Through the Looking Glass of a Late Diagnosis: Realizing I Wasn’t the Mad Hatter After All

For as long as I can remember, there’s been this nagging feeling that I didn’t quite fit. Like everyone else had read a secret “how-to” manual on life, leaving me to navigate Wonderland without a map. While others drifted through life on autopilot, I felt like I was forever trying to decode invisible rules. And then my son came along, and for the first time, a few things started to click into place.

In those early years, from baby massage to playgroups, it was clear that he was his own rare breed of caterpillar in a world full of butterflies. His way of being felt both familiar and foreign, like a puzzle piece I could almost recognize. It wasn't long before I started down the rabbit hole of research, reading everything I could find on autism, and checking boxes that seemed to match not just him but me as well. And so, together, we began our journey into a world of assessments, speech therapy, and occupational therapy, a world that would eventually lead us both to answers.

It wasn’t long before I noticed that the professionals’ observations, though meant for my son, felt like little mirrors reflecting me, too. Quietly, I began wondering if maybe, just maybe, this rabbit hole had room for me as well. I started my own search for answers, and while late-diagnosis as an adult is no enchanted stroll, I finally found a specialist who confirmed what I had begun to suspect. Neurodivergent, just like my son.

Like a puzzle the missing pieces clicked together in a way I can only describe as relief. It wasn’t a moment of grief or loss; it was a deep exhale. I wasn’t the Mad Hatter after all. I was simply me, and at last, it made sense.

But life has a way of keeping things interesting. Just two days after my diagnosis, I found out I was carrying high-risk twins. And suddenly, any time I might have spent processing my own newfound identity was swept into a whirlwind of chaos.

Finding My Tribe in Wonderland

If there’s a gift this diagnosis gave me, it’s the unexpected doorway to community, a whole Wonderland of people who “get it.” Online friendships became lifelines, and I found a support network of people who understood the quirks, twists, and turns. Finally, I was connecting with others who shared a similar path, who understood the ups and downs without needing an explanation. In them, I found my tribe, each with our own quirks and rabbit holes, each of us navigating the world a little differently.

While I was busy finding my own sense of belonging, my son’s journey took a unique path of its own, revealing that autism alone didn’t quite account for all he was experiencing. His blend of autism and PDA (Pathological Demand Avoidance) required a level of tailored dedication that transformed my every waking moment as I shaped our world around his needs.

Explaining this to friends and family is like trying to tell the Queen of Hearts to take a chill pill. The constant misunderstandings, the well-meaning but exhausting advice, it left me with no choice but to let go of connections that couldn’t keep up with the life I was living.

Challenging the Invisible Rules of the Patriarchy

To some, it may seem like I’m pushing back against the neurotypical world, but the real resistance is against the invisible rules of the patriarchy. These rules are like invisible threads, tying me to roles I didn’t choose, and making it feel like a crime to embrace who I am. And while I’ve just begun exploring my own neurodivergence, what I know for certain is that I’m no longer willing to shrink myself into someone else’s version of “acceptable.”

Yes, self-criticism is still a frequent visitor (hello, OCD), but I’m learning to be a little gentler with myself, to let go of judgment, and to stretch beyond the roles that were handed to me. The puzzle pieces are coming together slowly, but they’re falling into place in their own time, quirks and all. This journey is full of twists, but for the first time, I know I’m heading in the right direction.