What School Was Like as an (Undiagnosed) Autistic

School began as a sanctuary, a safe space. 5-year-old me loved the classroom, all the new books I was being introduced to, the stories I heard and the new things I was learning. I couldn’t believe my luck, that I could go to school every day and learn such fascinating things.

I don’t remember much of course, as I was only small. I don’t remember really what I thought of the other kids. I remember hating group work, finding it long and tedious. I excelled at working independently and loved doing tests because I didn’t have to talk to anyone.

I quickly became known as a loud child who talked non-stop. It baffled me that others could just not talk? That they could pause between sentences to take a breath. I spoke at five miles an hour and was constantly told to take a breath. I would just forget to breathe, I guess.

At primary school, I was confident. I put so much energy and effort into every piece of work. I received awards for my classwork, was house captain in year 6, published a class newspaper weekly, was goal-keeper of the netball team…I threw myself into everything and never half-heartedly. Because of this, and my impeccable behaviour, I was an “excellent student” and a “pleasure to teach”. Whilst other kids would play football at break, I would have intellectual conversations about parts of history which fascinated me with my teacher (if I wasn’t reading!).

The only times I was told off was for reading in class, because I couldn’t put my book down. Or for talking in class. Or for racing ahead with classwork and not being patient (I got bored a lot). Or for not packing away, because I hadn’t finished my work, and how could I stop when I hadn’t finished? Once I was sent out of the classroom because I thought I had seen a classmate do something which had made people laugh. I always wanted to be liked, so I copied. Turns out I misunderstood the situation, got scolded and sent out. I was so upset and ashamed, and confused.

Other kids were mean. They would have ‘private talks’ which included all the girls in the class, except from me, so I would be left alone. I was made fun of for my clothes, my hair, my voice, what I chose to read, and for not liking the same movies and music as everyone else. Because, let’s be honest, reading Anne of Green Gables was much higher on my priority list than listening to the new song out on the radio. I just simply didn’t care. But then I did. Because I didn’t want to be laughed at. I wanted to be like the other kids.

Age eleven marked a new school. I couldn’t wait. Primary school had begun to get dull and I was desperate to be away from the kids who made my days miserable. Secondary school felt like an adventure, like something out of Enid Blyton’s stories. I couldn’t wait to begin.

I was lucky. Five of us girls in my form clicked straight away. Aside from one, we stayed best friends throughout school and they are still my best friends now. One autistic trait is loyalty. I’m told I am a good friend. I don’t believe it, but they are good friends to me.

Year seven was alright. The school was big. I was constantly afraid I would leave a book or homework at home and get into trouble. I checked my bag a billion times before going to school. Inevitably, I forgot once or twice, which upset me because I tried so hard. I had to go back at lunchtime because I left my homework at home. Except I couldn’t find the teacher and I got myself into a state. Another time I forgot my protractor and I was shouted at in-front of my maths class. I was hysterical, sobbing and hyper-ventilating in class, in-front of all the other children.

In those early years of secondary, I spent my life in the library. The book club was the highlight of my week. There were people who actually enjoyed books like me. The library was a quiet escape away from the busy canteen and chaotic playground. It was a safe haven.

In year nine, my panic attacks began on a school trip, and that began the shift from my school experience being somewhat bearable, to hell. Suddenly all the bright lights, loud noises, chaos, uncertainty, change…I suddenly couldn’t force myself to bear it anymore. I would curl up in corners with hands over my ears. I lashed out if someone tried to touch me. I would hide in the toilets. I was told I was “rude” because I couldn’t follow their safety management plan when I was distressed. I missed most of my lessons and sat in the library instead. I began to run away when I felt overwhelmed. Several times I ran away from school and wasn’t found until later that evening in the dark, with police, police dogs, helicopters, strangers, in the rain, darkness, coldness. It was scary. I felt lost and alone.

Year ten and eleven passed much the same. I self-taught most of my GCSE’s and got 7 A*’s and 3 9’s. I worked myself so hard that I made myself ill. I struggled to understand the teacher’s ways of explaining things, and sought to find my own ways to explain things. My brain works in a very methodical way. If I had to study chapter 5 for homework, but I hadn’t studied chapter 1-4 yet, I would have to do those first. What took some people an hour to do homework would take me six. But I’d be praised for it, because I did it so well.

Though safeguarding’s were raised many times in year 10 and 11 for my self-harm, in sixth form things really escalated. Following a hospital admission, it wasn’t so much the school environment I found overwhelming to cope with, but my mental health.

In sixth form, lesson sizes were smaller, my teachers knew me, I felt safe in knowing who to go to for help and when to ask for it, my timetable wasn’t packed, my close friends were there when I needed them…so apart from loud lunch or break-times, I was less over-stimulated.

My mental health on the other hand was unpredictable, only ever a day away from crisis. I had an incident or two at school, would have meltdowns and panic attacks, struggled to engage with lessons, and sometimes struggled to even make it into school.

So, to summarise, that was how I started school as a happy, chatty, cheerful, loud 5-year-old, and ended school as a distressed, anxious, fearful 17-year-old. In many ways, school was a traumatising experience. In other ways, the routine and familiarity was comforting.

I wonder whether other autistic people had similar experiences at school, or whether your experiences were very different?