Living in My Autistic Skin: What it was like

For years, I thought something was wrong with me. I didn’t understand why I felt like an outsider, even in my own family. I spoke my truth, but it often got me in trouble. I excelled in some things yet stumbled over the simplest social cues. It wasn’t until I understood my autism that the pieces finally fit.

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I never knew why I felt so disconnected—like something was missing from my life. I often felt I didn’t belong, and at times I was convinced I must have been adopted. My mind was usually somewhere else, lost in thoughts or some fantasy world.

I thought maybe I was just resentful or needed to forgive, but the truth was, I felt nothing. My own family members often felt like perfect strangers. I couldn’t always tell what people’s real intentions were behind their words. I simply spoke what I thought. And I couldn’t understand why people were so illogical or so wrapped up in their emotions, while mine seemed to stay buried most of the time.

Maybe it was because my dad threatened to harm me if I cried. That could explain a lot.

There were also the times people got angry at me for speaking the truth or sharing my thoughts. I never meant harm—I just said what seemed like the logical course of action. I spent most of my life as a loner, usually with just one close friend, gravitating toward the “odd balls” who didn’t belong to any group.

When I feel anxious, I usually wiggle my legs to release the tension—though I try to do it so nobody notices. I’ll also twirl my hair. And if you try to take away my special fluffy pillow or favorite soft blanket, we might have a problem. The way something feels matters deeply to me.

Then there was the forgetfulness. I’d misplace my keys constantly, yet I could remember people’s phone numbers with iron-clad precision and had an excellent sense of direction. I had a knack for writing, but in school, I was bullied for my creativity and for excelling academically.

Finding My Strengths

In college, I took to computers like a duck to water. They just made sense to me. I could pick up new programs with little or no effort. I proved my skills by testing at temp agencies and landing jobs through those results. I could look at diagrams and assemble things easily.

But when it came to relationships? I felt like a total failure. I didn’t pick up on the social cues others seemed to exchange effortlessly. I assumed everyone was as straightforward as me. I often got into trouble for staring directly at someone while they were speaking, but not really hearing or understanding what they were saying. My mind would wander unless it was something I could hyperfocus on—something truly important to me.

Looking back, there were plenty of clues pointing toward autism. My friends always said I was smart—but why couldn’t I “get” people? I tended to take people at their word, never suspecting hidden agendas. When I excelled in arts or computers, I sometimes felt like I was bragging, when I shared what I knew.

I was often misunderstood. One potential employer once told me I was “a lot smarter than I looked.” It took me days to process that insult—just like it takes me days to process many things people say. I tend to overanalyze conversations long after they’ve ended. Sometimes I’ll laugh about something said ten years ago, yet I can’t remember a movie I watched last week.

How I Cope Today

I often escape to my inner world when life feels chaotic. Large crowds or noisy events overwhelm me, so I avoid them—they spike my anxiety, especially since COVID. Solitude doesn’t bother me; in fact, I find it refreshing and recharging.

When people get mad at me, I often have no idea why. It makes me sad that people can’t just get along. I prefer a drama-free life.

This is just what it feels like to live in my autistic skin—navigating the world in my own way, sometimes stumbling, but also seeing and understanding things in a way that is uniquely mine.

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