Happy Belated Autism Diagnosis!

Let's rewind to the time before I had my life-changing epiphany with THE fried egg (yes, the egg that made me question everything, including my sanity). I was blissfully unaware, of course, because who has time for self-reflection when you're stranded on a deserted island? Seriously, I was in survival mode so long that I half-expected to mourn the loss of Wilson.

Then came the injuries, the ultimate plot twist! Suddenly, my world was told to stay indoors like I was grounded for making a wrong choice. My special interests, which I had nurtured like a rare plant, were suddenly put on hold, wilting under the harsh fluorescent lights of boredom. And just when I thought I was safe in my bubble of hyperfocus, my business—my precious creation—was halted faster than you can say "egg-cellent decision." Talk about a scrambled situation!

At that time, my adrenaline was drained out of me, it left my body without a goodbye. My brain and body were no longer sustained by adrenaline, the energy source—or better yet, the fake energy—extracted from my special interests vanished without a trace. I exhausted myself to achieve the typical life milestones by adhering to the exact rules laid down by the world not designed for me, only to receive such a harsh result. At least that's what I flirted with for a few (or hundreds) moments at the time.

The ride to my autism diagnosis was not straightforward and came later in life. However, the comfort lies in understanding the reasons behind the differences I experienced and having an explanation for my quirks. Plus, I have finally accepted I had no choice but to stop and evaluate the priorities of such life milestones I had set up for myself. Amidst the turmoil, one of the compartments of my brain managed to whisper "It is okay to stop. My world is in a standstill." Thanks to the whisper, the initial quest emerged—"TAKE A GODDAMN BREAK" [shouted Ollie from Family Guy]—whilst the internal war was raging in my brain, which quickly manifested physically.

The Autistic Burnout Manifested into a Full-Blown Assault

In the course of my "recovery", it seems my unsympathetic body refused the memo from my brain. From the outset, I couldn't sleep, so I assigned myself more tasks to fool my brain into believing I wasn't wasting time, hoping it would allow me to sleep. Instead, this resulted in hives appearing on my face and neck. My sensory system became overbearingly sensitive, and the manifestation was progressively disabling over several days. I found myself losing basic functioning skills.

The profound exhaustion was merely the start of the ordeal. I couldn't tolerate any kind of light and had to remain in darkness for most of the day. Showering was impossible, as the water felt like it was pounding my skin, causing too much pain. Even the thought of taking off my clothes, the friction against my skin, or the change in temperature between clothed and unclothed was overwhelming. My hearing was constantly overwhelmed, and I could hardly converse with my husband, as his voice sounded like a loudspeaker in my ears.

Furthermore, my beloved taste buds were no longer experiencing the intense joy; instead, I reverted to my childhood self. I was once again the picky-eating-nightmare-child the family avoided, where every texture posed a challenge and it took me hours to barely finish a meal. Consequently, I faced digestive issues again, along with an upset stomach that seemed to be returning with a vengeance. Vomiting became a coping mechanism to alleviate the sensitivities. What subdued me the most was that evil cough, always lurking beneath the surface, ready to strike whenever my senses were disturbed.

The initial quest was supposed to have some downtime and recover from injuries, all the while I could learn how to rest and, for once, acquire the skills to prioritise myself. I did not sign up to assaults on my senses. The negative thoughts circling in my mind were: How did I transition from being a female leader in the tech industry (there must be a hashtag for this), to starting my own businesses from scratch, to becoming a complete failure (as I labelled myself ), unable to even accomplish basic daily tasks!?

The Autism Diagnosis vs. Manage The Extension vs. Launching a Business vs. Self-Care

The plan was to pursue an autism diagnosis and learn self-care, but the construction project kindly hindered this autonomy. The stop-start-continue method proved to be very disruptive—not in the radically innovative way desired in the tech industry, but in a way that interrupted every step, making self-care absolutely impossible.

Life was buddying alongside the hazards, showing me no mercy. The life I had sacrificed to build seemed intent on punishing me. In this gruelling chapter of my life, I encountered demands that would greatly benefit from understanding my autism. While this understanding wouldn't have resolved the challenges, it would have offered the crucial insight needed to acknowledge and recognise the issue. It could have boldly announced itself: "It is I, do not be afraid."

During this time, life seemed determined to torment me with different shades of obstacles: overseeing the extension, dealing with unreliable builders, launching a business, making our home safe or giving it up altogether, and continuing to be the driving force of our business venture, among other tasks. My life force was being drained by a series of demanding tasks in this extension project that were extremely challenging, yet they compelled me to recognize the differences I encountered during this testing time in my life. From the minor daily tasks to the larger scale of living up to being an autistic woman with responsibilities, the disparities became so apparent that I could no longer dismiss them.

Admittedly, my tendency to work until I find the solution isn't working. Neither did my pragmatic life philosophy: never give up. This mindset had been serving me well for many years, but not this time. Both my habits and perspective seemed to be pushing me in a counterintuitive direction. Once again, this demonstrated how my autistic self loves to clash with itself, especially when I'm attempting to embark on a new path that could be a healthy step forward.

The self-care routine and recovery practice soon turned into another endless to-do list for this nightmare home projects or business tasks. The time set aside to explore my autism diagnosis became an elaborate construction plan to ensure it would endure despite builders abandoning it. Life had also turned into a series of confusing rules I hadn't mastered, becoming a continuous list of home improvements, demands, support, responsibilities, chores, and more. After accumulating a stack of challenges leading to autistic burnout, I've learned a crucial lesson: the importance of pausing and acknowledging the detrimental impact on my health.

