This is not my first year of college. I’m going into my junior year at UW-Madison, so I have done this before. However, this is the first time I am starting a school year knowing that I’m Autistic, which makes it feel like I’m going to college for the first time all over again.
I was officially diagnosed in November 2025, right in the middle of my sophomore year. Since then, I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned what it actually feels like to be regulated, how much rest I need, how exhausting socialization can be, and how many things I used to force myself to tolerate because I assumed everybody felt the way I did.
What Summer Taught Me
This summer, I’ve still been busy. I took two online classes, spent more time with my family, worked on some personal projects, and finally did things around the house that I had wanted to do for a long time. The difference is that I have had more control over my time. My summer classes had a manageable workload and, because they were online, I had the space to take care of myself while still doing really well.
I’ve also had more time to go to the grocery store and buy safe foods that I actually enjoy. I really like fresh produce, but fresh produce requires regularly going to the grocery store, and regularly going to the grocery store requires time and energy. During the school year, those are not always things I have. Eating well and taking care of my gut health have made me realize how much better I feel when I actually fuel my body. This becomes even more important during the semester when I use my ADHD medication more often and eating enough can become more difficult.
In a nutshell, summer has shown me what my life looks like when I have enough time to take care of myself as an Autistic adult. It has been amazing! It has also made me very nervous to go back to school.
When One Hour Is the Last Straw
College often feels like everything is constantly on the brink of collapse. I know that is not exclusive to Autistic students. Pretty much every college student I know has a ridiculous amount of work and a ridiculous number of things to remember. But for me, one little thing going wrong can affect my ability to do almost everything else.
Late last fall, not long after I was diagnosed, I was studying at the library. I had exams coming up, assignments to submit, readings to finish, and a million other things floating around in my head. At some point, I realized I had spent about an hour studying the wrong thing.
An hour is not actually that much time. I have definitely spent more than an hour doing things that are completely useless. But with everything I already had to juggle as a college student and an Autistic adult, that hour was the last straw.
Think about it—reading can be difficult for me because it is hard for me to focus. Organizing my assignments is difficult, and I’m always worried about forgetting something. Going to the library so I can study properly, away from the distractions at home, means being in a space where I cannot stim freely. I like to vocal stim a lot, and I often pace. It also takes a lot of “hyping up” for me to start studying.
I had done all the emotional work it took to become productive, and then that work felt wasted. I had no wiggle room left in the energy I had planned to use that day. Losing an hour was not just “losing an hour.” It meant losing the energy I had spent getting myself into a state where I could study in the first place. I was already overwhelmed, and that mistake was what finally pushed me over the edge.
I went home with tears in my eyes, and my teeth clenched because I could feel a meltdown coming. I told my roommates what was happening and went into my bedroom.
My meltdowns take a lot of energy. I do not want to describe everything that happens during them, but for me they can involve trying to silence my own screaming, rocking, hitting myself, throwing or punching objects, jumping, and intense stimming. Afterward, I was completely drained. I couldn’t get up to shower. I couldn’t get up to eat. I just lay in bed feeling guilty about everything I was no longer getting done.
It just so happened that it was my turn to clean the apartment floors that day.
I feel the need to clarify that I DO clean the apartment. I do my share of the housework, and my roommates know that. They have also been very understanding when I need to clean the floors a day or two later than my designated turn. The fact that I feel the need to defend myself over cleaning the floor one day late probably says more about my guilt than it does about the floors.
Recovering While the World Keeps Moving
Before I knew I was Autistic, people described my meltdowns as dramatic or crazy. I have even been called evil because of them. For a long time, I believed that having a meltdown meant I had done something wrong. I felt so much shame afterward that the shame became almost worse than the actual meltdown.
That is simply not true. Meltdowns are seriously intense experiences that Autistic people deal with. We are not being dramatic. We are not evil. And we are not “faking it.”
I’ve become a lot better at noticing when I am getting overwhelmed and taking care of my needs before I have a meltdown. When one does happen, my first priority afterward is loving myself. That might sound kinda silly, but it’s true—and it works.
