There is Nothing Wrong With Me After All

About the Author

Prior to retirement as a teacher, school counselor, and Transitional Youth Services Provider, Rick worked with Autistic students and clients from 10-21 years of age. He seeks to bolster knowledge and understanding, and to connect with very late diagnosed adults. Rick would love to hear from readers and can be reached at [email protected].

Key Takeaways

• Many adults born in the mid-20th century grew up when autism was rarely recognized, so some are only now discovering they are Autistic in their 60s and 70s.
• Recognizing you are Autistic late in life can bring relief and a new understanding of lifelong experiences, such as social difficulties, noise sensitivity and trouble finishing projects.
• Understanding your own needs makes practical changes possible, like choosing quieter settings and pacing activities, and it can replace years of self-blame with self-acceptance.

“Something is wrong with me!” This alarm began jangling in my early years and rarely stopped tormenting me until I was almost 70 years old. In elementary school, although my teachers seemed to like me, the other kids did not. In three or four years of attending overnight camp, I did not make any new friends and couldn’t understand why I was there.

But nowhere was my difference more apparent than when I played sports. I joined the kickball, football and baseball games and tried hard, but I wasn’t good at any of them.(Crying in frustration, even in his absence, I could hear my dad shouting, “Boys don’t cry!”)

Playing Little League baseball frustrated me because I couldn’t hit the darn ball no matter how hard I tried, and I could almost feel the heat of my dad’s scowl, while my annoying teammates kept chattering at me. All of that only made me cry, riling up my dad even more! 

By junior high, the boys bullied me. The girls surprisingly deemed me “cool.” but that only lasted for about five minutes. I guess they thought I was cute.  In high school, I kept a steady girlfriend, but when I stopped by her locker in the morning, the boys nearby gave me dirty looks. I didn’t understand their hostility and tried not to show how much it hurt. In classes, I turned in projects late and, for the first time, earned bad grades.  Either I did too much research or not enough. Project completion continued to plague me in college and in my career, but I never knew how to address it, until recently learning that deficient executive functioning skills are common among Autistic people. 

The Upside to a Life With Autism

Although a sense of dis-ease hung around, I can now see that the imperative to make myself fit in had an upside too. For example, although I was almost 40 years old by the time I figured out that teaching suited me and finally got started in a meaningful career, I loved working with kids. I was also almost 40 by the time I married–much later than many of my peers, but my wife and I raised two wonderful daughters and loved one another during our 30-year marriage.

Unearthing the Authentic Me

Still, a disturbing sense that another me — a more “authentic me” — persisted somewhere within. That “genie” finally sparked my urge to unmask. One day, shortly after I turned 69, my older daughter sent an intriguing podcast. She knew I had not only enjoyed my work with Autistic kids but also had been captivated by them. This podcaster was a woman in her 30s who related her own autism discovery story–one of seeking an explanation for her puzzling constellation of traits…one that sounded strangely familiar, as she touched upon struggles with friendships and acute noise sensitivity, and her perpetual tardiness in finishing projects None of the doctors she saw over several years had accurately named the source of her issues, until a new doctor finally put the pieces together. Autism. And she sounded so relieved! 

She might as well have been telling my story. Even her manner of speaking sounded like me. I simply knew in that moment that I, too, must be Autistic and my own sense of relief echoed hers. Imagine that! Listening to this woman’s story finally connected the dots of a lifetime and threw light upon a long strand of puzzling experiences. At last, I could discern the outlines of my authentic self. I could finally grasp my own life with authority.

The Loneliness of Late-in-Life Diagnosis

Uncovering my Autistic identity at the age of 69 was quite a jolt, learning I’d lived in ignorance of it all these years. But it was also a blessing, because my singularity finally made sense. Sadly, this season of awakening has been lonelier than I expected it to be. Although I am convinced there are many others like me, how can I find and connect with them when they don’t realize they are Autistic? 

I know they’re out there because I “met” about 150 of them while reading the book Older Autistic Adults In Their Own Words: The Lost Generation. Its authors, also adults diagnosed later in life, surveyed Autistic men and women from several countries to compile their life experiences.  As Stephen Shore, an authority on autism, explains in the Forward:  “…the relatively short history of autism provides a curious moment of time where many on the spectrum, due to a lack of knowledge and familiarity with autism, were not diagnosed until well into adulthood…” (1) Although I have yearned to meet and talk with such folks, my attempts have led nowhere for those very reasons. 

Mid-Century Medical Ignorance

As children in post WWII America, we were strongly encouraged to conform — to act “normal”; so our individual needs usually went unrecognized. That was the practice in my own family. According to Roy Richard Grinker, a cultural anthropologist, father to an Autistic daughter and another authority on the subject, even pediatricians of that time who came across such kids might make a chart notation such as “FLK (Funny Looking Kid),” but virtually none of them could identify autism in children.(2) My pediatrician (and teachers and coaches and aunts and uncles, etc.) might indeed have thought of me as a “Funny Looking Kid” but “Autistic” would never have entered their minds. It wasn’t in their vocabulary. 

The present, indeed, does represent “a curious moment,” a pioneering time for those of us born in the 1950s, who, only recently, have obtained access to information that can name our atypical condition. Although such information is more readily available now than it was then, not everyone wants to embrace the label. Even with a diagnosis that could free them from thinking something is wrong with them, people in their 60s or 70s usually don’t even consider it.

