I know that socialising is really important. Draining though it might be. I know that, after a long period of not seeing anyone, I feel lonely. And that when I’m going through a rough patch, even just knowing that I could go and see someone (whether or not I do) makes me feel much more secure.

Socialising is exhausting. Primarily because it is so manual. Working out what people mean, what to do with my face, why they just did something with theirs, etc… In a neurotypical brain, all that happens automatically. For me, it takes up valuable computing space.

Add in the inherent unpredictability of a conversation, massive sensory issues caused by being out in bright or noisy places, and the possibility that locations, timings, or who is coming to an event can change with almost no warning… No wonder I reach my limit pretty quickly.

Below are seven things that help me get the most out of socialising, without breaking the energy bank.

Thing 1: Noticing how each person impacts my energy levels

Finding the “right” people to socialise with has made a really big difference. People who “get it” and are easy to just be myself around. They can be hard to find, but they do exist. I’ve made much more of an effort to spend time with people who leave me off better than when I started. And less with people who leave me feeling drained. It’s no slight on anyone as an individual… Socialising comes with very particular difficulties for me, so there are very particular types of people who I can interact with easily.

Thing 2: Telling people what I need and why

All of my friends know about my diagnosis, and I’ve explained what that means for me. So, if I ask for something or do something that might otherwise seem “odd”, I don’t need to worry what they are thinking. Things like fiddling with a sensory toy while out and about, changing into something more comfortable at someone’s house, bringing my own food as a backup, asking lots of questions about plans, timings, travel, how things will work at a restaurant, etc.

There have been a few times when people have dismissed this, or just not been able (or willing) to understand how big an impact my diagnosis has. That feels extremely frustrating and hurtful in the moment. But at the end of the day, it’s a pretty helpful indicator that they belong in the “takes up too much energy” category and that I should move on. I am not responsible for educating every person that I meet.

Thing 3: Setting end times

I try to agree an end time as well as a start time for social events that happen during the daytime. This takes a huge load off my mind. Often, without one, I spend the whole time wondering when we are going to part ways. Not because I’m not enjoying their company. Just because I want to know the plan and how the rest of my day will look afterwards. Without that data point, I keep running every possible scenario on repeat while I’m meant to be concentrating on them. Which in turn does sort of take away from enjoying it…

Thing 4: Asking questions when things are ambiguous

I am much quicker now to ask for confirmation or details on plans if I’m not sure what is happening. Especially with dating, I used to hold back more. Presumably to give the impression that I’m easy breezy… But that is so incredibly far from the truth. I am far more open with people now. Quickly finding out that someone can’t or won’t deal with that side of me is much more important. (There are plenty of others who will….!)

Thing 5: Taking a break

If I’m at a party or in a large group, sometimes I take myself away for a little bit. In the past, people would have tried to come and bring me back into the group, or worried what was going on. Now, my friends know that it’s because I’ve reached my a limit and just need some quiet time. After half an hour or so, I can usually come back and carry on enjoying the evening.

Thing 6: Saying no

Because I’m more aware of the energy cost of socialising now, I say no a lot more. Before, I worried what people would think, or that it would stop me from building friendships. But now I know that (1) the cost to my mental and physical health means saying yes to everything is 100% not sustainable, and (2) the people worth spending time with understand why that matters. There are certain things that I tend to avoid as a rule as well, e.g. having people over to stay with me, going to stay with friends, doing something social three days in a row.

Thing 7: Planning in down time

Understanding the costs of socialising means I have a choice. I still want to spend time with people. But I need to look after myself and keep things sustainable too. So, I plan in down time before and after socialising, to balance out my energy levels. I schedule time by myself to relax, exercise, sleep, have a bath, focus on a “special interest”, whatever I want. And am much more comfortable protecting that from any new social plans now.

Lauren x

There are lots more social-related tips and reflections on my main site, Colour me autistic.

Noticing, acknowledging, and accepting my emotions is the best skill I’ve learnt from therapy. I wanted to share what this means, and why I think it matters, especially for autistic folk.

Why “feeling your feelings” matters

Noticing your feelings is important for everyone. I like to think of feelings as data. Data about what you need, and when you need it. The more you notice, the more you can meet your needs. The more you meet your needs, the more fulfilled and content you can be.

Feelings won’t go away if you ignore them. Which I am sure we have all learnt the hard way a few times. You can distract, press them down, reject them… as much as you like. But one way or another, they are coming out.

By noticing them and letting them “be” in the moment, that happens in a more controlled way.

By ignoring them, they’ll come out at unexpected times, and probably in less healthy ways. Ways like: suddenly losing your temper with someone, withdrawing from people you care for, substance abuse, physical symptoms, or suddenly burning out when you didn’t even see it coming.

This matters for everyone. But, I think it can be an especially valuable skill to work on if you are a late-diagnosed autistic person. For two reasons.

First, if you are autistic, there is a decent chance that your interoception skills aren’t naturally great. Interception is your ability to notice internal bodily sensations. This includes signals about emotion, as well as the more basic things like hunger or temperature. When this is the case, you need extra signposting. It is something autistic kids might receive as an intervention e.g. learning the names of emotions and their associated internal sensations. This is all part of learning to self-regulate.

Second, a late diagnosis often comes with some degree of previous trauma. It might have been bullying, social isolation, physical or emotional abuse. Even just on its own the fact of having felt high levels of unresolved anxiety over significant periods of physical and emotional development. Whatever the case, that means a high chance of ongoing triggers that need identifying and looking after.

How “feeling my feelings” helps me

Learning to acknowledge my feelings has helped me engage more with my own needs. That means I can help myself, ask for things, and set boundaries.

It has also helped me process a lot of pain that I previously would have ignored. One way or another that stuff needs to come out, in order to move on and grow.

Previously, I interpreted pretty much every sensation as “anxiety”. At my diagnosis, one of the psychiatrists said this is common for undiagnosed autistic adults. Perhaps because there is an underlayer of anxiety throughout most experiences before you put coping strategies in place… On top of issues with interoception, making it difficult to distinguish emotions.

But, treating everything as anxiety (including positive emotions!) meant I was not responding to what was actually happening in my brain and my body. Understanding which feelings are in fact “excitement” or “sad” now means I can respond to those quite different needs appropriately.

A brief interlude about autism and empathy

There’s a myth about autistic people not being empathetic. In my experience — of myself and the other autistic folk I know — the opposite is true.