I talk to myself the way a mother might talk to an upset child. I tell myself, “Yeah, that was a lot, huh?” I remind myself that I was upset about wasting an hour because I work really hard and care about school. I tell myself that I am safe, that I am home, that nobody is mad at me, and that my emotions matter. I remind myself that I have a lot on my shoulders and that I am still doing a good job, even if I cannot carry all of it perfectly.
Then I try to eat something. After meltdowns, the safest foods are sometimes cookies, chocolate, or cake. At that point, I do not care about creating a perfectly balanced meal. Eating something is better than eating nothing.
I give myself time to lie in bed and use my phone without worrying about being productive. Eventually, I “assess the damage,” which is what I call going through my responsibilities and getting rid of anything that does not need to happen immediately. The floors can wait until tomorrow. A reading that is not due yet can wait. An assignment due next week is absolutely not happening that night.
I also switch to the easiest version of my routines. Normally, I floss, use a Waterpik, brush my teeth, and use mouthwash. After a meltdown, I might only brush my teeth and use mouthwash. That is good enough.
Once I have rested, I try to move a little. I might stretch, go for a walk, do some yoga, or take a shower. Showers are one of my favorite ways to regulate during the school year because they are quick, familiar, and predictable. Later, once I feel more regulated, I usually talk to someone I trust and rant about what happened.
I can usually start functioning again fairly quickly, but functioning is not the same thing as actually recovering. It can take me several days or even a week to feel like myself again. During that time, I still go to class and submit my assignments, but I have more trouble listening during lectures. I do not always feel like I am actually in the classroom. Social situations become even harder, and sometimes I choose not to talk.
This sometimes makes me sad because I really do love learning, and I love school. I want to pay attention. I want to ask questions. I want to talk to my classmates about what we are learning. But after a meltdown, my wants go out the window. My body is in recovery mode, and the world will not slow down to wait for me.
Because I manage my time well, I am usually a day or two ahead on assignments. I am very proud of myself for that, but being ahead is also how I prepare for the possibility that I may suddenly be unable to work for a day or two. If I have a meltdown during the week, I usually power through until the weekend and use the weekend to recover.
One of the hardest parts of advocating for myself as an Autistic student is that none of this shows up on paper. My assignments are always on time, I do well in my classes, and I usually sit front and center so I can pay attention better. From a professor’s perspective, I probably look like I am doing great. They cannot see when I am dissociating or how much energy it takes for me to keep showing up.
College, and the capitalist society it exists in, has a weird way of treating productivity as proof that someone is doing well. If I am attending class and earning good grades, then I must be fine! Meanwhile, I might be using all my energy to do schoolwork while eating poorly, barely socializing, and waiting for the weekend so I can become a person again.
That is what I am most nervous about this semester. I know that I can succeed academically. I am worried about how much of myself I will have to sacrifice to do it.
Redefining Success
There are three things I especially do not want to sacrifice: food, friendships, and sensory comfort.
I want to continue eating food that makes me feel good. I want enough time and energy to buy fresh safe foods, take care of my gut health, and actually enjoy eating.
I also do not want to lose the friendships I have worked hard to build. I really like being alone and need a lot of time by myself, but my intimate connections are incredibly important to me. I am nervous that when I become overwhelmed, I will not have the energy to maintain those friendships. I worry that I will communicate something badly, snap at someone, or disappear for too long.
Finally, I am done sacrificing sensory comfort because of how I think I am supposed to look. For example, I have really long, wavy hair, and I think it looks better when it is down. It also bothers me when it is down, so I have basically decided that I may never wear my hair down to class this semester. Who cares? I am there to learn psychology, not to give everyone a beautiful-hair experience.
I also need new winter clothes because this is Wisconsin and I have to walk to class in the cold. Last year, some of my socks felt horrible, and my boots were too tight. These may sound like little things, but wearing uncomfortable socks and tight boots every day becomes a big thing very quickly.
