Why Misdiagnosis Keeps Sensitive Autistic Women Lonely — and How Self-Discovery Changes Everything

Guest Blog by Lara Rodwell

Many sensitive autistic women spend years feeling unseen and misunderstood — carrying a quiet kind of loneliness that no diagnosis ever quite explained.
This is about that loneliness — how misdiagnosis can deepen it, and how self-discovery can finally bring the belonging and relief we’ve been searching for.

The Quiet Loneliness of Being Misunderstood

You know that question: If you could be any animal, what would you be?

For as long as I can remember, my answer has always been a chameleon.
I used to shrug it off, saying, “I just like that they blend in — they’re really cool and unique.” I’ve always loved colour, so the idea that they could shift to match their environment fascinated me.

After a year and a half of deep diving into self-discovery and learning about my sensitive autistic traits, it all suddenly made sense.

As a young girl, I learned to mask the parts of myself I felt ashamed of — to camouflage the depth of emotion I felt in response to things others brushed off. The ache in my chest when I saw a baby held too tightly, or the quiet rage that rose when someone was treated unfairly.

I learned to say “please” and “thank you” right on cue, laugh even when I didn’t get the joke, and stay silent when I wanted to speak up.

When I’m around others, I often wonder if their inner worlds are as loud and layered as mine. If everyone’s mind looks like a tapestry — woven with colour, nostalgia, meaning, and dreams.

I sometimes picture Tina next door, sipping her morning coffee, calmly preparing for her day, and I wonder — is she also mentally rehearsing how to appear “normal”?

Wait… you mean this isn’t how everyone feels?

The Many Faces of Misdiagnosis

Research suggests that nearly 80% of autistic women are misdiagnosed — often with conditions like borderline personality disorder, eating disorders, bipolar disorder, or anxiety.

I grew up being told I was “too sensitive.”
When I finally sought a formal autism assessment through the NHS in the UK — where the so-called “gold standard” autism assessments are used — my traits were instead framed as social anxiety, trauma response, and emotional dysregulation.

I was told to stay on a high dose of antidepressants and try another round of CBT (which I’d already done twice, and found more harmful than helpful).

Many women grow up culturally conditioned to mask. Gender expectations shape how we learn to behave, speak, and show up in the world — reinforced by school, media, and even those who love us.

We’re taught not to be “too quiet,” but also not to “make a scene.”
To offer guests tea, to smile, to respond when spoken to.

Though often well-intentioned, these lessons slowly train us to disconnect from our authentic selves.

That disconnection comes at a cost. It leaves us feeling perpetually “off” — unsure why life seems harder for us than for others.

Looking back, I can now see that what I once called shyness or sensitivity was really 27 years of chronic loneliness — a life spent camouflaging who I truly was.

Invalidation: The Hidden Wound

The emotional trauma of being repeatedly misunderstood — by family, friends, classmates, even teachers — took a deep toll on my mental health.

I spent my teens feeling “too much” whenever I showed emotion, and my early twenties swallowing those feelings to avoid being a burden.

When I began to suspect I might be autistic, I faced even more invalidation from people I loved.

I heard things like “you don’t seem autistic” and “you’re just chasing a label.”

Over time, I became numb to the self-doubt that grows from a lifetime of feeling like you’re somehow too much for the world.

So I did what many sensitive women do — I tried to fix it.
I threw myself into work, self-improvement, and achievement.

But this constant invalidation — especially from the people who claimed to love me — only deepened the loneliness.

It felt like carrying a backpack full of bricks everywhere I went, with no one to help me carry the weight — or even notice that I was struggling.

The Turning Point: Discovering Who I Really Am

When I finally received an autism diagnosis, I can’t describe the relief I felt.

Instantly, it was as if someone had lifted that backpack off my shoulders.

Even though I’d spent nearly two years doing the “work” of self-discovery and unmasking, having that official validation was like exhaling after holding my breath for 27 years.

In the days and weeks that followed, I felt everything — relief, grief, anger, compassion.
Bursts of clarity, then waves of sadness for the years I’d spent trying to be someone else.

Suddenly, so many confusing moments made sense.
“Oh — that’s why I’ve always struggled to maintain friendships.”
“That’s why I feel pain and joy so deeply.”
“That’s why I’ve always felt like I was living on a different frequency.”

For the first time, I realised: I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t a bad person. There was never anything “wrong” with me.

My diagnosis became a homecoming — the beginning of reconnecting not only with myself, but with others too.

From Loneliness to Belonging

Understanding who I am has been the key to rebuilding connection in my life.

Since my diagnosis, I’ve been honest with the people around me. I hold no shame. I’m proud of who I am — and I’ve found that sharing my story often gives others permission to reflect on their own.

I’ve started seeking out neurodivergent spaces, both online and offline — places where I don’t have to mask or explain myself.

This shift has helped me see which friendships are safe to grow, and which ones I’ve finally learned to let go of.

Most of all, I’ve become determined to create a space of my own — for neurodivergent people who are navigating loneliness.

My mission is to reach the younger version of myself — the one who thought she was too much and not enough, all at once.

I no longer perform in relationships. I no longer burn myself out to belong.

Instead, I’m building genuine connections — with people who meet me where I am, accommodate my needs, and see me for who I truly am.

And through that, I’ve discovered the greatest gift: feeling seen.

Self-Validation as Healing

Healing, I’ve realised, isn’t about fixing yourself — it’s about finally believing yourself.

It’s about offering yourself the validation you’ve spent a lifetime chasing from others.

For me, that’s looked like self-compassion meditations, journaling to my past self, resting more, and offering myself small sensory comforts — like gentle music, dim lighting, or soft textures.

I stopped needing the world to understand me, because I finally began to understand myself.

The more we depend on others’ validation, the more fragile our sense of self becomes.

As hard as it is — and I know this firsthand — my best advice is this: trust your gut.
You know yourself better than anyone else.

Work with your brain, not against it.
Don’t stop until you feel seen.

A Gentle Reminder from Someone Who Gets It

If you can relate to feeling lonely, misunderstood, or invalidated — maybe even by the medical system itself — please remember: you’re not broken, and you’re definitely not alone. You never were.

To that little girl who grew up wanting to be a chameleon:
I wish I could tell her she didn’t have to blend in.

She deserves to stand out - to shine.
She shouldn’t have to hide, or wish to be invisible.

She deserves to be seen, exactly as she is.

She doesn’t need to strive to fit into a neurotypical world — the world should learn to make space for her.

Your difference makes you bright, unique, and remarkable.

Remember that.
I see you.
You belong here.

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Lara Rodwell is a mental health writer, journalist, and neurodiversity advocate passionate about addressing the loneliness epidemic among young people. She’s the founder of The Lonely Club - an online and offline community for those who struggle to find connection in conventional social settings.

You can find more of her work at lararodwell.journoportfolio.com/myportfolio.

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