I often feel others’ emotions so strongly that it can be overwhelming and it causes me to withdraw. Not because I don’t feel it, or because I don’t care, but because I feel it too strongly, and take too much of it on myself.

It’s the same with my own feelings. In the past, I withdrew from them entirely. I felt constantly detached. There was a long period where I wondered if I might have something “wrong” with me because of this. That I just didn’t really have any proper emotions.

Since learning to engage with my feelings, however, I know this is not true. They are certainly there… And I now know they were just too overwhelming to engage with without a helping hand. Certainly alongside all the other anxiety that life throws at an undiagnosed autistic child, teenager, adult…!

What does “feeling my feelings” actually mean?!

This used to feel very vague and confusing to me. So, I will try to explain what I do step-by-step, as clearly as I can. There are probably lots of ways to think about this, but this is my way. It is mostly basic “mindfulness” principles.

1. Notice and label. “Something feels odd, do I have a word for this feeling?” Sometimes I don’t have a word. Just noticing that something feels odd is still good.
2. Decide if I can engage. “Is this a good time and a safe place for me to stop and feel this feeling?” If yes, continue to step three. If not, I acknowledge “I am feeling X, I know that is there, and I will come back to it later”. This is not the same as burying it. I am still respecting that it is there… I just also need to get on with my PT session or my train journey, or to not burst into tears in the middle of the street!
3. Sit with the feeling. “How does my body feel? Where do I feel any odd sensations? Hot or cold? Tight or relaxed? Heavy or light?” E.g. “I am feeling sad and I can feel it in my chest and my throat, my chest feels tight, my throat feels tense like there might be some tears coming”. Sometimes I will listen to music to try and draw this out if I’m not quite there yet.
4. Remind myself to sit with the feeling, not solve it. This is the hardest part. The instinct when I start to sit with a feeling is to think or explain or run through stories in my head about what is going on… I am learning to force myself to stop. Feel, not think. Often out loud I will remind myself: “It is ok, sit with it, notice where it is, you don’t need to explain, it is safe to just sit here and feel and breathe”.
5. Decide if there is a need to be met. After a few seconds or minutes of focus on how the emotion feels in my body, it almost always dies down a bit. Once the feeling is “quieter”, sometimes — not always — it becomes clear that this was my body giving me a signal that I need to take some action. “I am feeling X, so that might mean I need Y”… I’ve written some specific examples further down in this article.
6. Say well done. Honestly, this still feels like such a new and unusual skill for me that I still congratulate myself out loud once I have calmed down… Not an essential step, but nice to do when no one’s listening ;)

Optional step at any point: If what I am feeling is too overwhelming, I will tell someone. Sometimes there is just too much going on to compute by myself. If I can’t calm myself down or stop crying, I message or phone someone. Getting it outside of my brain and knowing someone else is there really helps. It almost always makes the feeling feel a bit smaller. If for some reason I can’t or don’t want to do that, I write things down instead.

How do my feelings feel?

I’ve listed below the feelings I am now ok at noticing, how they feel, and what things they might “need” (step 5 above). It’s not always this formulaic, but I wanted to share some examples that are as concrete as possible.

Anxious

Feels like: shallow breath, tightness in upper body, churning stomach, either frozen or can’t sit still, no focus

Might need: breathing exercises, yoga, addressing sensory needs, talking to someone about what triggered this

Excited

Feels like: very similar to anxiety but with a lightness in my body, talkative

Might need: breathing exercises if it’s getting in the way of other things, or just enjoying and sharing! The extra energy is helpful if I can focus it on something

Sad

Feels like: tightness or heaviness in my chest and throat, tearful, tired

Might need: something cosy, talking, writing, gentleness, removing expectations

Hurt or disappointed

Feels like: similar to sadness but usually my body is also quite slumped over, an almost stinging-like feeling in my throat, unable to process very much (taps into difficulties with things being “unfair”)

Might need: same things as sadness, addressing the specific trigger with someone if relevant

Angry or jealous

Feels like: a sudden spike of adrenaline, hot, tense, sometimes physical pain, unable to process (as above, taps into difficulties with things being “unfair”)

Might need: deep breaths, movement to let out excess energy, perspective e.g. talking to someone or writing things down, again the specific trigger may need addressing with someone if relevant

Happy

Feels like: light, a sort of surging bubbly feeling in my chest, sometimes talkative and distracted

Might need: noticing and enjoying :)

Relieved

Feels like: my whole body feels very heavy almost as if I need to slump against a wall, breathing is deeper, sometimes smiling, sometimes tearful

Might need: noticing and acknowledging whatever brought that about, it is usually significant and a sign of what I need more generally (or, what I don’t need!)

As with everything, I’m still not “done”. It does not always go exactly as I’ve described above…! Sometimes I don’t notice, and get caught off guard by sudden tears or exhaustion later down the line.

But, the more I practice noticing, the easier this gets.

I have felt a huge improvement over the last year or so. Both with emotional regulation, and my ability to recognise and communicate my needs. All thanks to paying attention to the most fiddly data source I know: feelings.

There are lots more personal stories about being autistic, from me and others diagnosed later in life, on my main site: Colour me autistic.

Lauren x

I would often get to the point of needing to work from home, or not work at all, without understanding why. I couldn’t explain it to myself, let alone my managers. (I am lucky to have happened upon some very understanding managers throughout my career).

This article is about what that burnout looked like, why it can be difficult to spot and explain, and how I avoid it.

I now work from home full-time. Prior to that, I have lots of memories of arriving at the office and feeling like I wanted to burst into tears. Feeling sick. Wanting to run away. More than once a well-timed-and-very-sincere “how are you?” would tip me over the edge and have me crying in front of whoever had said it. Or needing to turn around and go straight back home. Without ever being able to explain what on earth had just happened.

In hindsight, the signs were there. A sense of dread going into the office. Complete exhaustion afterwards. The extreme feeling of relief whenever I had a day working from home. Headaches, illness, and being more tearful. Wanting to withdraw from anything involving human interaction. Finding it hard to work out how to problem solve or approach a new piece of work, or do anything involving a bit of creativity (things that — in the right environment — I excel at).

The last major burnout I can remember started a few months before my autism diagnosis. I was living alone mid-lockdown during the pandemic, and I had just started a new position at work that involved a lot of people-ing. Processing everything that needed processing about my new-found diagnosis, alongside managing everything else, turned out to be impossible. I found myself crying between every meeting that I hadn’t been able to find a reason to cancel. Unable to do anything with my day beyond the absolute essentials. I couldn’t settle to do anything quiet. My sleep was disturbed, but even when I did sleep well I still felt exhausted. I ended up signed off work for three months and, in the end, left that job for one that suited me better.