I’m nervous about my roommates coming back and having people over. I want to be very clear that I love my roommates and they have done a great job listening to me. They give me advance notice before people come over and understand that I cannot handle excessive noise in the apartment. At the same time, it is their home too, and I know they want to have friends over. Nobody is doing anything wrong. It just means that I have to prepare for strangers in my space, noise through very thin walls, and having to communicate my needs again.
I am also nervous about talking to my professors and asking for accommodations. By the time I ask a professor for help, I have usually spent a long time feeling guilty about asking. The most helpful thing a professor can do is see me and genuinely care. They may not be able to grant every accommodation, but I want to be able to say, “I’m Autistic, I had a meltdown, and I may need to miss class or participate less for a few days,” without worrying that they will judge me or get angry. Flexibility with attendance and participation would be helpful, but even responding calmly and believing me would make advocating for myself feel safer.
As a psychology major, I’m also nervous about hearing Autism discussed in my classes. I am going into my junior year, and I have only heard Autism seriously discussed in one class. The discussion felt outdated and focused more on finding the cause of Autism and supporting parents of Autistic children than it did on supporting Autistic people or listening to our perspectives. Sitting in a room while people discuss Autism like Autistic people are not also sitting in that room is a very strange experience.
Despite all my worries, I do not want this to sound like a sob story. Most of the time, my life is really great. I love learning, and being autistic makes some parts of college easier for me.
I can hyperfocus and finish large assignments very quickly. I am studying something I find fascinating, so learning about it is genuinely exciting. I have also realized that I do not really need to take notes, which is so cool! If I focus on listening during a lecture, I can usually remember the information. Forcing myself to take notes can actually distract me.
I even like sitting in a big lecture hall with other students. I get to feel like I am part of a community without necessarily having to talk to anybody. That is honestly an ideal social situation.
I am proud of myself for being in college. It is extremely difficult, but it has taught me skills that I will use for the rest of my life. I would not change being Autistic for the world, and I would not change my decision to go to college.
If another Autistic student reads this, I want them to know that their pain is real even when other people cannot see it. Be kind to yourself. Learn your needs slowly, and do not punish yourself for having them. It is possible to be Autistic, go to college, be successful, and be happy.
If a parent reads this, I want them to consider removing some of the expectations they have placed on their child. My life improved when my parents stopped caring so much about whether I got straight A’s. Allowing myself to get a B or two gave me more time to learn how to cook, clean, make friends, and take care of myself. Those things are part of becoming an adult too.
As a late-diagnosed Autistic 20-year-old, I sometimes feel like I am learning how to make friends for the first time. There are social rules that other people learned as children that I am only beginning to understand. That does not mean I am failing at adulthood. It means I am learning things in a different order.
I also know exactly how I want to measure success this semester, and it has almost nothing to do with getting straight A’s. If December arrives and the shelf I have in my roommates’ and my shared refrigerator is full of safe foods, I have maintained a healthy weight for my body, and I can lie in bed without back and hip pain from stress, that will be success.
If I am still talking to my best friend and keeping in touch with my other friends, that will be a success. If I am on good terms with my roommates and have not needed to push off my chores too often, that will be success. If I have gone to the gym regularly, enjoyed my classes, and can honestly say, “Wow, I actually learned a lot,” that will be success.
Success will also mean finding boots that feel good, with enough room to wiggle my toes without cringing, and figuring out how to put my hair up so it stays comfortable all day without needing to be fixed. These details may sound small, but they affect how I feel every day.
If I can do those things, I will be so, so happy to get a few B’s. Honestly, I would consider that a more successful semester than any semester when I earned straight A’s but did not have enough energy left to take care of myself.
This year, I am not going back to college with a perfect plan. I am going back knowing more about my sensory needs, allowing myself not to speak when I am overloaded, and understanding that a meltdown does not make me a bad person. I am going to ask my professors for help when I need it. I am going to wear my hair up. I am going to try to protect my food, my friendships, and my comfort.
I am proud of everything I have done this summer to keep myself regulated, and I am excited to bring what I have learned with me. I already know that I can be a successful student on paper. This year, I want to find out what happens when I measure success by how well I take care of myself too.
We’re grateful to Annika for sharing her experiences, reflections, and perspective with our community.
