5 Ways My Autism Diagnosis Changed How I Live My Life

Decades went by as I wondered what the hell was wrong with me. There were definite, definable things I could point to — my depression, my drinking, my inability to get along with people — but there seemed to be no organizing principle beyond "I'm a terrible person," or, more charitably, "I'm terrible at being a human."

But then I was diagnosed with autism in February of 2022 when I was 49 years old, and my perspective on my past shifted significantly. After my diagnosis (not before, because I didn't want to unconsciously try to tell the doctor what he needed to hear to make a diagnosis), I started diving into the literature surrounding autism, especially when it's late-diagnosed in a woman, and saw that autism was connected to many of the things I'd spent my life struggling with.

Now, to be clear, I don't mean that my bad behaviors were necessarily caused by autism. I'm also not saying that I should be forgiven for everything or anything simply because I'm autistic. I'm responsible for my own actions, just like everyone else. But I am saying that a lot of my bad habits were coping mechanisms that I may not have needed if I'd known I was autistic earlier in my life.

Here are five ways my life changed for the better after my diagnosis.

1. I quit drinking.

It's difficult for me to articulate exactly why my diagnosis helped me quit drinking. It's something I think I'll be unraveling for the rest of my life. But suffice it to say, I don't know if I could have done it before my diagnosis.

Studies have found that autistic people may be more prone to substance use disorder for a number of reasons, and I recognize most of them in my own experience.

Knowing that truth made me look at my own alcohol use differently. I'd thought I was a woman behaving badly, and I probably was. But more than that, I was a woman trying desperately to regulate my nervous system.

That self-knowledge turned out to be the key that unlocked a life without alcohol for me. It's been two and a half years since I last had a drink, and I'm enjoying life so much more without booze than I did when I was drinking heavily.

2. I have a better relationship with my body.

Generally speaking, I've had an adversarial relationship with my body most of my life. I'm clumsy, I'm sweaty, and puberty came for me so early that my visible development followed me like a curse.

None of those things seemed related to one another — until I was diagnosed and started digging deep into the literature. Like a detective, I pieced together the truth. My body wasn't randomly betraying me. There was a pattern.

The clumsiness is dyspraxia, a coordination disorder that's highly correlated with autism. The sweatiness is just beginning to be linked with autism by researchers, but anecdotal evidence abounds that hyperhidrosis occurs more commonly in the autistic community, as does absurdly early puberty (I was barely 8 and had the body of a full-grown woman).

Knowing all of this made me feel more sympathy for my body and its struggles. And that led to me treating my body with more respect.

3. I'm writing with more regularity.

I've been writing since I was a little kid (I won $50 for a poem I wrote when I was eight years old), and I've always considered myself a writer. But there have been long stretches — years at a time — when I didn't write anything. Those times invariably correspond with periods when I was in a psychological and physical slump. They've also largely stopped occurring since my autism diagnosis.

I've written more in the last four years than I have in any time in my life — except maybe grad school when I was doing so much academic writing that it threatened to kill my enthusiasm for the written word altogether.

Last year (2025) was one of the worst of my life. I was deeply depressed and I barely left my house, but I wrote an entire memoir in that state.

Knowing I'm autistic gave me a completely new perspective on my life, and with it came a renewed dedication to understanding my life through writing.

4. I'm consuming less.

As evidenced by my drinking, I've had lots of issues with my consumption. Not only did I drink too much, smoke too much weed, and eat too much, but I also just over-consumed generally. I spent money as soon as I got it, and I had mounds of plastic crap to show for it. I'd get a little boost when I ordered something, but I'd start regretting the purchase soon after it arrived. I hated that about myself, and yet I couldn't seem to stop.

Now I see that behavior as yet another attempt to regulate my perpetually overwhelmed nervous system. Since my diagnosis, I've quit coffee and booze, regulated my diet, and I've even managed to save some money. I don't know if I could have done any of that without a diagnosis.

5. I'm more settled.

The word "settled" gets a bad rap. There's the word's colonial history. There's the idea of "settling for something" when what you want is something entirely different and grander.

But when I say I'm more settled in my life now, I mean something positive. I'm more comfortable in my skin, and I'm not always desperately trying to escape my life, be it through inebriation or relocation or over-consumption.

I used to think the answer to discomfort was to change my circumstances. Now I understand that sometimes the answer is to change how I relate to my circumstances.

I've heard a lot of people who were diagnosed as children say they wish they'd never been labeled like they were. I get that.

But like a lot of other people who are eventually diagnosed, I was labeled things that were much more insulting: weird. bitchy. stuck up. too cold. too emotional.

And now that I know more about who I am, now that I have a label that actually fits, I'm not fighting the current. I'm learning how to flow.