Creating a Defence System For My Sensory Sensitivity

The consolation prize is that the experience made me acknowledge the challenges I'm living with, yet managed to hide in plain sight that I've lost touch with my authentic self, which has been a package deal since birth. It's like I was playing hide and seek with my identity, and spoiler alert: I was really bad at seeking! Initially, I chose to create a list of physical challenges that are obvious to me. You know, like the time I tried to hug a cactus because it looked like a friendly green buddy. Due to my autistic burnout, the intensity of my sensory sensitivity has become more apparent, allowing me to easily identify them. It's like my senses decided to throw a party, and I wasn't invited—I don't like parties anyways.

I discovered that a consistent and conscious effort is required to identify sensory sensitivity, and I must tackle the source of the sensory experiences. To enhance my everyday life, I understood that I needed to implement small changes to manage each heightened sensitivity. The condition, known as sensory overload, has worsened my injuries and caused my agitation, illnesses, overstimulation, stress, insomnia, and more. Hence, I need to devise a strategy to minimize the overwhelming sensory inputs, though not completely eliminate them, as that would be an impossible task.

The defence system I began to develop isn't a fortress barricade; instead, it's the little things I didn't realise I needed to reduce sensory inputs for all my senses. Sometimes, these overstimulations aren't as clear-cut as shown in movies or TV shows. Therefore, the process involved trial and error to identify the culprits. This approach was the initial step in achieving the necessary balance. Honestly, my lack of awareness prevented me from connecting the impacts of my sensory experiences with autism, and how it affected my daily life. Regardless of the timing, I have stumbled into building a defence for my senses.

The Reflection During My Belated Autism Diagnosis

I reflected on my autism diagnosis at a time when, for the first time, I felt completely without direction. My typically optimistic self had somehow fallen apart, as had my ability to function. Independence has always been crucial to me, as I had to find my own path in the world from a young age. Relying on others was never an option, but I also like it this way, so I've always believed that the only choice is to forge ahead.

Before reaching this moment, I hadn't realised that reckless builders were a disaster waiting to happen on its own. However, when combined with sudden accidents, autistic burnouts became inevitable. It was only a matter of time before I was consumed by the unknowns that impacted my daily life. The unchosen mix of overwhelming responsibilities, endless to-do lists and intense schedules, along with my autistic burnout, truly drove me to my limits. Each time I faced sensory or emotional overload, I was overwhelmed with negative thoughts and suicidal ideations.

One of my biggest struggles in life has been my inability to clearly identify my feelings or express them in words. Somehow I've managed to navigate life without this becoming a major obstacle. I must have seen it as a feature, and not a bug. Before I push this agenda on this non-issue too far into the minefield, I want to acknowledge that I now understand it has a name: Alexithymia. It has certainly presented many challenges, some even fun, but that's a topic for another article, as it's not the main focus here.

Ode to Buddy: The Furry Therapist

In these bleak times, my fur baby, Buddy, is my saviour. Buddy possesses a unique ability to instinctively detect the subtle behaviours or emotions that I fail to notice. My tendency to overlook my own feelings or the emotions required for a particular situation has actually been beneficial in many aspects of my life. However, this was not the case when I needed to understand what was wrong. In significant moments when I was overwhelmed by suicidal thoughts, I needed to learn how to identify complex feelings to help me regulate my emotions, and this remains a challenging learning process for me.

With Buddy, I can embrace the learning curve and practice self-compassion. The best part is that I needn't be concerned about expressing my feelings in descriptive words; Buddy doesn't require a precise sentence to offer help with all his mighty powers. His support isn't based on how sufficiently I can present the evidence of my emotional dysregulation. The support is available even if I fail to satisfy the appropriate facial expressions of emotional turmoil, and I am still worthy of his unconditional love. The connection is so simple and easy, which is exactly what I needed to heal.

Words cannot express the gratitude I feel for my fur baby and his presence. Seriously, if I tried, I'd probably end up writing a book titled "The Chronicles of a Wiggle Bum." This little guy has a remarkable ability to paw in and intervene during dangerous thoughts—like a fluffy superhero, but instead of a cape, he sports a fur coat that sheds on everything I own.

Buddy's Superpowers

• Emotional Support: Whenever I’m uncertain about the direction, he’s right there, staring at me with those big, soulful eyes as if to say, "Why work this out now? Let’s snuggle instead!"

• Distraction Expert: Who needs therapy when you have a dog that will interrupt your autistic burnout with a sudden urge to play licking machine? Nothing says "Get out of your head" like a slobbery face.

• Grounding Techniques: Buddy has a unique way of keeping me grounded—by lying between my thighs. Who needs meditation when you have a 7.5kg furball napping on your crotch, reminding you that you can’t move without him?

Our connection has grown into an unbreakable bond—mostly because he knows who cooks his food. Buddy, the wiggle bum, is pulling me through struggles and pain, often by simply being his adorable self. Although the suffering might not have been apparent to me at first, he knew exactly how to help—like when he rubs his little head on me, as if to say, "Let’s forget about your autistic burnout and focus on stroking my ears (the world's softest ears)!"

Life-Saving Skills

Above all, my beloved Buddy has saved my life. Not from a burning building, but from a hazardous home that causes us harm, and from the abyss of my calendar where I might confuse recovery with working, and mistake binge-watching shows for learning a new language, pondering how to learn Korean through K-dramas. With his relentless nudging for dinner, he makes sure I don’t forget to eat (or at least cook for him first). So here’s to Buddy, my furry therapist, who has transformed my life into a lively animation filled with belly laughs, slobbery kisses, and an abundance of wiggles!

This experience, along with Buddy, has helped me understand that it's actually human not to have all the answers, and it's okay to be nothing but authentically me for a while.