Autistic Joy
I dreamt I was sinking to the bottom of the ocean, and just as darkness closed in, I broke through the ocean floor and into the unknown. It reminded me of swimming in the sea off Maui, knowing that cliffs were beneath me, dropping off into the abyss. The haunting sense of the deep unknown still lingers with me today.
This dream came after I finished my last blog, exploring the fifth yama, aparigraha, and the art of letting go. I shared how swimming helped me cleanse the difficult emotions tied to forgiveness. Being diagnosed autistic later in life, I have a lifetime of trauma and suffering to release.
In my dream, I broke through the seabed and into a joyous world of dancing light and vivid colors. While sinking to the bottom, I had no imagination for such a magical place, and my fear only deepened my suffering. The deep unknown showed me joy is the birth of suffering, and hope is a light born to the dark.
Being born must feel like emerging from the depths of stillness into a world of overwhelming sensations. We're floating through the dark and instinctively know when to be born. Our fear response tells us to breathe and stays with us through life as our compass. If there are adverse childhood experiences or neurodevelopmental conditions, fear wraps around every cell to survive.
Through our senses, we learn about life. For neurodivergent folks, the lights never dim, the sounds never soften, the smells become stronger, and our skin becomes more sensitive after birth. We seem allergic to life, and fear is the antihistamine. It reacts to every sensation like an intruder. It anchors us in safe harbors, never allowing us to travel into the unknown.
I began life with a desire to travel. At six months old, I wanted to explore the stairs and ended up with a fractured skull after falling down them. My journey has felt like an impossible climb back up. With each step, I feel the burn and fatigue, but I keep climbing. Looking back, living as an undiagnosed autistic female with sensory processing disorder explains why life burned so intensely.
My symptoms were always categorized as anxiety and depression by medical professionals. Without access to the root of my struggles, I found no relief. Their medications didn’t help, so I turned to chocolate and wine, which eased the pressure and pain of living.
My healing began when I had my first child at age 22. He was identified as autistic in third grade, after an April Fools’ joke where he told his class I had died. The teacher comforted the grieving students and called home, only to discover I was very much alive. My son didn’t understand why everyone was upset—after all, he won April Fools!
That joke, along with other signs, led to an autism assessment, which opened the door to diagnoses for his siblings and me. That teacher and my children unlocked a healing world for me. This diagnosis was my breakthrough—my birth into the unknown. It untied fear’s anchor and allowed me the freedom to explore.
My children have always been prophetic, speaking truths that connect me to answers within. Ironically, a joke about my death gave me access to my rebirth. The key unlocked the mysteries deep within my soul and connected me to my purpose, and yoga is a part of that.
My addictions and stress responses no longer steer my life. Yoga has provided the accommodations I needed to reclaim control. Each of its eight limbs is a tool to help me navigate the harsh lights, sounds, and sensations of the unknown.
The first limb, Yamas, addressed fear at its root. It corrected my belief system, like a broken bone, and brought me to the second limb, Niyamas. These five disciplines guide and regulate my senses so that I can travel the unknown safely. I’ve built more discipline through the Niyamas, like intention, cleanliness (of mind and body), well-being, contentment, self-study, dedication, and surrender to a higher power.
These practices have removed fear from my body and freed my dreams and desires. Within my sacral chakra, I reconnected with my inner child and, with her, my joy. This joy is unique—it’s autistic joy, magnified, grounded, and safe to feel. It is self-regulated and authentic. She reminded me of the tools that support my sobriety, a necessity for any autistic person living in the neurotypical world.
This full Hunter’s moon has reawakened my imagination. It’s like being born but with mood lighting and vivid fall colors. The autumn air feels like water—or perhaps amniotic fluid—and the California chaparral blooms with a scent that brings me back to my childhood doll's breath. This fall magic, laced with my autistic joy, is helping me believe again in life beyond safe harbors, and to face the haunting feeling of the deep unknown.
To quote the mighty Lizzo, “Truth hurts, needed something more exciting.” I just took a [allergy] test, turns out I’m 100% that bitch, not allergic to life, only the masks I’ve been wearing! Learn more about my unmasking journey with the Niyamas and autistic joy in my upcoming blogs.
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