19/01/2026
This!!
I’m autistic, and being asked to have a shower
can feel like you’ve just asked me to find world peace.
Because it’s not just a shower.
It’s the temperature change.
The noise.
The transition from dry to wet to dry again.
The interruption to whatever little stability
I was holding onto.
I’m autistic,
and going to the supermarket
is not “just popping out.”
It means preparing myself
mentally and emotionally.
I need to know the time.
I need to know how busy it will be.
I need to know where I’m going,
what I’m buying,
how long it will take.
And if it’s too busy, too loud, too bright,
I might have to leave halfway through
or come back another day
not because I don’t want food,
but because my body is in survival mode.
I’m autistic,
and I eat safe foods.
The same foods.
Over and over.
Because unfamiliar textures, smells, or tastes
can make my nervous system revolt.
It’s not stubbornness.
It’s self-preservation.
I’m autistic,
and phone calls feel overwhelming.
I rehearse what I’m going to say.
I panic about being misunderstood.
I put them off until they become heavier
than the call itself.
I’m autistic,
and plans changing at the last minute
can knock the wind out of me.
Even if the new plan is “better.”
My brain had already built a map,
and now I’m lost.
I’m autistic,
and small tasks can feel impossibly big.
Starting is the hardest part.
Finishing can take everything I have.
Not because I can’t do it, because the steps don’t line up neatly in my head.
I’m autistic,
and I have ADHD.
My brain lives in constant push–pull.
My ADHD wants novelty, stimulation, movement.
My autism needs routine, predictability, calm.
One part of me is shouting “GO,”
the other is begging for stillness.
And some days, I can’t tell which way is left
and which way is up.
I have time blindness.
I underestimate how long things take.
I forget things I care deeply about.
I lose track of my body’s needs until hunger or exhaustion hits like a wall.
I struggle with transitions,
from rest to action,
from home to outside,
from one thought to another.
I struggle with being perceived.
With eye contact.
With small talk that feels anything but small.
I mask.
I script.
I perform “fine”
when inside I’m managing noise, light, emotion, expectation all at once.
I’m autistic.
I have ADHD.
This is not a phase.
It’s not something I’ll grow out of.
It’s not something love or discipline will erase.
It’s not laziness.
It’s not defiance.
It’s not me being difficult on purpose.
It’s not personal.
It’s just me.
I may not Look anything, but I’m autistic and have ADHD.
Michaela