When the Traits Are Clear

One of my friends cannot tolerate any variation from the prescribed rules or procedures at a meeting we attend and will walk out midway through. I know that discomfort myself and sometimes feel that the noise or the discussion topic or the lighting is too bothersome and have walked out of uncomfortable settings. A couple of other acquaintances seem unable to read social cues. When interacting with people, they make unusual observations that confuse their listeners and cause them to steer clear of these conversations. Of course, none of these behaviors in themselves spell autism, but a constellation of them might.

On the other hand, I believe that I own an uncommon advantage. I interacted with a range of Autistic kids and adolescents throughout my career, and these experiences suggested a template to recognize myself. Ironically, I often felt inexplicable affection for those kids and only now can plainly can see our similarities. Their clumsy peer relationships and hyper focus on race car drivers or NBA stars only endeared them to me.

Writing to Self-Reflect, Self-Diagnose, and Process the Past

Over the years, I would scribble the occasional poem and did a great deal of journaling, but I harbored an insistent desire to write more often, to unlock what I was capable of producing. At last, enabled to liberate and enlarge this writerly self in recent years, it has repaid me in several ways:  

• Writing helps me discern and spell out what my own Autistic traits look like, which permits me, for example, to simply accept that I cannot jump from one activity to another and need to pace myself to remain on an even keel.
• Writing has emphatically fulfilled a desperate desire to make sense of what was happening over those first 69 years. Putting all of these ideas down on paper is more than clarifying…it’s a personal revelation. 

Dysregulation Addressed Through Diagnosis

With my diagnosis and through writing, I’ve begun to recognize my tolerance limits, allowing me to harmonize with my own particular operating system. I have empowered myself to choose how, when, and where I socialize, shielding me from situations that unnerve and dysregulate me. For example, I have stopped meeting friends in noisy coffee shops or restaurants; instead, I choose an ice cream shop where we can sit outside to chat while enjoying our frozen chocolate confections.

When I do become dysregulated, I now know that lying on my back or perusing family photos on my phone reliably restores my nervous system. So do neighborhood walks or vigorous bike rides or hot showers. 

Opting to spend time alone smooths the paths to my interests in retirement, such as writing and volunteering. And by understanding my Autistic tendencies, I can find the right fit. For example, I started to help out at the local food bank every week but discovered that there is too much interaction and commotion for me. Instead, I deliver our free monthly community newspaper to merchants by myself. When I work at the Friends of the Library book sales, the small book shop area upstairs serves me better than the crowded sales area downstairs.

I now listen when my body clamors for a walk or a bike ride, which usually, in turn, triggers a rich inner dialogue. “Oh, doesn’t that lilac smell heavenly?” Or “Remember (long ago) when you biked to your hardware store job, and old Meredith used to joke that you were pedaling your ass around town? And then let out that silly chuckle?” Riding down one neighborhood street after another, I greet these old homes like the familiar friends that they are.

Nothing Is Wrong with Me

This current season has taught me so much about myself. I wish I could report that I’m utterly at peace in a perfectly balanced life, but I do still long for friends with similar challenges and personalities to walk alongside, literally, in the nearby park, or to enjoy a dip of mint chocolate-chip ice cream together on a sunny day.

And I do slip into old thinking at times and start to believe again that “something is wrong with me.” But this siren no longer tempts me so much. I remind myself that nothing is wrong with me; rather my operating system works differently in the conventional world. I’ve assimilated that understanding and I know when and how to adjust.

Ongoing research is also leading to more accurate conceptions of autism so that never again will doctors write “FLK” on a child’s chart. In fact, the findings of a study conducted by Princeton University last year, name four distinct autism sub- types, and one or two of them sound a lot like me.(3) But I also know that public understanding progresses gradually, and perhaps even more slowly for my generation. I would like to think that reading this story will contribute to this knowledge bank so no one of any age group need wonder if something is wrong with them. 

Works Cited

(1) Wake, Wilma, Endlich, Eric, Lagos, Robert S. (2021). Older Autistic Adults. In Their Own Words. The Lost Generation.

(2) Grinker, Roy Richard. (2014)Unstrange Minds. A Father, A Daughter and a Search for New Answers. Remapping the World of AUTISM. 464

(3) Sharlach, Molly. (2025) Major Autism Study Uncovers Biologically Distinct Subtypes, Paving the way for Precision Diagnosis and Care. 

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FAQs

Why are some older adults only now discovering they are Autistic?
Adults who grew up in the decades after World War II were often encouraged to conform, and few doctors or teachers knew how to recognize autism in children at that time. As public understanding and information have grown, many older adults are identifying with Autistic traits for the first time, sometimes after hearing another person’s story.

What signs might suggest an older adult is Autistic?
Common experiences include lifelong difficulty with friendships, sensitivity to noise or lighting, discomfort when routines or rules change, challenges reading social cues, and trouble completing projects. No single trait means someone is Autistic, but a pattern of these experiences across a lifetime may be worth exploring, through self-reflection, a formal evaluation, or both.

How can adults who discover they are Autistic later in life feel more comfortable day to day?
Many adults benefit from learning their own limits and adjusting their routines: choosing quieter places to socialize, pacing activities, and finding volunteer or work roles with less commotion. Calming activities such as walks, bike rides or time alone can help restore balance. Connecting with others who share similar experiences can also ease the loneliness that late discovery sometimes brings.