Autism is not a singular experience. It’s not a specific trait or behavior you can point to and say, “That’s autism.” It’s a kaleidoscope—a shifting, fractured mosaic of sensory, emotional, and cognitive experiences that can feel overwhelming, fascinating, and exhausting, sometimes all at once.
If you’re not autistic, you might wonder: What does it actually feel like? The short answer is that it’s different for everyone. The long answer? Well, here’s mine.
The Spectrum Isn’t Linear
Let’s start with the basics: autism is a spectrum. But forget the image of a straight line from “mild” to “severe.” That’s not how it works. A better metaphor might be a mixing board in a recording studio, with sliders for things like sensory processing, communication, social interaction, repetitive behaviors, and special interests. Each autistic person’s “sliders” are set to different levels, creating a unique soundscape.
For me, certain sensory inputs—like fluorescent lights or overlapping conversations—are cranked up to unbearable volumes, while my ability to process social cues is often dialed way down. Someone else might experience the opposite. Autism is complex, multidimensional, and deeply personal.
The Sensory Storm
Imagine walking into a room, and instead of just seeing the space, you feel every light, smell every scent, and hear every sound—each one competing for your attention. It’s not just loud; it’s all loud.
For me, the world often feels like static on an old TV set, with everything coming at me all at once. The flicker of a ceiling fan, the hum of a refrigerator, the itchy seam of a sweater—they’re not background noise; they’re front and center. I’ve spent hours searching for “the perfect hoodie” because the wrong fabric against my skin can ruin an entire day.
But sensory overload isn’t always bad. Sometimes it’s magical. The taste of a perfectly ripe peach can make me tear up. Watching sunlight filter through tree leaves feels like witnessing a secret miracle. The same intensity that overwhelms me can also make the world feel extraordinary.
Social Navigation: A Game Without Rules
Being autistic in social situations is like trying to play a game where everyone else knows the rules, but nobody bothered to explain them to you. I’ve spent years building a mental Rolodex of “acceptable responses” for different scenarios. Smile when someone compliments you. Laugh (but not too loudly) at jokes. Ask questions about the other person’s weekend.
Even with all my preparation, I often feel like I’m failing. Conversations can feel like math problems—if I say X and they say Y, what’s my next move? Small talk, in particular, feels absurd. Why are we discussing the weather when we could be talking about black holes or how jellyfish have survived for millions of years?
Special Interests: Joy and Hyperfocus
One of the best parts of being autistic is diving headfirst into special interests. For me, it’s like falling in love, over and over again. When I’m into something—whether it’s the etymology of words, the history of shipwrecks, or the mechanics of how clocks work—I want to know everything.
Hyperfocus can be a gift, allowing me to accomplish things that might take others much longer. But it’s also a double-edged sword. I’ll skip meals, ignore texts, and lose hours (or days) to research. To the outside world, it might look obsessive, but for me, it’s pure joy.
Emotional Intensity
I’ve been told my whole life that I’m “too much.” Too sensitive. Too intense. Too emotional. I feel things deeply, whether it’s happiness, sadness, or anger. If a friend is upset, I’m upset. If I’m excited about something, I can’t contain it. My emotions don’t trickle; they flood.
This can make relationships challenging. Sometimes I care so much that it physically hurts, and I struggle to express my feelings in a way that feels “normal” to others. But I wouldn’t trade this intensity for anything. It’s what makes me me.
The Myth of “High-Functioning”
You might have heard terms like “high-functioning” autism, but let me tell you: it’s misleading at best and harmful at worst. Functioning labels ignore the fact that someone can appear capable in one area while struggling deeply in another.
I might excel at writing a detailed report but crumble when the fire alarm goes off unexpectedly. I might hold a job but need hours of recovery time after a meeting. “Functioning” isn’t a binary—it’s fluid, and it changes day by day, even moment by moment.
What Being on the Spectrum Has Taught Me
Autism has taught me to embrace difference—not just in myself, but in others. It’s shown me that the world doesn’t have to be experienced in one “right” way. Neurodivergence isn’t a flaw; it’s a variation.
Do I wish some things were easier? Of course. But I’ve also learned to appreciate the unique ways my brain processes the world. Autism isn’t one thing. It’s not just meltdowns or sensory issues or special interests. It’s a tapestry of experiences that can’t be summed up in a single word or label.
Final Thoughts
If you’re autistic, or think you might be, I hope you find comfort in knowing that you’re not alone. If you’re neurotypical, I hope this gives you a glimpse into the complexity of being on the spectrum.
Autism isn’t one thing—it’s many things, overlapping and intertwining. It’s challenging and beautiful and frustrating and profound. It’s static and sparks, storms and sunlight. And it’s a part of me I’m learning to love more every day.
Resources to Explore:
- The National Autistic Society
- Autistic Self Advocacy Network (ASAN)
- Understanding the Autism Spectrum
What does autism feel like to you? I’d love to hear your experiences in the comments. Let’s keep the conversation going.
