Adulting While Autistic
Not Recommended - Apparently Required
⚠️ WARNING: Adulting While Autistic
Side effects may include chronic exhaustion, sensory overload, social panic, and existential dread.
Use caution around fluorescent lights, small talk, and “urgent” emails.
Not recommended for humans without patience, snacks, noise canceling headphones or fidget tools.
How Do People Know What’s For Dinner
How Do People Know What’s for Dinner?
Seriously. How. Do. People. Know. What’s for dinner?
Some adults just… decide. They open the fridge and poof—meal appears.
Meanwhile, you’ve been standing in front of the pantry for 20 minutes, mentally calculating sensory overload, texture nightmares, and whether the smoke detector will judge your choices (spoiler - it will).
Ordering out? Sure, but every menu is an overwhelming sensory gauntlet of choices. Cooking? Even worse—pots clanging, smells assaulting, and then there’s the aftermath - the dishes. Let’s be honest, the kitchen is a battlefield, I’m just trying to survive here.
The truth is - my eating habits aren’t even habits. Sometimes I eat things, often I don’t. Sometimes dinner is simply sliced turkey because it’s five o’clock and my “eat something” alarm went off. Sometimes it’s a heroic attempt at spaghetti. Sometimes… it’s a grocery cart abandoned in aisle 7 because the fluorescent lights and choices ganged up on me AND I’m pretty sure I have peanut butter at home.
Bottom line: Dinner isn’t just a meal. It’s a series of small battles, sensory standoffs, and heroic acts of self-preservation. You are not failing. You are surviving. Now go order a pizza.
What is Autistic Ableism?
Autistic ableism isn’t just society discriminating against autistic people (though that happens a lot). It’s the internalized and externalized prejudice specifically targeting autistic traits, behaviors, and ways of thinking. It can take a few forms:
External Ableism
Society judging autistic people as “less capable,” “weird,” or “broken.”
Workplace, education, and healthcare systems that are inaccessible or hostile.
Cultural messaging that being neurotypical = normal = success.
Internalized Ableism
Autistic people themselves absorbing these societal messages.
Feeling ashamed of stimming, mask-wearing, executive dysfunction, or sensory differences.
Believing you should act neurotypical or that your brain is “wrong” or inferior.
Autistic-to-Autistic Ableism
Even within the autistic community, hierarchies or judgments can form:
“Real autism” gatekeeping (e.g., questioning late-diagnosed adults).
Looking down on people who mask more, stim less, or require accommodations.
Reinforcing stereotypes about what autism “should” look like.
Why It Matters
Autistic ableism is toxic because it:
Reinforces shame and self-doubt in autistic people.
Limits access to support or advocacy (“I shouldn’t need accommodations, I must be lazy”).
Creates division within autistic communities, making it harder to relate, connect, and support each other.
In short: autistic ableism is the brainchild of society and sometimes our own internalized beliefs — a double whammy that says, “You’re wrong for being you… even in a community that should understand you.”
The Feral Minds Perspective
At Feral Minds, we call it out, laugh at it, and dismantle it where we can.
We normalize masking failures, stimming in public, and being unapologetically neurodivergent.
We highlight that autistic brains are not “less than” neurotypical ones — just differently wired.
We create a space where adults can relate, connect, and validate themselves without shame or judgment.
Because the real deal? Autistic ableism exists. But surviving it doesn’t mean changing yourself. It means naming it, resisting it, and claiming your space — quirks, chaos, and all.
Sincerely,
Pearl
How to Recognize Internalized Ableism
Internalized ableism can be sneaky, but there are ways to spot it:
1. You Apologize for Existing
You feel like you need to justify meltdowns, stimming, breaks, or accommodations.
Thoughts like “I shouldn’t need this” or “I’m being too much” are common signs.
2. You Compare Yourself Constantly
You judge yourself against neurotypical standards or what “everyone else” can do.
“They handle life so easily… why can’t I?” is classic internalized ableism talking.
3. You Mask Excessively
You hide autistic traits to fit in, even when it’s exhausting.
You may tell yourself, “If I just act normal, people will like me,” and believe it.
