Our Journey to Our Neurodivergent Identities
(a.k.a. how we found out we’re a house full of brain-based brilliance ✨)
Our family’s journey into understanding our neurodivergent identities began back in 2019.
It started with my son, J. Out of the blue, he began walking out of his classroom – and even attempting to leave the school grounds. This was after a brilliant first year at school, so it completely threw us. I always had a quiet knowing that he’d probably be identified as an ADHDer eventually… but autism? That one hadn’t even entered my mind.
Looking back now, it seems so clear (isn’t hindsight a sneaky thing?). But at the time, I didn’t really understand the depth and breadth of autistic experiences. Like a lot of people, all I really knew came from TV and film – which, spoiler alert: is not where you want to get your autism education.
J didn’t have any obvious stims, or what people think of as “typical” repetitive behaviours. He was smashing school – until he wasn’t – and mostly, he just seemed like my little energiser bunny.
But oh, there was so much more going on.
The psychologist who saw him clearly
I’m still incredibly grateful for the sharp-eyed Psychologist from the Department of Ed who gently suggested we look into an assessment. The way she described why she thought he might be autistic? It was like she knew him. It wasn’t negative or deficit-based at all – it was just… spot-on. And now I know how rare and special that is.
Even rarer? The Psychologist we found to do the assessment – she not only gave beautifully positive feedback about J and what being autistic might mean for him, but also gently wondered aloud whether I might want to explore an identification for myself. Oh, and my daughter A too. (I know. It’s practically a unicorn moment.)
💬 “As professionals, we have a responsibility to discuss the genetic nature of autism. At the very least, it helps the newly identified person feel less alone. At most, it means a whole family can feel seen and understood.”
And so began my deep dive into all things autism. Every book, every podcast, every corner of the internet I could find – suddenly, all these lightbulb moments started going off. Not just for J, but for A and for me too. It was like things started clicking into place.
Facing the gender gap in diagnosis
So off A and I went to the Paediatrician. But we hit a wall. I was told she probably wasn’t autistic because she made eye contact with me and spoke to me. Meanwhile, she didn’t make any eye contact with the Paed, and I had a whole stack of reasons why I thought she met the criteria. Even her childcare educators thought she was “totally fine” – despite weekly phone calls about head injuries from being seemingly unaware of her surroundings and playing in a very specific way (among a whole list of other things).
So, I took us to a well-known Autism org for assessment. They said she didn’t meet the criteria (except for sensory stuff), and that was that. It felt like a dead end… but I wasn’t giving up. At that point, I knew what I was seeing.
Next stop: a Speechie. I asked for a pragmatic language assessment – because I could see how hard social communication was for A. That Speechie saw her. And diagnosed a severe pragmatic language delay (ick on the wording, but spot on for what I was seeing).
Note: Pragmatic language is all about how we use words in social situations – things like taking turns in conversations, picking up on tone, or reading between the lines. When we assess it, we can spot the social communication differences that are super common for autistic people.
Armed with that report, I went back to J’s Paediatrician. She read the assessments, listened to me, met A, and diagnosed her as autistic on the spot.
Without even meaning to, I’d started to uncover just how different autism can look in girls… and how misunderstood those differences are. I kept researching. Kept learning. And slowly, my whole idea of autism shifted – from a diagnosis to a neurotype. A way of being. Not something to “fix”, but something to understand.
Recognising myself, too
And of course, next up: me. I knew I was autistic – I didn’t need the diagnosis, but I wanted to show my kids that we are who we are, and that’s something to be proud of. I wanted them to see that we’re all wired similarly in this house, and that being different isn’t just OK – it can be wonderful.
So I started the process. But even then, I came up against some wild takes. A specialist told me over the phone, “Oh, you’ll only be Level 1. You’re married and have a job.” (Yep. That really happened.)
Despite all that, I got my diagnosis. I told the kids, who were 8 and 5 at the time – and they beamed. They just got it. And from that moment on, I knew I had to take what I was learning and share it.
Sharing the journey and creating change
I didn’t want other families to feel the confusion, dismissal or exhaustion we did. Particularly those without the advocacy skills I had under my belt after 10+ years as a Social Worker. I knew I had privilege in this scenario and I wanted to use it to help others.
I also didn’t want any more kids having the same school experiences J had. And I didn’t want outdated ideas about autism making things harder than they already are.
I was already working in trauma-informed practice as a Social Worker, which helped my understanding and quick shift from “What does this mean?” to “We are Autistic and proud”. I’d always believed that behaviour is communication, and that there’s no such thing as a “bad kid”- just unmet needs. So a neurodiversity-affirming lens fit like a glove.
✨ That’s what led me here – to this little corner of the internet where I now share resources, ideas, and tools I wish we’d had on our journey. No jargon. No gatekeeping. Just the good stuff, made easy.
A quick note on language
Throughout this post, I use the word “diagnosis” because that’s what was used with me at the time. But you’ll also see me say “identified”.
Because being autistic isn’t something you catch—like the flu. It’s something you are. So “identified as autistic” feels more true to that experience. However, I also acknowledge that we still operate under the DSM and a diagnosis is required for supports and resources in many spaces, so the word diagnosis will still pop up.
(Also – language side note #2 – I love the word neurodivergent. Not just because it’s accurate, but because it makes me feel like I’m part of a powerful, slightly rebellious crew… kind of like those Divergent movies.)
