I’m Autistic — But I Wasn’t Diagnosed Until My Late Twenties

I was diagnosed with autism just weeks before my 29th birthday. My brother Dale was diagnosed with autism at just five years old. Despite us both being on the spectrum, growing up, my brother and I couldn’t be more different. “Dale’s food could not touch each other, he would only eat from a green plate with a green cup while sitting on a green chair,” my mother, Michelle, told me, “[it was] very different to you as you liked your food all mixed together.”

She said Dale and I also differed when it came to play time — he did not enjoy imaginative play whereas I always let my imagination run wild.

“You could turn pegs into a circus, rocks into dolls, your imagination was widespread,” she said, “Dale was also very routine based and hated even the smallest of plans changing, whereas none of that really phased you.” By analysing Dale’s behaviours and habits, doctors determined Dale was autistic. His sensory sensitivities, repetitive behaviours and restricted interests were core characteristics of autism. I, however, was unintentionally masking and camouflaging my autism symptoms — a common behaviour for autistic girls.

“Camouflaging refers to the strategies that autistic individuals employ to adapt to predominantly nonautistic social environments,” says Professor Tony Attwood and Dr Michelle Garnett. “These strategies may include concealing and suppressing autistic characteristics, mimicking neurotypical behaviours, and engaging in superficial social interactions to avoid negative judgments or misunderstandings.”

Attwood and Garnett are internationally recognised experts in autism, with over 80 years of combined knowledge and experience as clinical psychologists, authors, researchers and consultants. They founded Australia’s first autism diagnosis clinic, Minds & Hearts, and now run workshops educating people about autism. Attwood says autistic girls are more likely than boys to demonstrate signs of camouflaging and will often “adopt a persona” in an attempt to fit in with their peers. “They are smarter and more creative than the boys in coping with their social confusion,” says Attwood, “coping and camouflaging mechanisms of observation, analysis and imitating, enable [autistic] girls to fly under the radar.”

However, according to Attwood, girls often “fall in the invisible end of the spectrum” because they don’t “fit the strict diagnostic criteria” that’s predominantly derived from studies centred on the male experience. “There’s gender bias in existing screening tools and diagnostic criteria,” says Attwood, “[plus] lack of clinicians' training and experience in recognising autism in girls and women.”

It's highly probable that gender bias contributed to my delayed autism diagnosis. According to my mother, I had severe “anger issues and mood swings” as a teen. But her concerns were often dismissed by doctors, some even telling her it was merely due to hormones. Looking back, it's evident that my struggles with rage were a significant, yet overlooked, symptom of autism. “[At school, girls] effectively suppress their autism, however, when they return home, they become a very different character — a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde transformation,” says Attwood and Garnett. “They are no longer timid and shy, and they may be emotionally volatile, demanding, and angry.”

Alas, my family and I were not aware of this during my upbringing. Back then, our knowledge of autism was limited to the male experience, reinforced by harmful stereotypical autistic figures in the media such as Sheldon Cooper and Rain Man.

Only in recent years have I begun to broaden my understanding of the autism spectrum and surround myself with various autistic perspectives. This shift came from several avenues: working as a disability support worker with an array of neurodivergent clients, interviewing disability activists as a journalist, and becoming an avid fan of many autistic women in the media like Chloé Hayden, Em Rusciano, Grace Tame, Abby Howells, and Hannah Gadsby. My social circle also expanded; I now have a group of friends who openly call themselves 'neurospicy' and a partner who was diagnosed with autism less than a year into our relationship.

But it wasn’t until early 2025 that I finally decided to go down the diagnosis route. Money admittedly played a huge role in this decision. I would’ve sought out a diagnosis earlier, but I knew getting tested for both autism and ADHD was going to be expensive. It ended up costing me over $2,000 to be tested — and it took me nearly a year to save that up. For the autism assessment, I underwent multiple interviews with a psychologist and completed various questionnaires and forms about my social skills, habits, interpersonal history and mental health. While emotionally draining, the process ultimately helped me become more open and vulnerable with my psychologist.

I told her about my hatred for small talk and how I often pre-plan conversations to avoid social anxiety. I said in my day-to-day life, I’m always on the lookout for topics that can be used for upcoming chats with friends, family, colleagues and acquaintances. I talked about my struggles with making eye contact, and explained that my internal monologue will often have to remind me to make eye contact during conversations. I recounted how I purposely became extra silly, vulgar and loud to avoid any sign of social awkwardness. Sometimes I even channel my inner-confident-diva like Samantha Jones out of fear people will perceive me as a shy person. Doing this is admittedly emotionally draining and often leads to social burnout.

I described my eating habits and how I'm an extremely fussy eater. I hate nuts, avocado, cucumbers, tomatoes, nutella, celery, coffee, vinegar, fresh lemon, spicy food — just to name a few. I cannot even handle a speck of lettuce on my food; it's rabbit food to me. Just salads in general taste like grass. Plus, I spoke about my issues with sensory overload whenever I’m in hot, loud places. This isn’t ideal, considering I live in Australia’s third biggest city in sunny Queensland. 

Several weeks after the assessment, the psychologist called me with the results. She told me I was autistic and had ADHD. I felt no level of shock with the ADHD diagnosis. For years, I joked about having it. However, the autism diagnosis shook me to my core. I felt a storm of emotions erupt inside me. Grief. Relief. Confusion. Sadness. Joy. It’s a hard thing to describe feeling an array of contrasting emotions all at once. My psychologist recommended I seek out a therapist and psychiatrist after I’d given myself time to process the diagnosis. She also gave me a list of support systems and educational resources, including the works of Professor Tony Attwood and Dr Michelle Garnett. 

When I finally shared my autism and ADHD diagnosis with my partner, friends, and family, most weren't surprised. My mother, however, felt a pang of guilt for not knowing about my autism diagnosis sooner. "I feel bad that I didn't know,” she said, “why didn't I get you diagnosed earlier, why did I pick it up on Dale and not you?”

I do wonder how different my life would have been if I'd received my autism diagnosis earlier in life. Would I still be grappling with severe anxiety, depression and self-hatred? Would I still have spent years of my life pushing myself to emotional exhaustion to appease neurotypical social norms? I try not to let those types of thoughts consume my mind. However, I do admittedly think about the countless other neurodivergent women and girls who won't receive a diagnosis until later in life, or perhaps never at all. I fear they too will experience years of confusion, self-hatred and pressures to mask themselves.

There’s immense privilege in being able to seek out and attain an autism and ADHD diagnosis. Not everyone can afford it. Not everyone has the support system to help them through the process. And not everyone has the time, energy and emotional capability to handle the intense, in-depth assessments. 

My experience with autism is uniquely my own and may differ from others. But I hope my story can still offer valuable insight to anyone seeking to know more about the autism spectrum. This newfound clarity has been transformative, to say the least. It’s allowed me to fully self-reflect, recognise my needs and boundaries, and truly begin my path toward self-acceptance.