4. You Minimize Your Needs
You think asking for accommodations, help, or rest is selfish or weak.
Saying yes to your own needs triggers guilt or shame.
5. You Believe Negative Stereotypes
You buy into myths like “autistic people are less capable” or “disabled people can’t succeed.”
Even subtle thoughts like “I shouldn’t be here” are symptoms of internalized ableism.
6. You Feel Pressure to Be ‘Fixable’
You chase therapies, routines, or productivity hacks to become more “normal” rather than honoring your neurodivergent brain.
Thoughts like “I just need to try harder to be acceptable” indicate internalized ableism.
Key Takeaway
Internalized ableism is learned, not inherent. Recognizing it is the first step toward dismantling it. The more you notice it, the easier it is to:
Give yourself permission to exist as you are
Reject harmful societal messages
Celebrate your neurodivergent traits instead of hiding them
For you and for others who deserve to exist as they are! - Thank you!!
PARENTING WHILE AUTISTIC
(Really NOT for the faint of heart)
Read About It:
Hide and Seek: But Its Just Me Hiding
Parallel Play, But Make It Parenting
Hyperfocus: Accidentally Cleaning the Fridge Instead of Making Dinner
Meltdown vs Tantrum: Spot the Difference (Hint: It’s Me)
Parenting While Autistic: A Comedy of Errors and Extraordinary Love
I Love My Kids, But They’re LOUD
Let’s get one thing straight: I adore my children. They’re funny, curious, and occasionally say things that make me question the structure of the universe.
But also — they are so loud.
It’s like living in a rock concert run by tiny gremlins who’ve discovered echo. My ears are constantly negotiating peace treaties with my brain. Someone’s humming, someone’s shouting, someone’s tapping a spoon on a table because “it sounds like a song.”
Meanwhile, my nervous system is filing formal complaints.
People assume “noise sensitivity” means I dislike sound. No, I love sound — just not all at once. I could listen to one child talk about Pokémon for three hours, no problem. But if both kids, the dishwasher, and the neighbor’s leaf blower join in? That’s a full sensory uprising.
Sometimes I dream of a “quiet mode” button for the world. Press it, and everything goes pleasantly muffled, like being wrapped in a weighted blanket made of silence.
Until that technology exists, I take refuge in the bathroom. My children think I have digestive issues. I do not. I’m just in there whispering affirmations to my auditory cortex: You’re doing amazing, sweetie.
And then I go back out there, ears ringing, love intact, pretending I didn’t just hide from the volume of my own life.
~ Pearl Jenkins, 2025
Executive Dysfunction vs Spirit Week
(Spirit Week is the Olympics of executive dysfunction)
I thought I was doing well as a parent — lunches packed, homework supervised, semi-regular showers.
Then Spirit Week happened.
“Monday is Pajama Day!” the flyer said. Great.
“Tuesday is Wacky Hair Day!” Cute.
“Wednesday is Backwards Clothes Day!” Adorable.
By Friday, I was Googling “how to fake a fever convincingly.”
Because here’s the thing: Spirit Week is the Olympics of executive dysfunction.
It’s five days of themed chaos that requires forward planning, memory, fine motor skills, and emotional resilience. All of which I lost somewhere between Monday morning and the laundry pile.
By day three, I’d already forgotten it was Backwards Day. My child walked into school wearing entirely normal clothes while surrounded by kids dressed like time travelers from a fashion wormhole.
I froze like a deer in headlights and said, “You’re ironically not participating.”
Friday’s theme was “Dress Like Your Favorite Book Character.” My brain, bless it, did not retrieve that fact until 8:07 AM, two minutes before the bus. I handed my child a hoodie and said, “You’re an unnamed side character with emotional depth.”
Honestly? Spirit Week should come with accommodations. Like a neurodivergent version:
Monday: Wear whatever’s clean.
Tuesday: Remembered to brush hair? Gold star.
Wednesday: Celebrate a small win.
Thursday: Quiet Day (mandatory).
Friday: No expectations. Just snacks.
I’d crush that version.
