How EMDR Therapy Led Me to Discover I’m Autistic

Over the last few years, I’ve experienced a significant decline in my mental health, after a period of managing pretty well. It’s been incredibly frustrating. Finding myself at breaking point, I was referred to local therapy services. EMDR therapy was suggested, as it seemed a lot of my past trauma was being triggered by present circumstances. I agreed to it, hoping to ease my anxiety and regain some emotional stability. What I didn’t expect, however, was that this process would pull back a curtain on something deeper—something that would completely reshape how I see myself.

Why I Had EMDR Therapy

My mental health decline was triggered by a couple of things. After receiving my ME/CFS diagnosis, my mental health took a massive nosedive. I was struggling to accept the diagnosis and what it meant for my life—all the changes I would have to make, all the plans I would have to put on hold.

This was made worse by a failed attempt to claim disability benefits, where I experienced an awful and dishonest assessment. Naively, I had expected the system to protect me in my time of need—but it didn’t. In fact, it made things far worse. I was left feeling overwhelmed by anxiety and re-triggered past medical trauma.

It felt like everything was slipping through my fingers. EMDR therapy was recommended to help me process and heal some of the emotional wounds I was carrying. But what I didn’t realise was that it would open the door to an unexpected discovery about myself.

The EMDR Experience

I won’t go into the specifics of my EMDR sessions in too much detail (I’ve made a video about the process which I’ll link below), but to explain briefly: the process involved tapping while talking through whatever surfaced in my mind.

It felt incredibly uncomfortable—I wasn’t even sure I was doing it right! It was disorienting and intense, like opening old wounds I didn’t know were still there. I left each session feeling raw and exposed, and my anxiety only deepened.

By the end of the process, I was in more of a state than when I had started. I was referred to the crisis team for additional support. Emotionally, I was struggling and needed help to make sense of everything that had surfaced. Little did I know, this support would spark a whole new way of understanding myself.

A Different Kind of Support

As part of the crisis team referral, I was visited by a mental health support worker—and I genuinely owe so much to this woman for thinking outside the box.

Initially, we followed the usual path: talking about anxiety, filling out anxiety scales, and keeping diaries. But then she paused. “This doesn’t look like the standard response,” she said. Her curiosity led to a completely different conversation.

I opened up in ways I hadn’t before—about how I didn’t enjoy being sociable, how I felt perfectly content in my own company, how I found talking so hard, and many other things I’d never really put into words.

It was in these honest moments that she gently suggested my anxiety might not be anxiety at all—it could be something else: autism.

Her words hit me like a jolt. Suddenly, I wasn’t just anxious for no reason—there was a whole new lens through which I could finally understand myself.

The Decision to Seek an Autism Assessment

Although I’d wondered about autism in the past, I had never linked it to my ongoing struggles with anxiety. But now, everything started to make sense. If what I thought was anxiety was actually rooted in being autistic, no wonder I’d felt so exhausted for years—even before my chronic illness.

It explained why I’d been such a prime target for burnout. I could also see how I’d been constantly blaming myself in therapy, trying to “fix” things that weren’t broken. If my brain was wired differently, then pushing myself to be “normal” was never going to work. I wasn’t flawed—I was simply me.

Realising this gave me hope: if I was autistic, then perhaps my mental and physical health could improve by using different tools to support myself. This encouraged me to move forward with a referral for assessment.

The Autism Assessment and Diagnosis

While waiting for my assessment date, I began working with a counsellor who had experience with neurodivergent people. The more we explored, the clearer it became: I was autistic.

Eventually, I received confirmation of my referral—but to my dismay, I was told there was no set wait time because it was currently “multiple years.” My heart sank. At 50 years old, I didn’t want to wait years more to get clarity.

Through my own research, I discovered the Right to Choose scheme in the UK, which allows you to choose your own provider and often get assessed more quickly. I found a provider called Skylight Psychiatry, with a clinic only an hour away for the required face-to-face assessment (the rest of the process was virtual). My GP supported me, and just four months later, I had a date for my first appointment.

After completing all stages of the assessment, I faced a nervous wait for the results—a wait that felt endless. Finally, in early February this year (2025), I received my official diagnosis: I am autistic.

How It Feels to Have an Autism Diagnosis

The diagnosis brought an overwhelming sense of relief. Since that first conversation with the support worker, I have been working privately with a counsellor—reflecting on my life, learning more about autism, and feeling more certain with every session.

It wasn’t about discovering something new—it was about rediscovering parts of myself I’d long buried, and having those parts validated.

Still, I wrestled with imposter syndrome. What if I was wrong? What if the report said there was nothing going on? So when I finally saw the diagnosis in black and white, it was both a shock and a comfort. It was real. I wasn’t imagining it. I was seen.

Why I Held Back from Sharing My Autism Diagnosis Until Now

I’ve been nervous about sharing my diagnosis publicly—not because I’m ashamed or embarrassed (far from it), but because of the vulnerability that comes with living so openly.

Being in the public eye means my life often gets commented on—sometimes with incredible support, other times with unkindness. I’ve grown resilient in other areas of my identity, but this felt new and tender. I needed time to build up confidence before I could speak about it.

Now, I’m ready. Just as I’ve shared my journey through transition, chronic illness, and mental health, I want to speak about this part of myself with the same openness and pride.

A New Chapter

This year is all about adjusting to this new understanding of myself and continuing the process of unmasking. I’m excited to take you along for the ride in this new chapter of self-discovery.

I hope this blog helps explain why I’ve been quiet about my diagnosis until now, and I’ll be sharing more in the months ahead about what it means for me.

This journey has been life-changing. It’s helped me understand why I’ve been pushing myself so hard—and why that approach was never going to work. Im pleased to say I have also seen a huge improvement in my mental health over this last year, since I have been doing things differently and using different wellness tools. Tools that work with me, rather than against me.

Now, I’m focusing on self-acceptance and embracing who I truly am.

Thank you for being here with me—for listening, for supporting, and for walking alongside me. If you’ve ever felt like you don’t quite fit in, I hope my story brings you comfort, and maybe even a little clarity.

Here’s to this new chapter—of unmasking, self-acceptance, and embracing every part of who I am.