February 2026 - Vol. 23, Issue 1

In a basement in Ohio, I sat dissecting fish. An eight year old girl, slicing and dicing the casualties of my father’s aquarium keeping hobby. Each thin slice was carefully placed on a glass slide for viewing under my older brother’s microscope. No squeamishness, no apprehension. Precision manufacturing of microscope slides that my brother and I would spend hours viewing ; comparing, detailing, categorizing. Yet at school, I was failing miserably.

At school I rarely spoke, unless directly asked a question. Recess revolved around finding a place to hide, away from the noise of the school yard. The cafeteria was always terrifying, and returning to the classroom offered little relief. I simply could not learn in a classroom as a young person. There was too much, well there was too much of everything.

At home, in the basement, at my brother’s shabby lab desk with a microscope, I was free to learn. In the classroom, the sensory intensiveness defeated me before the book was even opened. I had no hope of absorbing the lesson, the teacher’s words were lost in a sea of student chatter and chaos.

What was not realized in my youth, is that I am on the autism spectrum. It took an advanced degree in education, 20+ years working with exceptional students, and a handful of very skilled professionals; to finally realize that I am autistic. My diagnosis came at age 45. Apparently dissecting fish in a basement at eight years old doesn’t get you evaluated, not as a female in the 1980s. As a female in the 1980s you were more likely to find yourself labeled the weird kid, and ostracized, before you were likely to find yourself with additional support or resources.

It was not until 1993 that federal mandates required scientific and medical research to include women and minorities. Research on autism prior to this time was largely, if not exclusively, white male participants. The medical community simply did not understand how autism presents in females.

Females with autism are more likely to mask their symptoms and behaviors in order to appeal to societal standards. For myself, I commonly engage in behaviors I find irrelevant, for the sole purpose of social acceptance. This masking behavior often complicates the diagnostic procedure. For these reasons it is likely that autism in women is drastically under-reported and misdiagnosed.

Ignorant to the fact that I am on the autism spectrum, I acquired a handful of horribly useless diagnoses. I also acquired a handful of degrees, and a 20+ year career. I found myself with a

Master’s Degree in Education and more than 20 years experience working with students with autism, all the while clueless that I too am autistic. It was not until I read a research article detailing the differences in presentation of autism in girls vs. boys that I knew. I got evaluated, and I was right. Neurospicy is my flavor.

Neurospicy looks different on everyone. I am incredibly lucky in that my career exposed me to a lot of the resources that often benefit individuals on the autism spectrum. When I received my diagnosis, I already had a lot of information and support at my disposal. This is not the case for many adults with autism. The diagnostic process can shatter one’s sense of self, and concept of identity.

Post diagnosis there has been a process of “unmasking”. I tend to pick and choose the times that I work to cover up my autism, and the times that I let my eccentric side show. It all depends on the context. Today, if given a dead fish, I would still happily dissect it. I may even purchase a novice user’s microscope. Set up a shabby lab desk. There is a certain freedom in being the weird kid behind a microscope. A certain zen that comes with living exactly as one wishes. As an adult, I can think of nothing more appealing.