Yes, we’re in a world of our own: for the autistic mind, it’s a place of intense curiosity, deep focus and sensory delight

by Sarah Hendrickx  BIO

Photographs taken by Aly Gynn from Bury St Edmunds, UK, who received an autism diagnosis at the age of 45. Photo by Robin Hammond/Panos Pictures

is an autism diagnostician, and an autistic author, speaker and freelance writer. Her books include Women and Girls on the Autism Spectrum (2nd ed, 2024) and Could I Really Be Autistic? (2025).

Edited byPam Weintraub

Being autistic can be a lot of fun. I say that as an adult-diagnosed autistic (and ADHD) adult who has spent the past 20 years working in the autism world, meeting thousands of autistic people and their families, writing books, and speaking publicly on the subject. It’s not always fun, that’s for sure, but given that the nature of being human comes with a whole plethora of complexities and contradictions, light and dark, it is, of course, highly possible that a package of atypical cognitive processes, perceptions and behaviours clinically categorised as dysfunctional and disabling can also bring a whole load of satisfaction and pleasure. Even so, I imagine that, for some people, the concept of being autistic as being joyful is a tough one to square, given that the diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder defines it as ‘characterised by varying but often marked and persistent deficits in social communication and social interaction’.

Still not convinced? Let’s think of being autistic in the same way that we think of a socially driven person who may thrive and excel in a busy environment, and then struggle when alone, or of a highly moral person who may be jubilant when justice prevails, and then devastated when it does not – in other words, one natural tendency can bring us both challenges and elation, depending on the circumstances. The same is true for autistic characteristics.

I should note that the following celebration of autistic delight does not negate or trivialise the very real and often disabling experience of living as an autistic person in a non-autistic world. I also recognise my own privilege as an autistic adult who is able to live relatively independently and with agency, but also as an autistic adult who – despite appearances – received my own diagnosis of autism by fair means, complete with the requisite impairments and deficits.

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The most pervasive autistic characteristic that demonstrates both the pleasure and the pain of an autistic life for me personally is that of curiosity, or the need to know stuff. I need (or want) to know everything. I wake up every morning with questions filling my head, several of which will get answered – throughout the night, if I wake – by my trusty pal Google, or by consulting one of my numerous and detailed spreadsheets. Answers reduce anxiety in my world.

This desire to know everything about everything is a core feature of many autistic people, driven by a combination of needs and wants. In essence, the autistic brain has a preference for certainty and predictability, and doesn’t adapt quickly and comfortably to surprises, change and unknowns. For example, due to some differences in understanding of vague, nuanced and ambiguous language, many of us are frequently confused (despite good intellectual ability) by what people mean and what they want from us, so in order to level the playing field with everyone else in the room, we ask questions to get the clarity we need. The autistic mind is also far more comfortable when there is a good amount of detail and information about the present and future circumstances in which we find ourselves, often requiring details and information to a much greater degree than others do. So… we ask questions. Who will be there? When will it end? What time is lunch? Where will I sit? When my autistic partner and I are due to attend a training course or meeting of any sort, we gently remind each other to try not to be the annoying one who asks all the questions but, inevitably, on our return, we were.

I once met an autistic man who told me that he liked to look into the windows of houses that he passed, and that he wished he could see into the windows of every house in the world, because then he would know everything there was to know about the people who lived in them. He said that not being able to do so was frustrating and a little scary for him, because he was living in a world with a lot of people that he didn’t know.

Eureka! Oh, the joy! Another piece of........

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