Burnout comes from repeatedly ignoring signs that you need to pause or stop. Whatever those may be, and whatever might be causing them. For me, feeling the need to mask is a big trigger. Which can (unhelpfully) also make the signs of impending burnout hard to spot.

Prior to my diagnosis, I had a near oscar-worthy mask… No matter how I was feeling on the inside, outside-Lauren would be smiling and lighthearted and confident. Great in a meeting, or a presentation, always on top of her work. To be honest, I had fooled myself pretty well too.

I once said to a friend that I was “a bit of a mess” (for some reason that I have since forgotten). He asked me what that meant. Was I not able to work, not eating, not exercising, not seeing people, not sleeping? I said “it doesn’t look any different”. And it was true… All of the external markers would still have told you that things were fine. But I did not feel fine. And I did not know how to show or communicate that, or how to temporarily adapt my life to match my then-zero energy levels. Things would just keep going until they physically couldn’t.

Masking made things like burnout feel very hard to explain. I seemed fine right up until the point when I was extremely not. When even I could not carry on hiding behind my carefully curated “normal” face.

Nowadays, I know what I need to feel comfortable. How to manage my energy levels. How to be myself. So, I mask a LOT less. I surround myself with friends who I know “get it”, and make it easy to be myself. I have a job where I can do the same. I feel very lucky.

If I stumble across a situation where I realise that mask has come back, I usually just stop putting myself in it, or at least reduce the time I need to spend there. It’s never worth the cost. I don’t always know exactly why in the moment, but if that mask comes back up it’s a sure sign that I’m not comfortable. I’ve spent far too many years ignoring that feeling, and I owe it to myself to listen a lot more carefully now.

This kind of awareness for me is the key to avoiding burnout. Knowing my early warning signs and when to take a step back. Prevention is better than cure, after all…

Signs that I know a burnout is on its way, and I need to do something about it are:

• Withdrawing in meetings where I’d normally have a lot to say (this is new — and helpful — before my mask would have prevented me from “seeming” any different!)
• Not feeling able to/not wanting to respond to emails or Teams messages
• Getting annoyed about any new pieces of work being suggested or about minor changes to meetings
• Feeling more tired, vaguely ill, or tearful
• Meltdowns, especially straight after work
• Being more bothered by sensory issues than usual

What I do to help myself at work:

• Before we even get to the above signs, first line of defence: managing my energy levels day-to-day. That means taking breaks when I need them, listening to my energy levels and adapting any social requirements accordingly (moving/cancelling meetings, getting someone else to go instead, finding another way to contribute), not hesitating to speak to my manager if something feels tricky
• Second line of defence: pause. If some of those early warning signs start appearing, I find that removing all expectations is useful. I’ll agree with my manager to put on an out of office, so as not to be available on Teams/email. I’ll carry on working on things that I feel able to — and that don’t require input from others — but there is no external expectation that I’m doing anything at all
• Third line of defence: stop. If none of the above is working, and things feel like they are getting worse, I need to take some time off. It might be a day, it might be a week, it might be longer. I can only tell once I do it and start to feel my energy levels returning to normal. I’ve not quite got to this point since changing jobs post-diagnosis. But, when I’m that burnt out, it can be very hard to work out what I need, because my brain is basically not working anymore… So the only answer is to stop, remove everything, and reset. It can feel painful and there’s definitely some guilt attached. But, at the end of the day, I’m not functioning well in my job while in that state. So it is better for everyone that I find a way to rebalance!

There’s lots more burnout-related content here on my main site, Colour me autistic.

Lauren x

Some other related resources on my main site, Colour me autistic:

• Some reflections on burnout, meltdowns and shutdowns
• The pitfalls of the masked autistic
• How I reduced my masking
• Results from our burnout survey

Whether or not you celebrate Christmas, the festive period invariably leads to some disruption to the “norm” here in the UK. Bank holidays, shops, schools and other services being shut, people constantly making small talk about Christmas…

For me, it usually means: some time off work, spending time with family, travel, lots more socialising, and different food. Most of these are good things, don’t get me wrong… But, that doesn’t much matter. Different is still different. And different is DIFFICULT.

Here are five things that will help me survive the festive season.

Thing 1: planning anything that can be planned

I’ve got a lot of social events and travel to do. There are things I need to do or prepare for all of those. So, I set aside some time to go through everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. I have a spreadsheet outlining meals, appointments, and activities that will happen while my family are visiting. I have notes in my calendar to remind me what I need to clean or cook at different times, when to drop things off at friends’ houses, when to check in with people, and exactly what I’m doing for every bit of travel.

This way I can rely on “past Lauren” to have my back, and know that I don’t need to hold all of these plans and tasks in my head. My calendar will tell me what to do from this point forward. Past Lauren comes in pretty handy at times.

Thing 2: being extra conscious about decompression time

More social events means more energy expenditure. No matter how much I enjoy it all, that is still going to be true. So, I’m taking the pressure off of the rest of my time. Making sure the bare essentials get done, but not forcing myself to do anything I don’t 100% feel like doing. Instead, making sure I genuinely pause and stop when I am home. Doing the things that calm me down. Keeping meals really simple. Not scheduling any calls or meetings or errands that could wait a few weeks.

Thing 3: feeling my feelings

Christmas can be quite intense and sentimental for lots of people. Not always in a good way. Over the last few years I have learnt to “feel my feelings” in a way that I never did previously. I have written a whole article about this, but all I really mean is: when I notice I am feeling something, I stop and sit and notice it. Rather than distracting away from it. I try to pay attention to what it physically feels like, and take a few deep breaths. Then decide what I need from there. It might be that I need to cry, reach out to someone, balance out a sensory issue, go for a walk, whatever it might be. Sometimes, it isn’t practical to take that action. Even just acknowledging what I need, knowing I can come back to it later, helps me process and settle back into the present.

I like to think about feelings as data. Data about what your body and your brain need at any given moment. They are there whether or not you engage with them. Consciously feeling them means you get a choice about how to act, in order to support yourself. Ignoring them means you’ll be more reactive. The feelings will still come out eventually… but more likely than not, that way will be less healthy. So, I’ll be making a conscious effort to keep this up over the festive period.

