positive light—all the good things. But when I take it myself, I’m forced to confront vulnerable, flawed parts of myself that I usually try to keep hidden. This triggers overwhelming emotional reactions—crying, sensory overload, and anxiety—that are difficult to manage. Trying to reshape these feelings too early, before I’m emotionally ready, can be damaging. Pushing myself risks reinforcing negative associations and creating setbacks.
Having guidance from a medically qualified therapist is invaluable for navigating challenges like this. Therapists can determine which areas of masking, aversions, or self-perception are safest and most constructive to address first. They ensure that changes are approached with care and at a pace that promotes growth rather than overwhelm. For me, there is still far too much emotional aversion tied to this particular issue to work on it without risking significant setbacks. Although I may not fully understand why I feel differently when someone else takes my picture versus when I take it myself, recognizing that emotional disparity is enough for now. I’ve accepted this as part of who I am for the moment. I’m not ready to reshape it or feel good on both sides of the camera just yet, and that’s perfectly okay.
As I began exploring what it means to be autistic, I uncovered things that were both unsettling and freeing. Learning about masking was one of the most profound moments. Masking is a deeply ingrained behavior, often starting at a very young age—typically around the ages of 5 to 7—when social interactions become more complex and expectations for conformity increase. It becomes a survival tool for navigating societal expectations and avoiding criticism, exclusion, or bullying. Masking helps us blend in and minimize the challenges that come with autism. However, masking comes at a cost—it can lead to burnout, as the constant suppression of natural behaviors and emotions takes a toll on mental health.
For anyone who has learned to mask, peeling back those layers and allowing the true self to emerge is a delicate and often overwhelming process. Masking becomes second nature—it feels so ingrained that unmasking can leave you questioning who you really are beneath it all. This makes the process emotionally charged and complex. It can’t be rushed, and it should never be forced. Removing the mask too quickly or without proper support can result in devastating setbacks, including heightened vulnerability, intensified anxiety, and the reinforcement of unhealthy coping mechanisms.
Unmasking in front of someone requires an extraordinary level of trust—a rare and hard-earned trust rooted in a deep sense of safety. It’s not just about feeling safe; it’s about knowing the person will truly see you with all your vulnerabilities and complexities and still accept and value who you are beneath the mask. Trust means knowing they won’t use your authenticity against you, judge your differences, or violate the fragile confidence it takes to share your unmasked self. For someone with ASD, this kind of trust can take years to develop. Unmasking is a profound act of vulnerability, and in trusted spaces and with people who have proven themselves, I’ve started to let my guard down.
Trust and communication also play pivotal roles in relationships. Relationships with someone who has ASD come with unique challenges and opportunities. Autistic individuals may interpret language literally or struggle to read between the lines, while neurotypical partners may rely on unspoken cues or assumptions, leading to misunderstandings. Sensory sensitivities—such as sensitivities to touch, light, or sound—can further impact intimacy and shared activities. Open communication is essential for these relationships and involves both partners being willing to ask and answer questions without judgment. Creating space to process conflict or express emotions without pressure has also been key.
Pressing in areas where masking or aversions already exist—such as sensory challenges or emotional vulnerabilities—without proper readiness could inadvertently reinforce unhealthy patterns or create deeper aversions. Still, many relational challenges can be addressed through patience, mutual understanding, and a commitment to adapt to differences. Autistic partners often bring valuable strengths to relationships, such as honesty, loyalty, and deep commitment. These qualities can help build trust and foster emotional safety. Open dialogue and a shared willingness to grow together make all the difference in building healthy and supportive connections.
Sensory processing challenges are another significant aspect of my experience with autism. Reactions to overwhelming sounds, lights, or textures can lead to meltdowns or avoidance behaviors. Without proper support, it’s easy to develop unhealthy coping mechanisms, like isolating myself or suppressing my needs.
One example is my struggle with dental care. For years, brushing my teeth felt overwhelming because of the texture of adult toothbrushes. After someone in an online ASD group shared a similar experience, I tried switching to a kids’ toothbrush, and it made an immediate difference. Something I’d dreaded became manageable—even enjoyable.
I was so excited to share this discovery at my next dental appointment. My hygienist’s reaction floored me: “I should have thought of that! My little brother is autistic and has that issue.” She suggested using a cleaning method designed for children, which made a huge difference and completely changed how I felt about a once-overwhelming task.
I also learned something fascinating about my dental experience. I had managed to handle dental cleanings far longer than most people with ASD, who often require sedation as early as preschool age due to sensory sensitivities and challenges with cooperation during procedures. Sedation is frequently necessary for autistic individuals to complete dental work in a safe and stress-free manner. However, because sedation clinics couldn’t accommodate my medical needs, I had to rely on a hospital dental clinic equipped to handle complex cases like mine. Following the hygienist’s suggestions, I was able to last a few more years without needing sedation for any dental work, leaving appointments calm and confident instead of overwhelmed. These realizations were empowering and deeply relieving, reminding me how small adjustments can make a significant difference.
Finding the “why” behind these challenges has been a journey of learning to embrace who I really am. It’s not always easy. Some discoveries feel strange or even embarrassing at first. For example, I realized my oral fixation—tied to my history as a smoker—had become a stim, a way to self-soothe. I didn’t realize I was more likely to develop habits like this, but understanding it helped me quit smoking by finding healthier alternatives, like using a pacifier, sucking on a sucker, or chewing on the end of my pen when I’m deep in thought. It’s something I rarely show in public, but those closest to me know and accept it. Accepting these parts of myself has been hard but also freeing. It reminds me that I can’t always change who I am, but I can learn to navigate life in ways that work better for me.
These small discoveries might seem insignificant, but for me, they’re profound. Each one feels like shedding a layer of what others expect from me and revealing a little more of my true self. It’s scary at times, like peeling back a protective cocoon, but it’s also incredibly freeing. Taking it slow and allowing myself time to process is essential to making this journey manageable.
Every discovery, no matter how small, brings me closer to accepting myself. And the more I embrace who I am, the more I find I can accept others for who they are too.
The best thing I can do for my mental health in all areas of my life is to accept who I am, as I am right now. This does not mean being unwilling to change, but to acknowledge that I might not be able to change certain things—or that change may not happen in the way I envision.
After all, science has proven that the autistic brain works differently than a neurotypical brain.
Have you had moments of discovery—those realizations that seem to unlock something huge about yourself, no matter what it is related to? Feel free to share your story. Let’s explore this journey together.
Who am I? 
I would love to hear from you!