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A living archive

What I Wish You Knew

From those who have lived it, to those who are living it. Late-diagnosed women write to the girls they were, and to you. Raw, the things they needed to hear. If you are that girl, or that woman, read these.

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Letters from late-diagnosed women to the girls they were.
Raw and honest. The things they needed to hear.
You can filter the letters by topic.
If you are that girl, or that woman, read these.

To my 9-year-old self

Dear 9-Year-Old Me, For years, I wondered what was wrong with me. School felt so much harder than it seemed to be for everyone else. Before the day had even begun, I had already used up so much energy. The long journey, the early mornings, the train ride, the walk to school, keeping track of every step along the way, it all left me exhausted before I even reached the classroom. I didn't like school, and the anxiety could make me feel physically unwell. I looked at the other girls in their friendship groups and wondered what was wrong with me. I couldn't understand why fitting in seemed so natural for them and so difficult for me. There were so many things that felt uncomfortable. The uniforms itched and felt strange against my skin. The playground felt confusing because nobody had given me a script for how to join in. So I watched others and copied what they did, hoping it would help me belong. Sometimes that meant going along with things that didn't feel right, simply because I wanted to be accepted. For years, I had no words to explain any of it. I couldn't understand why things that seemed easy for other people felt so difficult for me. Many years later, I learned there was a name for what I had been doing. It's called masking. I was working incredibly hard to appear like everyone else, even when it cost me more energy than anyone realised. It became so exhausting that some mornings I simply could not get out of bed and face another day. Looking back now, what makes me sad is how much time I spent believing I was the problem. If there is one thing I wish I had known, it is that there is nothing wrong with me, and there is nothing wrong with you either. One day, I found the words to describe everything I had been feeling. I came to understand myself in ways that once seemed impossible. And when I did, I wrote those words down for another girl who might feel just as lost and alone as I once did, so she would know she was not the only one. Be gentle with yourself. You are doing the best you can. With love, Ros Xx

— A woman who didn't get the words until much later

Why do I hate going to school?I can't get out of bed for schoolNobody knows I'm not going in

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To anyone going through this — There'd be long periods of time where I'd have ten things I wanted to do, or one thing I'd planned for, and I'd feel paralysed — wanting to do it, just not being able to. My brain would be thinking about all the things that would need to be done to get me to an appointment, a meeting, a social event. The transition from waking up to having to get dressed, or have a shower, or get ready. And the dyspraxia was unpredictable. Some days I'd feel so fatigued after just getting ready to go out — and by the time I was ready to go out, I was too tired to go out. So then I'd have this anxiety and this overwhelm, the fact that I'd spent so much effort and time and energy into getting ready, and then not being able to go out because I was physically fatigued. The war, and the battle, and the inner conflict. And the anger I held toward myself for not being able. And the shame of not being able to go out after all that effort. The want and the ability were in two different places, and there was a wall between them — inside my head, inside my nervous system — that I never found the words to describe. People would say "just do it, break it down." If breaking it down had been the answer, I wouldn't have needed to build this. People thought I was making excuses. So did I, for a long time. That was the crisis — not the days themselves, but not understanding why they happened. I felt destroyed. I felt I was letting down the people I love, and myself. Here's what I need you to know: there's nothing wrong with you. There's a real wall, and it has a real name, and one day you'll find the words for it. You're not making excuses.

— A woman who finally found the words at forty-six

Why can't I just be normal?Everyone thinks I'm madI'm pretending I'm okay and I'm not

To my younger self — There was no predicting how I would wake up. I could make a plan I was genuinely looking forward to — seeing my best friend, seeing family — and wake up that morning unable to do it. Unable to function. Not because I didn't want to go. How I would present on any given day was a mystery until the moment I opened my eyes. I'd think something was deeply wrong with me. I'd cancel, again. My family and friends didn't understand — the friendships I still have, and the ones I lost because they thought I was a flaky friend who was never there. Here's what I need you to know: there's nothing wrong with you. This is your nervous system, and one day you'll learn its language. You're not flaky. You're living inside a body that changes overnight, and no one's taught you how to plan around that yet.

