On 24th July, it was six months since I received my autism, ADHD, and PMDD diagnosis—a turning point that reshaped not only how I see myself but also how I use my voice to advocate for others. In this blog, I reflect on the journey from self-doubt to self-understanding, and how those first six months have led me to new connections, community projects, and a growing role in shaping better support for autistic and neurodivergent people in Essex.
Six months ago, I finally got the answer.
For years, a quiet question had haunted me:
Was I just a failure at life? Or maybe-just maybe-was there something else going on?
It turns out, there was.
Autism. ADHD. PMDD.
And beneath that, forty years of complex PTSD from constantly trying to be “okay” in a world that didn’t make space for who I was.
I had spent my life swimming against a tide, trying to succeed in a world designed for other people.It felt like trying to cross the English Channel with only a 50-metre swimming certificate-no training, no map, no lifeline. Just persistence. Just the fear of failing publicly. Just the quiet hope that maybe one day, someone would see I was doing my best.
Before the Diagnosis
Three days before the assessment, I wrote to myself. I was terrified-not just of the outcome, but of being wrong.
I had gathered every scrap of evidence, asked others for input, replayed memories, analysed patterns, built a metaphorical suitcase stuffed with proof. I was preparing like a lawyer, defending a case even I wasn’t fully sure I had the right to make.
And underneath it all was the fear:
What if I’ve clung to the idea of autism like a butterfly, beautiful but just out of reach? What if I’ve made it all up just to explain away my failure?
I worried I’d feel like a fraud either way. That a diagnosis couldn’t undo the shame of years spent masking, misfiring, and being misunderstood. And that not getting a diagnosis would be a fresh kind of devastation-one that said, “It really was just you all along.”
Waiting felt achingly vulnerable. Like standing at a bus station, knowing your bus is due but having no idea how to find it-or if it’s even coming.
I remember writing:
“You don’t know who to present to the team. You’ve spent so long masking that even you don’t know who you are underneath. But you have to try. You just have to know.”
The Diagnosis
The process was intense. Emotional. Raw.
And when the psychologist said, “I can give you the answer in 45 minutes,” my heart froze. After years of questions, self-doubt, and being dismissed by professionals, it felt impossible that it could be confirmed so quickly.
But it was.
Autism. ADHD. PMDD.
Hearing those words-after two long days of clinical interviews and assessments-felt like taking off a heavy backpack I’d worn so long I thought it was part of me.
It didn’t fix everything, but it gave me clarity.
It gave me language.
It gave me permission to stop blaming myself.
But here’s the thing no one tells you: the answer isn’t always enough.
A few weeks later, my diagnostic report arrived. It was clinical, objective-and heartbreakingly accurate. It didn’t come with a neat ribbon or soft landing.
It spelled out what I already felt:
Autism affects every single part of my life.
The image I was left with was searing-me, swimming across the English Channel, barely trained, completely unseen, just trying to keep my head above water.
The report didn’t just validate my truth-it exposed it.
It stripped me of the illusion I’d been fine.
It laid me bare.
I spent a week in bed-not just from burnout, but from the hollowness of being seen.
But the same stubborn fire that had kept me searching through years of dismissal whispered:
“You’re not done. This isn’t the end. This is the beginning-and this time, you have a map.”
From Survivor to Advocate
Slowly, I began again.
I returned to my work with the Oliver McGowan Mandatory Training programme, delivering Tier 2 training in person to NHS professionals on autism. Then Tier 1 webinars. Then I trained to become a trainer myself, helping others across the county deliver this essential education.
I co-produced training videos and resources-not just for professionals attending, but for other Experts by Experience, ensuring lived voices were central to how neurodivergence is understood and respected.
I began working closely with the NHS Trust I trained with, speaking at onboarding events to help professionals see patients not just as charts, but as people. I was invited onto interview panels for Consultant Psychiatrists, Clinical Leads, and senior mental health roles-making sure lived experience finally had a seat at the table.
I partnered with Chartered Forensic Psychologists, co-creating pre-therapy materials for autistic inpatients to ensure their needs and communication styles were considered from the outset.
Following a powerful conversation with Essex Perinatal Mental Health Services, I joined a co-production panel-sharing my perspective as an autistic woman navigating mental health services and drawing on two decades in early years education to help develop inclusive, informed training for those supporting new mothers, babies, and carers.
I also joined Healthwatch Essex-initially as a Trauma Ambassador. But very quickly, I made links and connections with the wider team, sharing thoughts and ideas on neurodiversity, women’s health, and mental health issues. I was most excited to hear about the development of a Women’s Forum, which focuses on empowering women and supporting their self-advocacy within a supportive network, as well as a research project exploring the lived experience of women living with two or more health conditions. I’ll be supporting discussions, challenging misinformation, and advocating for better understanding.
And as part of my ongoing advocacy, I began contributing to the Essex All-Age Autism Strategy, a county-wide effort to improve autism support and services. My role involves helping shape priorities through a lived experience lens-ensuring autistic voices are not only included but centred.
To Anyone Still Searching
If you’re in the before-the not-knowing, the self-doubt, the searching-I see you.
If you’re gathering evidence like a suitcase, trying to make sense of your life story…
You’re not alone.
If you’re wondering whether the label will fix anything-it won’t. But it will give you a language. A framework. A starting point.
It will give you a map.
And with that map, you can start to live-
Not in survival mode,
Not in self-blame-
But in truth.
This isn’t the end.
This is the beginning.
And I’m still swimming-
But now I know where I’m going.
And I know I’m not swimming alone.
Georgina,
Trauma Ambassador