By Pearl Jenkins, 2023
Drinking While Masking: Late-Diagnosed Autism and Alcohol
For many autistic adults, especially those diagnosed later in life, the world can feel like a constant balancing act. You’ve spent decades learning social scripts, masking your quirks, and trying to fit into a neurotypical world that wasn’t built for you. So it’s no surprise that alcohol can sometimes show up as a tempting, socially sanctioned escape.
Why Alcohol Can Sneak Into Life
Late-diagnosed autistic adults often encounter alcohol in two overlapping ways:
Self-medication: Anxiety, sensory overwhelm, and masking fatigue pile up. Alcohol can feel like a tool to smooth the edges—take the edge off social situations, quiet racing thoughts, or temporarily “blend in” at gatherings.
Social pressure: Alcohol isn’t just a drink; it’s a social currency. Saying no can feel more isolating than saying yes. For someone who has spent years struggling to connect, one drink can seem like the cost of entry.
But alcohol is a tricky companion. What feels like relief can quickly turn into extra confusion, sensory discomfort, or emotional turbulence. The mask comes off differently depending on your body, your mood, and the social context—and sometimes the mask doesn’t come back on as neatly as you’d like.
The Risks We Don’t Talk About
Autistic adults can experience alcohol differently than neurotypical peers:
Heightened sensitivity: Even small amounts can cause stronger reactions, including sensory overstimulation or emotional swings.
Masked struggles: Drinking can temporarily ease social anxiety, but it doesn’t fix the underlying fatigue of masking, and it can make burnout worse.
Co-occurring conditions: Anxiety, depression, ADHD, or past trauma can amplify alcohol’s impact, creating a tangled web of challenges.
Awareness of these risks is not about shaming—it’s about understanding how alcohol interacts with an autistic body and brain that’s already navigating a complicated world.
Coping Without Pouring
It’s possible to manage social anxiety, sensory overwhelm, and stress without alcohol. A few strategies to consider:
Mindful drinking: If you do choose to drink, keep track of how much, when, and why. Patterns can reveal triggers and alternatives.
Sensory-friendly substitutes: Herbal teas, mocktails, or fizzy drinks can satisfy the ritual of “having a drink” without the downsides.
Peer and professional support: Therapy, autistic peer groups, or mentors can help you navigate social challenges without needing to numb the experience.
Environmental tuning: Managing lighting, sound, and schedule can reduce the sensory overload that drives many toward alcohol in the first place.
The Feral Minds Takeaway
Late diagnosis doesn’t come with a manual. The intersection of autism and alcohol is messy, personal, and often invisible. But understanding why you might reach for a drink (or other substance), recognizing the risks, and exploring alternatives can make a huge difference in reclaiming your energy, your mental clarity, and your social freedom.
You don’t have to trade your comfort or your authenticity for a social script. The world may not be built for your brain, but you can find ways to navigate it—and maybe even enjoy a party or two—without losing yourself in a bottle.
Clickable Articles:
Alcohol masked my autism so well, that nobody noticed it until I got sober
Research suggests autistic people are approximately twice as likely to experience substance use problems as the general population - AutismSpeaks.org
Sensory processing and alcohol use in adults with autism spectrum disorder - ScienceDirect.com
Quick Tips: Alcohol & Late-Diagnosed Autism
1. Track the Why
Before you sip, ask: Am I thirsty… or stressed? Journaling triggers helps you make conscious choices.
2. Ritual Without Risk
Mocktails, sparkling water, or herbal teas can give the “social drink” feel without the hangover.
3. Tiny Sips, Big Awareness
Start small and notice how your body reacts—autistic bodies can be more sensitive to alcohol.
4. Prep Your Space
Lower lights, quiet corners, or sensory tools can prevent overwhelm that makes alcohol feel necessary.
5. Mask-Free Moments
Find autistic peers, online spaces, or solo decompression time—let your brain exhale without needing liquid courage.
6. Seek Tailored Support
Therapists or groups familiar with autism understand the masking/alcohol connection better than generic advice.
Make a donation.
Help Support Feral Minds
Because unfiltered stories don’t share themselves.
Your support helps us share authentic experiences, honest stories, and the beautifully messy reality of thinking differently.
.