— A woman who stopped apologising for her mornings

My body won't let me goWhy can't I just be normal?I'm pretending I'm okay and I'm not

To my younger self — It's disconcerting — not only for the person living it, but for everyone around them. From lived experience: my family and friends, the friendships I still have and the ones I lost because they thought I was a flaky friend who was never there. It's as if there are program chips: one is put in, taken out, and replaced with another that is completely different. I wouldn't say Jekyll and Hyde. But there were times I asked myself — why can I not be the same consistent character the whole time? That's what led me to the severe personal crisis of 2025. Here's what I need you to know: there's nothing wrong with you. You're not two people. You're one person living inside a brain that shifts state, and one day you'll have the words for that, and the people who matter will stay. The ones who left weren't your people. Your people are coming — the ones who meet whichever version of you arrives, and don't ask you to explain.

— A woman who learned she was never flaky

I lost a friend and I don't know whyWhy can't I be like them?I don't know who I am

To anyone going through this — My mum died in March 2026. I was there with her in hospital, on March the 16th. I was there when she died. It was so surreal. The grief came in ways I didn't recognise as grief — delayed, because of the sensory processing differences, and sometimes the absence of emotion, which is alexithymia. I'd be flooded one day and feel completely flat the next. I questioned my own mind, and my own heart. Living like that is disconcerting in a way I can't overstate. I still have flashbacks of that last morning with her. I'm still processing it, five, six months on. I'm learning about how people grieve who are neuro-distinct — grief isn't linear for anyone, but it lands differently when your wiring's different. The delay isn't coldness. It's the system taking its own time to let the real thing in. And the losses stack. Not just people who've died. The relationships that broke down. The friendships. The people who walked away, or ended it, because I wasn't the friend they wanted me to be or needed me to be. That grief counts too. It's real. Here's what I need you to know: there's nothing wrong with you. Your grief isn't broken — it's just shaped differently, like you are. It'll come, in waves, on its own timeline, not the one the world expects. Let it. You don't have to perform it for anyone. You don't have to feel it on schedule. You're allowed to still be processing.

— A woman who is still processing, six months on

I lost someone and I can't feel itI lost a friend and I don't know whyAm I weird?

To my younger self, and to anyone who's been called difficult — I was called moody. Stroppy. Stubborn. Sullen. Difficult. For as long as I can remember. People were just calling my character flawed. In December 2025, I was assessed over intense periods by professionals who didn't know me — autism and ADHD combined, sensory processing differences, a pervasive drive for autonomy, rejection sensitive dysphoria, CPTSD and trauma, secondary mental health, dyspraxia. All of it combined. I'm not defined by my labels. But now I have a deeper understanding of what people perceived as moody, stroppy, stubborn, difficult — it's actually the pervasive drive for autonomy, and combined autism and ADHD. It was never a flawed character. It was a different makeup. I said to them: I feel like I'm going mad. I feel like I've lost the plot. I don't know what's real. Am I being rejected? And they said: you're not going mad. You have all of it — the autism, the ADHD, the RSD, the PDA, the dyspraxia, the trauma. Real people who've been doing this for decades said that. It's a lot to process. And I'm working on giving myself more grace. Here's what I need you to know: there's nothing wrong with you. You weren't being difficult. You don't have a flawed character — you have a different makeup, a different chemistry set inside you, and it now has names to help you understand yourself a little better. One day at a time.

— A woman who was called difficult, and finally has names for it

I was always called difficultWhy can't I just be normal?Everyone thinks I'm mad

To my younger self — My intuition has generally never been wrong — but I was made to question it throughout my life. Your gut instinct never lies. I spent years second-guessing my initial gut instinct; trusting it has brought about incredible changes. Building DysPhilter is one of them. Here's what I need you to know: there's nothing wrong with you. The thing they tried to talk you out of is the thing that will save you. One day you'll stop trusting other people's versions of you more than your own, and your whole life will open. Keep your gut. It's been holding you the whole time.