Thing 4: setting my boundaries

To protect myself from being entirely burnt out by three weeks of abnormality, I need to set some boundaries. Things like sticking to my usual bedtime, mealtimes, and meals as often as possible. Making sure I get some alone time. Cancelling things last minute if that’s what I need. Not joining in too whole-heartedly with the usual festive drinking, as I know that increases my sensory issues the next day and throws off my sleep. For me, understanding the impact of this stuff helps me feel “entitled” to set boundaries. Because I know all too well what not looking after these things feels like! These aren’t things I need 100% of the time, but during such a busy period, being extra cautious will help me a lot. Which leads me very neatly on to Thing 5…

Thing 5: remembering the basics

Whatever else is going on, I am still autistic. Social stuff, routine stuff, and sensory stuff all need some attention. Especially when things are busy and different. So, I am trying to remember the basics. For me, that is: reducing socialising that I don’t need to do (including work meetings), quiet time after I see people, writing out my schedule for the day and what day of the week it is somewhere really visible, keeping meals simple, having plenty of nice sensory things close to hand, and especially making sure I get proprioceptive input.

Lauren x

PS the picture is my best dog pal Wellie, who was travelling with me last Christmas, and carrying his toys in his backpack on the train! Unbearably cute. (But maybe I’m biased).

Before my autism diagnosis, I had heard the word “burnout” quite a lot. Always in a work context. Someone who had worked too hard, and needed to stop, had burnt themselves out.

Autistic “burnouts”, along with “shutdowns” and “meltdowns”, however, were all news to me. Well, they were new terms at least.

I’ve experienced all three to varying degrees for as long as I can remember. Sometimes visibly… Mostly not.

A lot of what I write is about how I manage my anxiety or energy levels. In a way, I do all of that to avoid the aforementioned burnouts, shutdowns, and meltdowns. So I don’t have to get to the point where my brain and my body force me to stop. Also to be happier and to live a more fulfilling life, etc… one step at a time, eh?

But I’ve not written about this specifically. So here you are. This is what Lauren shutdowns, meltdowns, and burnouts look like. And how I am trying to break the cycle.

Shutting down

It had been a fairly normal day. Exercise, work, meetings, work. Work had been stressful — I can’t recall why. I remember I needed to turn the lights down and do a lot of rocking around to balance out some sensory issues.

In the evening I was with my partner, lying on the sofa. He asked me a question — I can’t recall what. In that moment, for whatever reason, I had not been able to answer. I started to cry. Then I stopped. And stared. And stared. And stared. Hardly blinking. Totally unable to communicate. Very, very still.

He was as wonderful as usual. He held on to me, stroked my hair, and checked that was all still ok to do — I could just about nod or shake my head at that point.

After about twenty minutes, I managed to remember deep breathing. A few minutes of breathing exercises later, I felt like maybe I could speak again.

I counted to ten in a barely audible whisper a couple of times. Something familiar, where I didn’t have to improvise.

After that, I could manage a very quiet conversation. Enough to explain to the poor, unwaveringly kind man on my sofa what on earth had just happened.

During a shutdown, it’s like time sort of stops. Everything feels a bit fuzzy and tense and weird. Like I’m trapped. Like my brain has just pressed pause on everything without warning me first. It must need it, else it wouldn’t do it. But it can be hard to work out exactly what caused it.

Melting down

A few days ago, I was cutting up blackout fabric to use on my windows. There was paper and packaging and fabric laid out on the floor.

I hadn’t “properly” cleaned my flat for about ten days, which was bugging me because I usually do that once a week. I had been in a few stressful meetings earlier in the day, and a lot of stressful meetings the day before. I had forgotten to eat my afternoon snack, so was unknowingly quite hungry. I had visited a new dentist that morning, which was very overwhelming. And I knew that I still had a few medical appointments, stressful meetings, and social events coming up in the week.

I took a brief break from cutting the fabric, stood up, and looked at the room. Simultaneously, the thoughts of (a) the fact that I needed to clean my flat and (b) exerting the effort to clean my flat, entered my mind. I immediately burst into tears and collapsed into a heap on the floor. Furious and distraught and in sensory overload all at once.

I then found myself aimlessly pacing around, in and out of different spaces, not knowing where to go or what to do. Still in tears. Flapping my hands. Making weird sounds. Occasionally bashing into things in my frustration.

As it was happening, I knew it was silly. But I couldn’t stop. And I couldn’t fix it. I could feel every tiny sensory input, which made me feel angry, which made it worse.

Meltdowns for me come with total overwhelm, sensory hell, anger, physical agitation, and helpless despair. In stressful weeks, this will happen at shorter and shorter intervals until I change something.

Burning out

After a series of meltdowns and/or shutdowns, if I don’t change something, this is the very familiar land in which I invariably end up.

Often an early sign is that I feel physically ill. Sort of like mild flu. Growing up, this used to happen all the time. I was often off sick with some non-specific illness, which I am now sure was burnout. Being around lots of people at school — all day every day — must have been a constant sensory and social nightmare. No wonder my body made me stop.

Nowadays this is most often caused by repeated work stress, too much socialising, life changes, new places, or travelling.

As well as the physical illness, there is a lot of tiredness. Sleeping more, but not feeling rested. Exercise becomes harder or just plain impossible. It gets much more difficult to leave the house or to speak to people. I’ll feel very stuck a lot of the time, not knowing what to do, and run into lots of meltdowns amidst that confusion.

I feel generally “more autistic” during a burnout. Very minor changes feel even harder than usual, I will misunderstand what people mean more often, I will clarify what I mean more often, I will need to run through schedules more frequently and in more detail, my sensory issues will be through the roof, and I’ll often feel sick or agitated but with no idea why.

Many times, pre-diagnosis, this happened to the point where I had to stop working. For anywhere between one day and three months. Since my diagnosis, I have become much better at spotting the signs. And I adapt all sorts of things so that I don’t get to this point so frequently.

Breaking the cycle

All these things are still a part of my life. But far less so than they were pre-diagnosis.

What has helped:

• Learning what costs me energy and accounting for that, e.g. by allowing more downtime or booking fewer social events back to back
• Stopping myself before my brain or my body forces the issue… I am lucky to have a very understanding manager at work. If I’ve had a lot of stressful meetings, for example, we both understand that me logging off a bit early and getting time to rest afterwards is much better than forcing through
• When these things do happen — as they always will to some degree — I am now much kinder to myself. When I have had a meltdown or can feel myself approaching burnout, I can bury myself in my special interests, take away some expectations that I would otherwise place on myself, or spend an evening doing nothing but drinking hot chocolate and listening to my favourite D&D podcast. Generally, take care of myself a bit, rather than beating myself up for not being able to do something that I “should” (says who?!)

