When people ask me what autism feels like, I hesitate. How do you describe something that’s both a lens and a barrier? Something that shapes how you experience the world but also makes you feel completely out of sync with it?
The best way I can explain it is this: imagine you’re an alien, dropped into a human world with no manual, no guide, and no way to go home. You look human, you sound human, but everything about human life feels… wrong.
The Sensory World: Too Much and Too Little
The sensory experience of autism is like living with a radio that’s stuck between stations.
Some days, everything is too loud. The hum of the refrigerator, the rustle of papers, the buzz of fluorescent lights—it all blends into a cacophony that drowns out your thoughts. Other days, it’s the opposite. Voices feel muffled, like they’re coming from underwater, and you have to focus intensely just to catch what someone’s saying.
Touch is another story. I remember wearing a wool sweater as a kid because it was “cute,” even though it felt like being wrapped in barbed wire. On the flip side, I love the weight of my cat sleeping on my chest or the smooth, cool surface of a polished stone in my hand.
Socializing: A Game Without Rules
Social interactions feel like trying to play chess when everyone else is playing poker. The rules aren’t clear, and even when you think you’ve figured them out, someone changes the game.
When I was younger, I thought friendship was like math: if you followed the right steps, you’d get the right result. So, I memorized scripts, practiced facial expressions in the mirror, and kept a mental list of “safe” topics to discuss. But no matter how hard I tried, I always seemed to mess up.
Once, in middle school, I asked a friend why she seemed upset with me. Her response? “If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.” I spent weeks replaying every conversation in my head, searching for my mistake.
Now, as an adult, I’ve learned that some people appreciate direct communication while others find it intrusive. It’s still confusing, but I’ve accepted that I’ll never fully “get” it—and that’s okay.
The Double-Edged Sword of Special Interests
One of the best (and sometimes hardest) parts of being autistic is my relationship with special interests.
When I’m immersed in a special interest, the world fades away. Time becomes irrelevant, and my focus is so sharp it feels like magic. I’ve spent entire weekends researching obscure historical events, organizing my books by genre, or perfecting a single recipe.
But not everyone understands. They see my passion as “obsession” and my enthusiasm as “too much.” In college, a professor once told me to “dial it back” during a class discussion because I was “monopolizing the conversation.” I wasn’t trying to—I was just excited.
Burnout: When the World Wins
The hardest part of being autistic is the burnout.
Imagine running a marathon every day without rest. That’s what it feels like to navigate a neurotypical world. The constant masking, sensory overload, and social demands eventually take their toll.
When burnout hits, everything feels impossible. Even simple tasks like brushing my teeth or responding to a text message become insurmountable. It’s not laziness—it’s survival.
What I Wish People Knew About Autism
- It’s Not Always Obvious. Many autistic people mask their traits, so you might not realize how much they’re struggling.
- It’s Not a Tragedy. Autism comes with challenges, but it also comes with unique strengths—creativity, focus, and resilience, to name a few.
- We’re Not All the Same. Autism is a spectrum, and no two autistic people are alike.
- Support Makes a Difference. Small accommodations—like clear communication, sensory-friendly spaces, and patience—can have a big impact.
Visual Snapshot
I’m writing this in my favorite spot: a cozy corner of my living room, tucked away from the world. The soft hum of a white noise machine fills the air, drowning out the distant sounds of traffic. My weighted blanket is draped over my lap, and my favorite stim toy—a small, smooth piece of amethyst—is resting in my palm.
Outside, the sky is a pale gray, and raindrops slide lazily down the window. It’s quiet, predictable, and safe—everything I need to feel at peace.
FAQ
Q: Does autism feel the same for everyone?
A: No. Autism is a spectrum, so each person’s experience is unique. What feels overwhelming to me might be soothing to someone else.
Q: Can autistic people enjoy socializing?
A: Absolutely! Many of us love meaningful conversations or spending time with close friends. It’s the small talk, noise, and unpredictability that can make socializing difficult.
Q: How can I support an autistic person in my life?
A: Be patient, listen without judgment, and ask what accommodations would help. Even small gestures—like offering a quiet space or writing down instructions—can make a big difference.
Final Thoughts
Autism isn’t just one thing. It’s joy and struggle, connection and isolation, clarity and confusion—all wrapped up in a single, complicated package.
If you’re autistic, know this: your experiences are valid, your needs are important, and you’re not alone. And if you’re neurotypical, thank you for taking the time to understand.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to dive into my latest special interest—because sometimes, being an alien in a human world has its perks.