— A woman who finally listened

I don't know who I amIs anyone like me?Am I weird?

To anyone going through this — I'm 47, and I am only now learning what certain traits mean about my character. Even though I was a SEND teacher for 20 years, it was almost like I didn't recognise the autism and ADHD in myself. I didn't know. I'm learning about what dyspraxia is and how it affects me. I didn't realise it affected not only my body but my speech. I'm learning about the phrase alexithymia. I didn't know what that was before. I'm still learning about what it means to be autistic with ADHD, AuDHD, inside me — my own body, inside my own mind. Being a teacher, I could apply my knowledge to those individuals, and I did it very, very well. But applying it now to myself is an ever-evolving lesson. Life lessons. I'm still learning them now. Here's what I need you to know: there's nothing wrong with you. It's not too late. You can spend twenty years holding up a mirror for everyone else and never once turn it round on yourself — and that doesn't mean you missed it. It means you were busy doing the work. The learning doesn't stop. It just finally turns inward.

— A woman who is still learning, at 47

I got diagnosed late and I'm angryI don't know who I amIs anyone like me?

To my younger self, and to you if you're reading this — There were days the war inside got so loud I didn't want to be here anymore. The daily conflict. The internal battles. The relationships that broke down, the friendships I lost, the people I felt I was letting down. It piled up until I felt destroyed — like I was the problem, and everyone would be better off without the problem. Here's what I need you to know: there's nothing wrong with you. The thing telling you to go is not the truth. It's the exhaustion. It's the wall. It's the shame and the anger you carry toward yourself for not being able to do what looks so easy for everyone else. It's the conflict of living inside a body and a mind no one has helped you understand yet. You're not a burden. You're carrying something that has a name, and the name is coming. The people who meet you — really meet you, whichever version arrives — are coming. The words for what you live with are coming. The life that bends with you instead of against you is coming. Stay for that. Even if you can't see it yet. Even if today you can only stay for the next hour, or the next breath. That's enough. That's staying. I'm still here. I built something from the wreckage. You deserve to still be here too.

— A woman who almost didn't make it, and did

I don't want to be here anymoreEveryone seems to cope but meIs anyone like me?

To my younger self, and to anyone who loves someone like me — Relationships with family were strained, a struggle. I'd go from being really chatty to just not wanting to talk, not wanting to be around anybody. And it would make friends and family struggle to know how to be around me — without feeling like they're walking on eggshells. So many concepts feed into it. When my blood sugar was low, I'd have meltdowns in a shot. But I realised it wasn't just from blood sugar. It was bright lights, people, noise, being hungry. Hunger hitting me out of nowhere. I'm really realising now that's another part of the autistic and ADHD traits in me — not even recognising when I'm hungry, and suddenly I am, and it's this overwhelming sense of rage, or just complete meltdown, because I'm hungry and overstimulated. I need to carry snacks with me to prevent it from happening. Prevention better than cure. Always having snacks in my bag, in my car, when I go out, so I'm not caught out. The mental prep that goes into going out — covering my physical and sensory needs — can be exhausting. But I'm learning. And it's becoming a routine of safety and support that I'm giving myself. Without shame. Here's what I need you to know: there's nothing wrong with you. The snacks aren't a weakness — they're wisdom. The quiet days aren't you being difficult — they're you protecting a nervous system that's working harder than anyone can see. And if the people around you feel like they're walking on eggshells, that's not your fault either — it's just that no one's had the words yet. Now you're finding them. Keep the snacks. Keep the space. Keep showing up for yourself. Without shame.

— A woman who carries snacks and doesn't apologise for it

Why am I so sensitive?I lost a friend and I don't know whyI'm pretending I'm okay and I'm not

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