I’m an autistic adult, and there are things I experience that people probably wouldn’t believe unless they lived inside my brain for a day.
Hey, can we talk about something?
Because I feel like when people hear the word autism, they already have this picture in their heads of what an autistic person is supposed to look like, sound like, and act like.
And then there’s me. 💁🏽♀️
I’m 26. I’m a mom, a fiancée, a creator, and someone with approximately a million ideas running through her head at any given moment.
I’m also autistic. And I have ADHD.
And sometimes? My brain and I are NOT on speaking terms.
Literally.
So, welcome to another edit. Today we’re getting into some of the things I experience as an autistic adult that people don’t always see or understand.
1. I can literally lose the ability to speak.
And I don’t mean I don’t feel like talking.
I mean the words are RIGHT THERE.
I know what I want to say. I can hear the entire conversation happening in my head. Sometimes I’ve even rehearsed my response.
But when it’s time to actually speak?
Nothing.
My mouth has apparently clocked out without submitting a PTO request.
And the most frustrating part is that I cannot just force the words out, no matter how badly I want to.
Imagine desperately wanting to explain yourself while someone keeps asking why you’re not answering.
Now imagine not being able to tell them why.
That’s what makes it so overwhelming.
I’m not intentionally ignoring anyone. I’m not being disrespectful or giving anyone the silent treatment.
Sometimes I genuinely cannot access my speech.
2. I can become so overwhelmed that I shut down.
Sometimes everything becomes too much.
Not necessarily because something dramatic happened, either.
And suddenly, responding to people, making decisions, or even explaining what I need feels impossible.
The frustrating thing is that the world doesn’t stop just because my brain needs a minute.
I’m still an adult. I’m still a mother. I still have responsibilities.
But being responsible for things doesn’t magically give me the capacity to handle everything at once.
3. Sometimes I can’t explain what’s wrong because I don’t know yet.
“What’s wrong?”
A perfectly reasonable question.
Unfortunately, my brain has decided that the answer is classified information.
Sometimes I know something feels off, but I haven’t figured out whether I’m overwhelmed, frustrated, exhausted, anxious, or dealing with a combination of everything.
And when someone expects an immediate explanation?
That can make it even harder.
Sometimes I need space to understand what I’m experiencing before I can put it into words.
4. Eating can be an entire situation.
I also have ARFID, which stands for Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder.
And no, it’s not simply being a picky eater.
Sometimes food can be difficult because of texture, smell, taste, or the way my brain responds to it.
People sometimes assume that if you’re hungry enough, you’ll just eat.
I wish it were that simple.
Being hungry doesn’t automatically make food easier to tolerate.
And having someone pressure me about eating doesn’t suddenly solve the problem.
5. Sometimes I need silence, but I don’t want to be alone.
This one is important.
I can genuinely enjoy someone’s company and still need them to stop talking for a little while.
Not because they’ve done anything wrong.
Not because I’m upset with them.
Sometimes my capacity for conversation is just gone.
I might still want someone sitting beside me. I might still want affection or reassurance.
I just don’t necessarily have the energy to participate in a conversation.
And I wish more people understood that needing quiet isn’t the same thing as rejecting someone.
6. Autism and ADHD can feel like two departments that refuse to communicate.
One part of me wants structure.
Another part wants something new.
Sometimes I have so many ideas that I don’t know where to start.
Other times, I know exactly what I need to do, but getting started feels like an entire project of its own.
And yes, I can be passionate about creating things, building projects, and making plans while simultaneously struggling with things that look much simpler from the outside.
Being capable of complicated things doesn’t mean every simple thing comes easily.
7. I can be physically present and still feel disconnected.
I also experience dissociation and derealization.
Sometimes I can be somewhere physically while feeling disconnected from myself or my surroundings.
It’s a difficult experience to describe to someone who hasn’t felt it.
And while I’m not saying these experiences are necessarily caused by autism, they’re part of my reality.
My experiences don’t fit neatly into one diagnosis.
Sometimes different things overlap, and figuring out what’s happening isn’t always straightforward.
8. Being a mother doesn’t make me any less autistic.
I think this one deserves its own conversation.
Because motherhood comes with so many expectations about what you’re supposed to be able to handle.
But becoming a mother didn’t suddenly change the way my brain processes the world.
I’m still learning my limits.
I’m still navigating my own needs while caring for someone else’s.
And sometimes that means finding ways to do things differently instead of forcing myself to function the way everyone expects me to.
I can love being a mom and still acknowledge that some things are challenging.
Both can be true.
9. Just because I can do something today doesn’t mean I can do it tomorrow.
This is one of those things I wish people understood without needing a full explanation.
Sometimes I can talk for hours.
Sometimes speaking feels impossible.
Sometimes I can be productive, creative, and fully engaged.
Other times, even responding to a message can feel overwhelming.
And I know how confusing that can look from the outside.
But having the capacity to do something once doesn’t guarantee I’ll have that same capacity every single time.
I’m not deliberately being inconsistent.
My capacity changes.
10. I spend a lot of time trying to make myself understandable to other people.
And this might be one of the most exhausting parts.
Trying to explain why I reacted a certain way.
Trying to communicate something I don’t fully understand myself yet.
Trying to make sure people don’t mistake my silence for an attitude.
Trying to explain that I can be independent and still need support.
Sometimes it feels like I’m constantly translating my own existence into a language everybody else can understand.
And sometimes?
I wish I could just exist without having to explain every part of myself.
here’s what I really want people to understand.
I’m not sharing these things because I want anyone to feel sorry for me.
I’m sharing them because there’s a difference between someone refusing to do something and someone genuinely struggling to do it.
There’s a difference between being quiet and being unable to speak.
Between not caring and not having the capacity to respond.
Between being capable and being capable all the time.
And I think we need to make more room for those differences.
I don’t expect everyone to understand every part of my experience.
I don’t even understand every part of it myself yet.
But I do wish people would stop assuming that if they can’t see someone struggling, then that person must not be struggling at all.
Because sometimes the loudest thing happening in my life is something nobody else can hear.
And sometimes, the words are all there. I just can’t get them out.
With love,
Sheema 💗