“You talk about autism all the time.”
“You never used to mention this stuff before.”
“Why do you have to make everything about autism?”
If I had a dollar for every time someone said one of these things to me, I could probably fund a full-scale autism advocacy campaign. Since my diagnosis, it’s become a constant refrain—friends, family, coworkers, even casual acquaintances chiming in with their opinions on what I should or shouldn’t talk about.
And honestly? It pisses me off.
Before the Diagnosis
For 27 years, I didn’t know I was autistic. I knew I was different. I knew socializing felt like walking through a maze with no exit. I knew I hated loud noises, bright lights, and being touched. But I thought those were just personal quirks—things I had to suppress or hide to fit in.
So I did. I stopped complaining when the world felt too loud. I forced myself to go to parties, to make eye contact, to smile even when I was dying inside. I learned how to mask so well that most people had no idea anything was wrong.
But here’s the thing: suppressing your true self doesn’t make you fit in. It makes you disappear.
The Relief of Being Seen
When I was diagnosed, it felt like someone had handed me a map to my own brain. Suddenly, everything made sense—the sensory sensitivities, the social struggles, the hyperfocus, the burnout. I wasn’t broken; I was autistic.
And for the first time in my life, I had language to describe my experiences.
So I started talking.
I wrote about the pain of masking, the joy of stimming, the challenges of navigating a neurotypical world. I talked to anyone who would listen—friends, family, strangers on the internet. I started this blog as a way to process my experiences and connect with others who might feel the same.
Why I Talk About Autism
- Because I Spent Years Being Misunderstood. For most of my life, people thought I was shy, awkward, or just difficult. Talking about autism helps me rewrite that narrative.
- Because People Still Don’t Get It. Every time someone says, “But you don’t look autistic,” I realize how much work we have left to do.
- Because Representation Matters. When I was diagnosed, I struggled to find stories of autistic women who looked and felt like me. I want to be the voice I didn’t have.
- Because It’s Part of Who I Am. Talking about autism isn’t “making everything about autism.” It’s making sense of my life and sharing that understanding with others.
The Backlash
Of course, not everyone gets it. Some people roll their eyes when I bring up autism, as if I’m beating a dead horse. Others accuse me of using my diagnosis as an “excuse” or “attention grab.”
But the worst comments come from people who think talking about autism is somehow negative.
“You used to be so positive,” they say, as if acknowledging my struggles erases my optimism. But here’s the thing: I’m not “obsessed” with autism—I’m obsessed with truth. With being seen, heard, and understood. With helping others feel less alone.
What They Don’t See
What people don’t see is the joy this journey has brought me. They don’t see the relief of finding my community, the comfort of knowing I’m not alone, the strength that comes from embracing who I am.
They also don’t see the moments of quiet connection—like the email I got last week from a reader who said my blog helped them see their own autism in a new light. Or the friend who said, “I finally understand you better.”
These moments remind me why I talk about autism, even when it’s hard.
What I Wish People Knew
- Talking About Autism Is Healing. Every blog post, every conversation, every comment is a step toward self-acceptance.
- It’s Not About You. If my conversations about autism make you uncomfortable, maybe it’s time to examine why.
- We Need More Voices, Not Fewer. The world needs more autistic people sharing their stories, not fewer.
Visual Snapshot
Right now, I’m sitting at my kitchen table, surrounded by scraps of paper covered in half-finished ideas for this blog. There’s a cup of tea on one side (lukewarm, as usual) and a half-eaten granola bar on the other.
The sunlight streams through the window, warming the wood beneath my hands. My cat is perched on the windowsill, staring out at the squirrels like she’s plotting world domination. It’s a messy, chaotic scene, but it feels right—like this is exactly where I’m meant to be.
FAQ
Q: Why do you talk about autism so much?
A: Because it’s part of who I am. Talking about autism helps me process my experiences and connect with others.
Q: Do you think people are tired of hearing about it?
A: Maybe. But that’s not my problem. If my story helps even one person feel less alone, it’s worth it.
Q: Isn’t it better to focus on the positives?
A: I do. But focusing on the positives doesn’t mean ignoring the challenges. Life is complicated, and so is autism.
Final Thoughts
Talking about autism isn’t a burden—it’s a privilege. It’s my way of making sense of the world and helping others do the same.
So if you think I talk about autism too much, that’s fine. You don’t have to listen. But for those who do, know this: you’re not alone.
And if you need me, I’ll be here—writing, talking, and sharing—because this is what I was meant to do.
