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I never imagined something as small as nail and skin picking would become such a big part of our daily life, but here we are. My 8-year-old, who’s autistic, started picking to the point of bleeding sometimes without even realizing he was doing it. At first it scared me, then it frustrated me, and now I’m learning to see it for what it really is: communication. For him, picking isn’t about “bad behavior.” It’s a sensory and emotional response his way of coping when things feel too big, too loud,

Being an autistic woman can feel invisible. We feel everything deeply yet we’re told we’re “too much,” “too quiet,” or “too sensitive.” So we mask, perform, and lose pieces of ourselves trying to fit in. I was diagnosed late, after years of wondering why connection felt so hard. Why honesty pushed people away. Why I kept shrinking to be accepted. If that sounds familiar, you’re not broken. You’re not cold. You’re not hard to love. You’ve just been misunderstood in a world that doesn’t always val

This post argues that calling autism “fluid” can erase the experiences of families living with profound, level 3 autism. It highlights that while people with level 1 or 2 may have good and bad days, profound autism is permanent and not something someone “shifts” out of. What do you think? Are autism levels misunderstood or oversimplified in online spaces?

When my son was around 4, every loud sound felt like an attack to him vacuums, traffic, even the blender. He’d cover his ears, cry, and hide. Now he’s 6, and while we’ve learned to predict and manage meltdowns better, sound sensitivity is still a big part of our lives. We tried everything earmuffs, cheap headphones, even DIY fixes. Nothing worked for long. He’d say, “It’s still too loud, Mommy,” and my heart would break a little each time. Then we tried noise-cancelling headphones. The first pai

It’s the strangest thing there are moments when I want to speak, but it’s like the words just get stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth. Especially around new people or in public. My throat tightens, my chest feels heavy, and even though I know what I want to say… nothing comes out. It’s not shyness exactly. It’s like my whole system shuts down. My body says “nope, not safe” even when my mind says “just talk.” Then when I’m back with someone I trust like family, a close friend, or even o

I’ve always thought talking is such a strange way to connect. Everyone seems to expect that communication has to come with words eye contact, smiles, quick responses like it’s some kind of performance. But honestly? It’s exhausting. What I really crave are those moments when you can just be next to someone quietly, comfortably. No pressure to fill the silence. Just existing together. I love when I’m with someone and we’re doing something simple drawing, walking, listening to music and there’s no

My son is 8, and he’s what I’d call an extroverted autistic. I didn’t even realize that was a thing until a few years ago I used to think all autistic kids preferred quiet or alone time. But not him. He thrives around people. He lights up when there’s company. He’ll talk endlessly to strangers in the supermarket line or ask the neighbors if they want to play board games. The hard part? People often misread his energy. They think he’s being “too much,” “too loud,” or “too familiar.” And when they

I used to really hate when people invaded my space. Not just dislike. I’d feel it in my bones, like a jolt. If I went to the library, I was there to study, not to chat or make friends or be anyone’s “study buddy.” Once, a girl asked me to save her a seat. I thought, Okay, whatever, that’s fine. But every time I got up to refill my water, to stretch, to use the bathroom — she’d ask, It made my skin crawl. I’d replay it in my head for hours. Why did she care? Why did she want to come with me? I ju

I used to wake up every day thinking, what’s even the point? Early twenties. Living with my parents. They were stable enough to keep me afloat, and I’m grateful for that but I felt stuck. I had a part-time job, nothing fancy, just enough to fill some hours. Not enough to live on my own. Not enough to feel like I was doing life right. I didn’t want kids. I couldn’t picture marriage. Honestly, I couldn’t even imagine functioning independently. The idea of managing bills, cooking, cleaning, sociali

I used to love family gatherings; the laughter, the overlapping conversations, the smell of food, kids running around. But ever since my son was diagnosed with autism, those same moments have felt… different. It’s not that he doesn’t love people. He does. He just experiences the world in his own way. What feels joyful and lively to others can feel overwhelming to him the chatter, the clinking dishes, the hugs from relatives who mean well but don’t always understand his need for space. At first,

Has anyone else experienced days like this? Today felt like walking straight into a storm I couldn’t escape. Every sound was louder. Every light was brighter. Even the smallest things a tag in my shirt, a sudden movement, a voice too close felt sharp enough to cut right through me. For a long time, I believed days like this didn’t “count.” I thought that unless I smiled, achieved, or looked like I was keeping up with the world, then the day was wasted. But here’s what I’ve learned: survival does

Music isn’t just something I listen to it’s something I live inside. As an autistic woman, it’s always been one of my strongest stims. It helps me regulate, process the things I can’t always put into words, and create a sense of safety when the world feels too sharp or overwhelming. I don’t really follow genres. For me, it’s more about chasing feelings. The one exception is classical piano, something about Chopin and Debussy seems to gently untangle the knots in my mind and bring me back to cent

For as long as I can remember, people have tried to fit me into neat little boxes labels that never quite matched how I actually felt When I was a kid, adults would say things like, “You’re just shy, you’ll grow out of it.” But what they didn’t see was how I’d lie awake at night, replaying every word I’d said, worried I’d missed some hidden rule everyone else seemed to know. As a teenager, I’d hear, “You’re so blunt it’s refreshing!” But behind the laughs, I was quietly exhausted, trying to keep

When the sun sets, our son's voice becomes the soundtrack of our home. He doesn't speak in conventional sentences, but his unique language fills every corner with life. He repeats sounds, phrases, or even the last word he heard on his favourite TV show. Sometimes, it's just a jubilant string of syllables that dance in the air. It's a symphony that's loud, rhythmic, and beautifully unpredictable. At first, I didn't understand this melody. I tried to quiet him, worried about the whispers from the

My Kind of Beautiful Isn’t Always Seen — But It’s Real. Today, I want to talk a little about what it’s like living on the deeper end of the spectrum. For people like me, it means needing help with things other people don’t even think about. Sometimes I need someone to help me get dressed, or eat, or just make sure I’m safe. I don’t always speak out loud, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand or feel things. In fact, sometimes I feel them even more deeply. When people hear “profound autism,” t

Name of the medical condition and other names that it’s been known by • Profound Autism • Severe Autism • Low-Functioning Autism What is Profound Autism? Profound autism is a term used to describe a severe form of autism spectrum disorder (ASD). It is characterized by significant challenges in communication, social skills, and daily living activities. Individuals with profound autism often have: • Very limited or no speech. • A high level of dependence on others for basic tasks such as eating, d