It’s all still a work in progress. I definitely don’t remember all of those points all of the time… but even remembering them some of the time is a pretty huge step forward in my book :)

You can find lots of tips and real-life reflections at Colour me autistic.

I’ve got my own content on there as a starting point, but I am looking for others to get involved and share their stories, and what really works. If you want to do that, use the signup link here and I’ll send you more info on how to contribute, or you can leave me a private note on this article.

Lauren x

This is my personal take. I am genuinely curious how other autistic people feel about the same label. Let me know in the comments! Also please feel free to correct or enlighten me on anything if needed :)

Although no longer used in clinical diagnoses, I hear a lot of people refer to us autistic folks as high- or low-functioning.

I can understand the benefit of a quick descriptive label. It clearly conveys something tangible to the average listener. Else it would not exist.

But what it conveys about me is wrong. And that misunderstanding can feel shitty. Here is why.

What you see is not what you get

Just like for everyone else, unless you are inside my head: your perception of what is going on in there is wrong. If you are neurotypical, your perception is likely more wrong when looking at the autistic people in your life than it is with others. But you never know. Which is the point.

I have spent my whole life masking to fit into a neurotypical world. You 100% cannot tell how difficult things are just by looking. I am very, very good at hiding that.

What you call “high-functioning autism” feels to me more like “extremely well-disguised autism”.

You are — understandably — basing your assessment of how difficult things are for me entirely on what you can see. But that is not the whole picture. Which hurts, because it minimises the challenges you don’t see.

At its worst this makes it feel harder to ask for, or even feel entitled to, your help.

With a very tiny handful of exceptions, the people in my life only see the “good” bits. If you instead only ever saw the “bad” bits, I suppose you might feel differently.

Good Lauren — bad Lauren

Here are a few examples. There are loads more. Sometimes it goes one way, sometimes it goes the other. You’ll likely only ever see one end of that spectrum though.

Routine stuff. Plenty of close friends have known me to get annoyed or taken aback by a sudden change of plan. Or to chase up on plans before others might. In much more detail. Almost no one has seen me literally fall to the ground and become non-verbal for over an hour because a plan changed unexpectedly.

Sensory stuff. Colleagues have seen me fidget with a little sensory toy while on a call. None have seen me compulsively rocking back and forth while overstimulated from a day of too many meetings. Or breaking down in tears because the feeling of my toenails against the bedsheets is keeping me awake for the third night in a row.

Social stuff. All my friends know that, while I enjoy seeing them, it costs me an above-average amount of energy. Most of them don’t know that I will not leave the house alone except for in the early morning, even to go to a supermarket, just because there will be more people there. Exceptions for reaching certain social events or medical appointments, of course… But most of those times I arrange a phone call while travelling so that I am distracted from what is going on around me. Either way, it usually takes me the rest of the day to recover, especially if I had to go somewhere new. And a few days of consecutive social events will make me physically ill.

Everything depends on the context. All of us thrive in certain environments more than others. But the world is not set up for autistic folks. So there are fewer environments in which I can function well. Whether or not you get to see that from the outside.

The “but” is a slap in the face

When people call me high-functioning, either directly or when talking about me to others, it usually comes with a “but”. Sometimes out loud, sometimes implied.

“But you’re high functioning”, or “you’re high functioning though, aren’t you?” feels like I suddenly need to justify my needs. Like things can’t be that bad. Or that my needs do not matter quite as much as they would, had you not made some assumption based on what you can see.

Hearing stories of people telling others of my diagnosis feels similar. I know of at least one occasion where someone felt the need to add “high functioning” because they were concerned about how the listener — we had never met — would then perceive me. Almost like “she’s autistic, but oh, she’s not that kind of autistic, don’t worry”.

No one would add this caveat if they weren’t trying to interrupt an assumed mental image. To me, this just illustrates a lack of understanding about autism. That others’ perceptions of it are likely to be wrong.

This is not their fault… But remember, if you are talking to someone about autism, you are in a position of power. You have the opportunity to address misconceptions then and there. Rather than reinforce them.

In either case, the explicit or implicit “but” implies that I don’t need any adjustments or support. Sometimes I do, though. And the fact that my diagnosis is so invisible makes it all the more important that others don’t dismiss this information outright.

What CAN I call you?

This might sound a little out there, but… you could just call me “autistic”.

If there is a genuine need to differentiate, support labels might be better. So, “high, low, moderate support needs”. This feels more helpful. It describes what someone needs in order to make the world accessible to them. Rather than defining the individual.

I feel the need to caveat somewhere that I am not trying to diminish the difficulties of others on the spectrum, who do have higher support needs than myself. Far from it. I cannot speak for others’ experiences… but would guess that for the same reasons I am over-estimated — i.e. people taking things at face value and a lack of understanding around autism — others could be under-estimated. Which, if true, is even more unhelpful.

I am autistic. I am not high- or low-functioning. I am just about functioning. Kinda like the rest of the world.

Really curious to hear how other autistic folks feel about the same labels. Leave a comment or a note if you’ve got thoughts.

You can find lots of tips and real-life reflections at Colour me autistic.

I’ve got my own content on there as a starting point, but I am looking for others to get involved and share their stories, and what really works. If you want to do that, use the signup link here and I’ll send you more info on how to contribute, or you can leave me a private note on this article.

Lauren x

For me, my internal senses (proprioception, vestibular, interoception) don’t get enough of the right stimulation.

The vestibular sense is all about movement and balance. It is very “organising” for your brain. It helps make sense of all the other sensory inputs you’re getting.

My brain doesn’t process this like a neurotypical brain, so a lot of background anxiety can build up throughout the day.

After my autism diagnosis, I found out that I need to balance out (pun intended) my vestibular input. I know this is true because:

• Repetitive movements e.g. rocking are very calming
• I am very clumsy, constantly bumping into things
• I have a strong fear of falling
• I hate being upside down
• I very easily get lost or confused about directions, even very close to home
• I naturally walk and run looking down because the motion otherwise feels disorientating

So, what to do? To balance out my vestibular input, I use some deliberate kinds of movement, to help my brain know what’s going on, and in turn, reduce my anxiety.

