Adulting Isn’t a Straight Line
Growing up in London, I learned early that the city was both my home and my adversary. I committed bus routes, tube lines, and sandwich shops to memory. Yet this past week, when I returned to deliver a workshop at the University of London—an old stomping ground—I found myself lost, anxious, and painfully aware of how much adult life skills can regress. If you’re an autistic adult juggling bills, travel, and everyday tasks, you’re not alone—and you don’t need to carry shame alongside your support needs.
When London Became Unfamiliar Again
After more than a decade away in Norwich, I expected London’s Underground to feel like second nature. Instead, new maps and signage threw me off. I boarded the wrong train, disembarked at the wrong stop, and worried I’d miss my own workshop. My heart pounded, panic rose, and I was on the verge of meltdown.
I called my university contact—a kind young woman—who guided me back. She reassured me that anyone could get lost on their first visit. Yet inside, I thought: “This isn’t my first time here. I grew up nearby, and my husband worked at this very campus.”
Childhood Echoes: The Origin of Shame
I dreamt last night of being lost in an unfamiliar city without money or ID. I woke in a cold sweat, reliving my eight‑year‑old self, stranded on a caravan park bike ride. A stranger rescued me—and then scolded, “You’re a big girl; you’re too old to make such a fuss.” That remark seared shame into my memory, teaching me that needing help equates to failure.
As adults, those echoes persist when we can’t figure out bus tickets, juggle bills, or find our way home.
The Invisible Support Needs Paradox
Autistic people with visible support needs are often offered life‑skills training without question. But those of us labeled “high‑functioning” or “low‑support” face a different message: “You don’t really need it,” or worse, “You’re not autistic like that.”
So which is it? I can hold two PhDs, publish books, and excel in my career—and still struggle to catch a bus, pay a bill, or navigate a changing environment. These things aren’t mutually exclusive. Our abilities aren’t a single meter we can plug into “functional” or “non‑functional.” Each one of us is an array of strengths and challenges that deserve recognition and support.
Reclaiming Our Right to Struggle
I’ve learned that asking for help doesn’t diminish my achievements; as a therapist, I know it highlights a need that’s always valid. Every time I admit I’m lost or request step‑by‑step guidance, I reclaim a bit of confidence. I reject the notion that adult life skills are a one‑size‑fits‑all checkpoint we must pass flawlessly. I have also remembered that, for neurodivergent people, forward-planning and rehearsal of travel is EVERYTHING.
So, let’s normalise asking more than once. Let’s speak up when we need reminders, prompts, or company on a trip. Sharing our moments of struggle doesn’t weaken us—it humanises us.
- Adulting isn’t a straight line or a binary pass/fail. It’s a journey of discoveries, setbacks, and triumphs.
- Your support needs are valid, even if they aren’t obvious.
- High achievement doesn’t cancel out everyday challenges—and vice versa.
- Asking for help is a sign of self‑advocacy, not weakness.
- If you’ve ever felt ashamed to need assistance, speak out with #NeurodivergentAdulting. Share your story—your wins, your stumbles, and the support that helped you along the way.
Dr Stephanie Aspin 