The Double Rainbow
The following blog has been written by an anonymous contributor who wanted to share their personal experience of being diagnosed with autism later in life. By opening up about their journey, they hope to offer insight, challenge misconceptions, and let others know they’re not alone.
I like to live in the present because it’s where I feel most comfortable. Each day is an opportunity to grow and learn ultimately to be at peace. But reaching this place has taken time, self-reflection and a deeper understanding of who I am – especially after being diagnosed with autism later in life.
Being Diagnosed as an Adult
I was diagnosed with ASD1 (Autism Spectrum Disorder) in adulthood under the ICD-10 (International Classification of Diseases 10th Edition). Autism is a condition that affects how people experience and engage with the world – particularly in how we communicate, process sensory information and connect with others. According to the National Autistic Society, there are at least 700,000 autistic adults and children in the UK.
Before my diagnosis, I already had a long history with mental health struggles. I was diagnosed with anxiety and later agoraphobia, but I never thought they could be connected to autism. I’d lived through childhood trauma, a complex adolescence and the journey of coming into myself as a trans woman. But autism? Absolutely not – or so I thought.
It was an old friend who suggested the idea to me. They were going through the diagnostic process themselves and seemed to see something in me I hadn’t yet seen in myself. At first, I was quite angry and tried to put it out of my mind. All I could think of was Rain Man with Dustin Hoffman (1988) – a dated and narrow image of what autism looks like. I didn’t recognise myself in it at all. But the comment stuck with me.
The Search for Answers
I started looking into autism quietly at first. YouTube became a haven – I spent hours watching videos, hearing stories that sounded surprisingly familiar. I took an online AQ (Autism Quotient) test, which helped me begin to connect the dots. Things started to make sense.
Eventually, I sought a formal diagnosis through the NHS. Afterward, I joined an Adult Autism Psychoeducation Group. Behaviours I once didn’t fully understand – like rocking or head banging as a child – turned out to be stimming, a natural and common way for autistic people to regulate and soothe themselves.
Life after Diagnosis
Getting a diagnosis didn’t change who I was – but it changed how I understood myself. It helped me make sense of years of confusion, especially around relationships and communication.
I struggle with social cues and indirect language. I often miss subtle things – hints, tone shifts, unspoken expectations. I do my best with clarity, but many people don’t communicate that way. That mismatch can sometimes create distance or misunderstandings.
One example: if we met at an event and later passed each other on the street, I might walk right by without saying hello. Not because I’m being rude – but because I genuinely might not recognise you out of context. If you’ve changed your look – your hair, your clothes, your accessories – it makes it even harder. It’s not intentional, though I’ve had many people think otherwise.
The Push and Pull of Social Life
I can be social, even outgoing, – but only for a short time.
I need space to recharge. Sometimes, I retreat for weeks or months. To me it might feel like only a few days have passed. But by the time I reach out again, the world has moved on. That’s something I still find painful and isolating.
I’ve lost friendships because of this. People have seen me as distant and unreliable. I’ve often felt like I’m always on the edge – always the bridesmaid, never the bride.
Before I knew I was autistic, burnout was a constant part of my life. I could never keep up with everything – work, studies, social obligations – and I struggled to understand why. Now I do. Looking back, it’s clear that I’ve always been autistic. I just didn’t know what I was looking for.
Being diagnosed hasn’t fixed everything – but it gave me clarity. It helped me stop searching for answers in the wrong places. After years of therapy, self-help and frustration, I finally had something that makes sense.
Now I can build strategies that work for me and give myself more compassionate.
If any of this feels familiar to you, please know you’re not alone.
Thanks for taking the time to read.
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