I’m 63 years old and I have just begun screening for another neurodiverse condition. Being honest, I’m very nervous.
Two years ago, I completed an AQ50, an Autism Spectrum Quotient self-report, which suggested that I sit somewhere on the autistic spectrum. I went down the NHS’ Right to Choose route for an assessment.
Looking back, I can see I was grieving. Grieving the person I believed I had been. Grieving the idea that I might no longer be seen as capable of giving advice or providing for my family.
I also worried about work. At the time I was a Senior Support Worker at another organisation, moving into an acting Deputy Manager role within an autism service. I feared that a diagnosis might change how people viewed me.
I didn’t research assessment providers properly and I simply went with the first one available.
During the long months of waiting, something changed. I began to accept the “new me.” Slowly, identifying as neurodiverse helped me to start to make sense of my life – the crippling anxiety, the deep depressions, a persistent sense of disarray and overwhelm. It came across less like defect and more like explanation.
When the assessment finally came, it was complicated. Everyone who had known me from birth has passed away, so only my partner could provide insight into my developmental history and she struggled to engage with the questionnaires. I wrote as much about myself as I could manage, assuming the assessment would give me space to explain further.
It didn’t.
I was told I met the criteria for ADHD and had strong autistic traits, but not enough for an autism diagnosis. I was advised to consult my GP immediately and they started me on medication for anxiety and ADHD. And that was it. I was left in limbo.
I doubted everything. Had I been wrong? Had I constructed an identity that wasn’t mine?
Yet the people who know me best consistently say that autism describes my lifelong patterns better than anything else ever has.
The medication has helped. My brain is quieter now. The constant internal competition of thoughts has reduced. But my partner says my autistic traits are more noticeable. They are not affectations. They are simply the ways my brain regulates, copes, and functions.
Fast-forward to 2026, I am in my dream job. After joining Cygnet in July 2025, I am working with the best manager I’ve ever had and delivering Learning Disabilities and Autism Tier 2 training every day.
I know I am different. I know how I experience the world. I know what has made my life hard and what has made it meaningful.
And yet I am anxious again. I am afraid I won’t be listened to. Afraid I won’t be able to articulate the complexity of being me. Afraid of being dismissed.
But I am also relieved that this is happening. Hopeful, even. Perhaps this time, there will be space for the full story.