Here are five things I’ve experimented with. I have no affiliation to anything linked below, it’s just what I use!

Experiment 1: Rocking

What is it? Rocking in a slow-ish deliberate pace back and forth. I’ve done this seated in a chair, cross-legged on the floor while holding my knees, and in a rocking chair.

What happened? If I do this deliberately when feeling stressed out, it can be really calming. I’ve found myself doing it unthinkingly during social situations or meetings when I’m feeling restless, which helps keep me focused and a bit calmer. It also helps me a lot after a run when my eyes feel a bit fizzy from lots of motion.

Experiment 2: Repetitive movement patterns

What is it? Not sure exactly how to describe this… basically, I sit or lie on a smooth floor and move my limbs however feels right at the time. Often this is sitting upright, and moving my legs in and out — almost like making a snow angel — while clapping my arms in and out in the opposite pattern: legs together and arms apart, legs apart and arms together, repeat. Or I’ll lie on my back, or curled up in a ball, and roll or rock around. Whatever I feel like.

What happened? When I’m heading for meltdown/shutdown, this is often the only thing that can pull me back into the land of the living. This is a fairly recent discovery. But now, when I’m feeling especially antsy, I try and remember to get on the floor and wriggle around.

Experiment 3: Jumping

What is it? When feeling restless and I can’t settle, I sometimes stand in a corner or in a cupboard and jump straight up and down.

What happened? A minute or two of jumping up and down can calm me right down. I suppose it’s a similar — but more intense — idea to the rocking. It’s a repetitive and deliberate movement. With the added bonus of getting rid of excess energy. It helps me to do this after lots of meetings, when I’ve been working on something complex, or if I am feeling agitated.

Experiment 4: Balance pad

What is it? I’ve got this core balance pad. I have tried sitting on it on the floor, on a chair, and having it under my desk to bounce my feet on.

What happened? Sitting on it didn’t quite work for me, but it lives permanently under my desk now. Bouncing my feet — sometimes quite violently — helps me start focusing when I need to work, or during meetings.

Experiment 5: Running up and down

What is it? Running very quickly from one end of the room to the other, then stopping and going back the other way. My rooms aren’t huge, so this means a very rapid acceleration and deceleration. Often I also pace up and down listening to music at a slower speed.

What happened? When feeling agitated, this can quickly run off some excess energy and calm me down a bit. From there, I usually move on to doing whatever calmer activity I’d not been able to focus on before.

You can find lots more tips and real-life reflections at Colour me autistic.

I’ve got my own content on there as a starting point, but I am looking for others to get involved and share their stories, and what really works. If you want to do that, use the signup link here and I’ll send you more info on how to contribute, or you can leave me a private note on this article.

Lauren x

Change is hard. There is no getting around it.

Autistic brains are, amongst other things, hard-wired for structure and order. Unfortunately, the world rarely conforms to this…(rude)

After my diagnosis, I saw more clearly how this was impacting my day-to-day. For example:

• During any kind of big life change (e.g. moving house, even going on holiday) I would be at maybe 10% brain capacity for at least a week or two on either side. More meltdowns, more overwhelm, much more exhaustion.
• Sometimes, if someone changed a meeting or a phone call last minute, I would feel really angry at them. I couldn’t understand why they had not foreseen and planned around whatever had caused the change. (In hindsight, this is because most people don’t use up most of their brainpower going over and over their plans and backup plans…)
• If someone suggested a last-minute plan to me, I would always want to say no. No matter how great it sounded.
• When living with a partner, I could easily end up in a meltdown when they wanted to change something arbitrary. Like when to go out for a walk on a completely plan-free day, or which TV show to watch.

So, what to do? Knowing what to expect is extremely important for me. But people are unpredictable, things do come up, and plans do sometimes (unfortunately) need to change.

Here are five things that help me handle the unknown…

Thing 1: Budgeting for the impact of expected changes

Understanding why change is so hard gives me a choice. If I know there is a change coming up (location, new people, whatever) then I can choose to budget for that. I can give myself more downtime, do a bit less socialising, or take some time off. I try and take a few days off between a holiday or a house move and returning to work, for example. That gives me space to rest and adjust.

Thing 2: Giving myself time to adjust to unexpected changes

Again, understanding why this is so difficult offers me a choice. I can be more understanding and compassionate towards myself when a change happens. In the moment when I discover something is going to change, completely out of my control… it’s like the bottom has fallen out of the world. Even for tiny changes, there is a sudden and overwhelming feeling of anxiety that immediately follows. When I try to ignore this, it will take up a chunk of brain space for hours, even days, just whirring around in the background while I try and make sense of it. So now, when a change happens, I let myself stop. And breath. I sit and re-work my plans with this new information. And run that through my mind a few times until it feels ok again. The feeling passes much quicker if I give it some space to play out.

Thing 3: Leaving a gap before I respond to a new suggestion

Whenever someone makes a new suggestion, especially a last-minute one, my automatic answer is “no”. I know now that this is just because I have not had time to adjust to the change. So I give myself time to sit with the choices. Then make a decision once the anxiety has died down and the options feel clearer.

Thing 4: Refusing to change (sometimes)

Sometimes, people will suggest a change that is convenient but not 100% necessary for them. My natural inclination before has always been to “people please” and agree unless there is a very practical reason not to. But now I try and weigh in the impact of the change on me too before deciding what to do. Sometimes it’s fine, but when I need to, I can refuse to shift from Plan A.

Thing 5: Reducing the chance of something unexpected happening

I’ve talked about this more here, but one way I handle change is to minimise its chances(!) By planning anything that can be planned (e.g. requesting a hotel’s menu beforehand if it’s not on their website, looking at street view for walking routes and alternative travel options) I can take away some uncertainty. This absolutely does help me, but it is only one part of the picture. Things will still change, so it needs to go hand-in-hand with all the understanding and self-compassion above.

You can find lots more tips and real-life reflections at Colour me autistic.

I’ve got my own content on there as a starting point, but I am looking for others to get involved and share their stories, and what really works. If you want to do that, use the signup link here and I’ll send you more info on how to contribute, or you can leave me a private note on this article.

Lauren x

My struggle with routines, change, and unpredictability is probably my most obvious autism-related issue to friends and family.

