Autism Is Confusing—But Hopefully I No Longer Am

A personal reflection by David Wetherelt, Founder of Like Minds Alliance

When I saw the National Autism Society’s “Autism Is” campaign, I knew immediately the word I would choose: confusing. Today, I submitted the word and some of my story.

David Wetherelt - Founder Like Minds Alliance

The campaign, launched to highlight the diversity of Autistic lived experiences, invites individuals to complete a simple but profound sentence—“Autism is…” The responses pour in from across the spectrum and across the globe: Autism is connection. Autism is beauty. Autism is a journey. Autism is strength. Each response adds another brushstroke to a vast, evolving portrait of neurodivergent life.

Mine was just one of thousands. And yet, writing it—really sitting with it—literally moved me to tears.

Because for me, Autism has always been confusing. Long before I knew I was Autistic, long before I had the language or understanding to even ask the question, confusion was my constant companion. And the weight of that confusion didn’t fall only on me—it fell on the people I loved most.

The Unseen Cost of Masking

I was diagnosed late in life. Not in childhood, not in college. Not even during years of intensive therapy and addiction treatment. No one—not the therapists, not the doctors, not the neurologists or counselors. Not even Tony Robbins, whose fire-walking seminars I attended in search of breakthroughs—no one ever mentioned Autism. And it never, ever occurred to me.

So, I did what many late-diagnosed Autistic people do: I survived by adapting. I masked. I copied and pasted behaviors. I shapeshifted into the man I thought the world wanted me to be. I tried to be a good husband, a good father, a capable worker, a thoughtful partner.

But masking is not connection—it’s camouflage. It’s exhausting, and ultimately unsustainable.

And it was confusing. So confusing—for me, yes—but far more painfully, for my ex-wife and our two boys. For my former partners. For my colleagues. For the people who wanted to love me but couldn’t quite reach me, and didn’t know why.

I didn’t know why either. I just knew that despite my best efforts, I was letting people down. And that shame was unbearable.

Coming Into Authenticity

The diagnosis didn’t change who I am, but it changed everything I understand about myself.

It explained the social confusion, the sensory overload, the emotional dysregulation. It explained why I always felt like an alien in human skin. It explained why I’d burn so hot with passion, then disappear into isolation. It explained why I could write and deliver moving speeches but struggle to make small talk. It explained my deep, obsessive interests. My need for order. My constant analysis. My fear of getting it wrong. My need to please.

And suddenly, the unintentional masking started to fade. I could finally breathe into authenticity. But what I found there wasn’t relief—it was reckoning.

Because now I knew. And knowing brought grief.

The Pain Behind the Realization

It’s hard to articulate the heartbreak that comes with looking back at your life and realizing how often you unintentionally hurt others. How your children, the people you love most in the world, must have felt unseen, misunderstood, even abandoned. I try to talk about it with them now. I tell them often how deeply sorry I am for the confusion I caused. I try to explain that I didn’t know. That I truly didn’t understand myself.

But that doesn’t erase the pain. And it doesn’t undo the impact. It still breaks my heart every single day.

It breaks my heart to think about my ex-wife, trying to make sense of my emotional distance, my inability to connect the way she needed me to. It breaks my heart to think about my boys, wondering why Dad was so unpredictable. Why I would show up full of love one day and shut down the next. Why I couldn’t always meet them where they were. That kind of confusion—when it’s wrapped in love—can be even more devastating.

And the truth is, I was confused, too. Deeply. Fundamentally. Desperately.

A System I Didn’t Understand

I live in a modern world—an ultra-modern world, with bright lights, fast schedules, complex systems, and endless expectations. A world of neurotypical norms that seem to reward those who can adapt quickly, socialize smoothly, and conform effortlessly.

And I was trying to navigate it all with an operating system I didn’t even understand.

The pressure to “perform” life nearly destroyed me. It led to addiction, to depression, to repeated burnouts. It led to isolation. To shame. To disconnection. It led to the gradual disappearance of me.

And so yes—Autism is confusing.

But maybe now… I’m not.

Finding Grace in the Mess

Today, I do my best. I work hard to understand myself and share what I’ve learned with others. Through Like Minds, I get to walk alongside people who are discovering, like I did, that they were never broken—just misunderstood. I use what I’ve learned not only to coach and advocate, but to connect. To model authenticity. To apologize where it’s needed, and to offer grace where I can.

Because I deserve it too.

I’m learning to forgive myself. For not knowing. For not seeing. For surviving the only way I knew how.

It’s not perfect. Unmasking is disorienting. Authenticity can be messy. But it’s real. And it’s mine.

When I wrote those words for the “Autism Is” campaign, it felt like cracking open an old wound—but this time, letting it breathe. I cried not because I was ashamed, but because I was finally being honest. Honest with myself. Honest with the world. And hopefully, honest enough that my children, and maybe others, will one day truly understand.

Autism is confusing. But hopefully I no longer am.

Learn more about the “Autism Is” campaign and share your own story: https://autismsociety.org/autism-is/