Autistic brains are (amongst other things) hard-wired for structure and order. Unfortunately, the world rarely conforms to this! After my diagnosis, I saw more clearly how this was impacting my day-to-day. For example:

• I regularly broke down in tears after becoming stuck and agitated on Saturdays. The structure of the workweek had suddenly disappeared and I did not know what to do with an empty schedule.
• I could spend hours and hours rehearsing simple routines… Like how I would get to the shop five minutes’ walk away, exactly what I would do between getting up and starting work in the morning, when I would use up which vegetables in my fridge.
• When living with a partner, I could easily end up in a meltdown when they wanted to change something arbitrary. Like when to go out for a walk on a completely plan-free day, or which TV show to watch.

So, what to do?

Knowing what to expect is extremely important for me. Of course, things will sometimes change (I’ve got a separate article on handling change). But there are things I can do to ensure that what is within my control feels less chaotic. Freeing up a valuable bit of brain space for the rest of what life throws my way.

Here are seven things I’ve tried, the impact, and what I’m going to do with them in future. I don’t have any affiliation to anything linked below, it’s just what I use.

Experiment 1: Having set routines for repeated activities

What is it? Idea stolen from Christine Lion’s book, I chose set routines for repeated activities. I started with one each for waking up, coming home, and going to bed. I put them on my whiteboard. In the book, Christine also suggests having variations of these for when e.g. you only have five minutes to complete it, when you are travelling, when there are other people around. At the time, I was working from home during a lockdown, so variation did not apply!

What happened? With tweaks, these have been really helpful for grounding me in moments where before I often got anxiously stuck (in the morning) or frantic (coming home). I ditched the going to bed one, because I found that I was unable to follow the exact same routine every night. Not following it was stressing me out, so I removed the expectation. However, the others have been great. I especially noticed this when staying in a new place for a few days. One morning I woke up and felt completely lost and upset and stuck. Then I remembered the routine on my whiteboard at home, “pressed play” on that, and off I went. Much better.

Experiment 2: Planning everything that can be planned for travel

What is it? Perhaps self-explanatory(!) I was doing this in an uncontrolled way before. That ended up taking loads of brain space over a long period of time. Now, when I find out that I have to go somewhere new, I let myself stop. Straight away. And make a plan. A really detailed one… If it’s a big journey and I’ve booked e.g. a particular train seat, I’ll look up the train seating plans online for the type of train I’m taking (only recently discovered these exist, they’re great) so I know what to expect when getting on the train. I’ll work out my leaving time and my backup leaving time and add the journey times, bus routes, etc. to my calendar. I’ll look up street-view and inside pictures of the place so I know what I’m dealing with. Once, for a work party, I asked the organiser for some more information about the venue. She was able to send videos and pictures, showing where loos / food / drinks would all be. It really helped put me at ease. The main thing for me is to allow space for all the planning to happen in a more deliberate way.

What happened? This has helped minimise travel stress a lot. Don’t get me wrong, travel itself can still be extremely stressful and overwhelming… but the amount of brain space taken up before the journey is smaller now because of this. Before, I could go over journeys on an almost daily basis for weeks before they happened. Which was exhausting. Now, I get all the planning out of the way in one go, deliberately, and then I know I’m “safe” to stop thinking about it until the day arrives.

Experiment 3: Having a visual daily schedule

What is it? Every morning I put some magnetic whiteboard cards (like these) on my whiteboard to show what I’ve got coming up through the day. I have the full set lined up on my radiator so can pick and choose, or edit them if I need to. They’re colour coded, so I can quickly see if I’ve got a very people-heavy day that I might need to balance out later.

What happened? This too has saved a lot of brain space. I used to spend a lot of time mentally rehearsing what was going to happen. If it was an “unusual” day this could happen hundreds of times on repeat, which was exhausting and distracting. As an extra experiment, I did try two days without this, having done it consistently for a few months. It was awful! I felt so confused all day about what was going to happen. And went straight back to the constant rehearsal. Having a visual reminder, outside of my brain, helps take some of the computing away.

Experiment 4: A visual reminder of the day of the week

What is it? On a whiteboard, every day I write “Today is [whatever day it is]”.

What happened? I felt weird starting this, it seemed too basic. But again, it’s freed up a surprising amount of brain space. I later started to add any times that I have to be somewhere too, as an extra visual reminder on top of the rough schedule mentioned above. One day I noticed that I’d been feeling really confused and disorientated about the day, and had been running my week through in my head a lot. It wasn’t until the evening that I noticed I’d not written any day on the board that morning…

Experiment 5: Learning to be flexible based on interoception clues

What is it? Sort of the reverse of everything else I’ve said. Because I am so rigid about sticking to a plan and needing certainty, sometimes this works against me. I can ignore tiredness, illness, strong emotions, for the sake of avoiding change and uncertainty. I’ve started paying more deliberate attention to interoception clues (more on that here), so that I can take that into account. I will now sometimes change (e.g. cancel) my plans depending on how I am feeling.

What happened? Well, I do a bit less now… but what I do do is far more sustainable. It’s been relatively straightforward to switch from e.g. spending an evening writing to spending an evening watching TV if I’m too tired to keep thinking. It’s less easy to say no to social plans because I’m too drained to face people. But I’m getting there. And it is worth it, because I know how much energy it saves. Socialising is tiring at the best of times, but when I’m already running on empty, the impact is even bigger.

Experiment 6: Fortnightly meal plans

What is it? Working out how I would use up the food in my house used to take up a lot of brain space. Getting everything in the right order so that nothing went out of date. While still getting a good balance of nutrition across the weeks. I decided to get a food delivery every two weeks and have a meal plan for everything in advance.

What happened? Having a plan helped a lot. But my issues with taste/texture meant that sticking to a particular order caused anxiety. Some things would just be too difficult to eat on days when I was feeling overwhelmed (more on that here). So I am more flexible now. Instead of a fixed meal order, I list out the proteins I have in the house on a whiteboard and wipe them off as I go. I also get more frozen or cupboard things so that the proportion of things that have to be eaten in a certain order is minimal. I still get anxious about fresh veg going out of date on weeks when I’ve not been able to eat too much of it. But I have budgies now, who get veg every day… That means less waste and less guilt about me not being able to eat it!

Experiment 7: Asking for plan details sooner

What is it? When I’m making plans with someone, I won’t leave things tentative for very long. If I’m not sure what’s happening, or I need more details, I ask. I used to feel bad about doing this, as though I would be annoying someone. But usually (a) no one actually minds, and (b) they understand why it matters to me so it’s not an issue anyway. And anyone who does have a problem with it… well. We’re probably best off not spending too much time together.

What happened? Doing this has made lots of social situations much easier. When I know what to expect, I can picture how it will be, how it will feel. And I don’t waste brain space planning for ten million possibilities. There are work socials that I have only been able to attend because I have started doing this. In the past, I would have dropped out. But taking time to ask the organiser exactly what will happen (who will be in a group with me, exact timings, what the ice-breakers will be) has taken away a huge chunk of anxiety and made these events accessible.

Find lots more tips and real-life reflections at Colour me autistic.

I’ve got my own content on there as a starting point, but I am looking for others to get involved and share their stories, and what really works. If you want to do that, use the signup link here and I’ll send you more info on how to contribute, or you can leave me a private note on this article.

Lauren x

My internal senses (proprioception, vestibular, interoception) don’t get enough of the right stimulation.

Proprioception means knowing where your body parts are in space. It is very “organising” for your brain. It helps make sense of all the other sensory inputs you’re getting. If you don’t get enough, a lot of background anxiety can build up throughout the day.

As part of my autism diagnosis, I found out that I do not get enough proprioceptive input. I know this is true because:

• Applying pressure to my body or joints is extremely calming
• I frequently break things because I can’t tell how much pressure I’m applying (e.g. when washing up glasses)
• I am quite clumsy, and usually have bruises from bumping into things
• My hand gets tired easily from writing because I squeeze too hard
• Terrible hand-eye coordination
• I constantly feel very disconnected from my body, and get confused about whose limbs are mine if sitting with someone

So, what to do? To increase proprioceptive input, you can apply extra weight or pressure to your body, especially your joints. That gives extra signals to your brain about what’s going on.

Here are ten things I’ve experimented with, the impact, and what I’m going to do with them in future. I have no affiliation to anything linked below, it’s just what I use.

Experiment 1: A weighted lap pad

What is it? A square pad filled with beads that weigh it down. Like this one. The idea is to put it on your lap while seated e.g. at work, to give some extra input.

What happened? I sat with it while watching TV or working, but I wriggle a lot and sit in weird positions so it didn’t really help. It’s still in the cupboard, but I’m not sure if I’ll use it again.

Experiment 2: Adding weights to my rucksack

What is it? I get very anxious while out and about, so experimented with adding a 3kg dumbbell to my rucksack and carrying that on my back.

What happened? This has helped me feel slightly more grounded while out and about, so I still do this if my bag is quite empty.

Experiment 3: Weighted blankets

What is it? A blanket filled with beads to weigh it down. This gives a bit of extra input over your whole body when lying or sleeping under it. I have a blanket like this one. They should be around 5–10% of your body weight in order to be both safe and comfortable.

What happened? I use mine to sleep under. It hugely improved my sleep quality straight away. I feel the difference when I go away and sleep without it, so might start taking it with me when I can. Unfortunately, they are (necessarily) quite heavy to transport!

Experiment 4: Being squished (requires help)

What is it? Being cuddled quite forcefully, someone laying on top of me, or putting me into (gentle) wrestling holds. If alone, I can cross my arms in front of me and press down hard on opposite shoulders.

What happened? This immediately calms me down. If I could get my day-to-day life done whilst also being constantly squished, I would. The solo shoulder-pressing thing can have a really sudden impact on my anxiety levels too, especially at the end of a stressful day.

Experiment 5: Joint compressions (requires help)

What is it? Applying rapid extra pressure to joints one at a time. Here is a video that explains it properly. I saw it recommended as a parenting technique to quickly calm down an autistic child if they are having a meltdown.

What happened? My friend tried this out on me and I immediately melted. It makes my joints feel all floppy. We did it while at a pub, and it just took away a whole chunk of my anxiety straight away. I’ve taught a few people to do it now, so when out and about there are folks I can go up to, present a wrist/elbow, and get joint compressions to calm me down. Sure, it looks weird. But it is extremely worth it.

Experiment 6: Exercising with weights

What is it? This one wasn’t really new, I do strength workouts at home anyway. But using it to calm down was novel. When I want to get some extra input, I will hold dumbbells and do exercises that apply a lot of downward pressure. Like chest presses, or holding heavy weights by my side for lunges. For strength workouts, I use Sydney Cummings’ YouTube channel. She’s super positive, sensible about health and fitness, and very down to earth.

What happened? This is a nice one for waking my body up in the morning. A couple of gentle — but heavy — exercises seem to help orientate my brain. It also helps a lot if I’m feeling agitated in the middle of a workday.

Experiment 7: Yoga

What is it? I’m sure you know what yoga is… but in this context, it can be a good way to give some intense input to joints. I like Sydney Cummings’ yoga or stretch videos because it’s just the movement, without the woo.

What happened? When I remember to do it (hardly ever) this is one of the only things I can do that helps me feel connected to my limbs. Especially when doing a very intense stretch and having to pay attention to breathing into it.

Experiment 8: Sensory compression clothing

What is it? Clothing that provides constant pressure throughout the day, and can be worn under other clothes. I got mine here. They don’t have much for adults (I am very short, so kids’ stuff is fine…) If anyone knows a better adult source, tell me and I’ll link it. I use long-sleeved tops and a sleeveless tube top from that site, plus standard compression running tights.

What happened? This has been a total game-changer. It reduces my sense of being disconnected from my body. And helps me feel much calmer when out and about.

Experiment 9: Fidgeting with a stretchy band

What is it? Anything stretchy to fidget with, that you can pull and gives you a bit of resistance. I have these stretchy fidget toys, and a much firmer band like this. You can also put a stretchy resistance band around your desk or table to kick against while seated.

What happened? The stretchy fidget toys are now my go-to for fidgeting in meetings. They help me concentrate. The firmer one gives a good bit of calming resistance when I need it, but I do that far less often. I can’t get the angles to work with a band around my desk, but I’ve heard it’s helpful for others.

Experiment 10: Foam roller

What is it? A foam cylinder that you can roll over like this one. I think they’re mostly intended to help with recovery after working out. Sydney Cummings has some foam roller videos like this one if you want ideas.

What happened? I found this enjoyable, but not calming, as it takes quite a lot of concentration for me to not fall off or let it roll away. So I do it because it feels nice (which is still a good reason!) but not because of my proprioceptive issues.

Find lots more tips and real-life reflections at Colour me autistic.

I’ve got my own content on there as a starting point, but I am looking for others to get involved and share their stories, and what really works. If you want to do that, use the signup link here and I’ll send you more info on how to contribute, or you can leave me a private note on this article.

Lauren x