What’s Autism and What’s Trauma? Untangling My Life. My Story of Autism, Trauma, and Learning to Trust Myself.

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Autism or Trauma? The Question That Haunts My Healing.

I wanted to share my experience of being Autistic and how my neurotype has shaped my relationships with other people. However, I have a problem because, in addition to being Autistic, I have also experienced years of interpersonal trauma (due to not knowing I was Autistic for most of my life), which makes it difficult for me to separate which parts of my experiences with others are tied to “Autism” and which parts are because of interpersonal trauma.

I’m not alone in this experience.

Unfortunately, due to how cruel and unaccepting this world can be to those who stand out, many Autistic people have interpersonal trauma, and these traumas often shape our engagements with people around us, as well as how our Autism presents to the world.

For many Autistic people, the world is naturally traumatizing, because it doesn’t meet our needs, and punishes us for struggling or standing out, while expecting us to assimilate (even if assimilation is impossible for us).

In addition, we have a medical manual that describes Autistic people based on our struggles alone, without offering a picture of what a successful, supported, and untraumatized Autistic person looks like. According to the medical manuals, to qualify as Autistic, we must be struggling.

Since being diagnosed as Autistic over 10 years ago, I have been on a trauma healing journey, healing from a lifetime of not understanding (and hating) myself, and the fallout from being misunderstood by the people around me (and myself) for most of my life.

For most of my life, I thought I was the problem.

Feeling like I was simultaneously too much and not enough wrecked my self-worth.

Because I believed I was inherently flawed, I thought I was lucky when people “put up with me” and that I deserved to be treated badly by those around me, which led me to tolerate what I now know was unacceptable behavior in many of my relationships over the years (friendships, romances, and even relationships with employers). This was a trauma response… a response to the trauma of not knowing I was Autistic, or why people often treated me badly and blamed me for things beyond my control.

Eventually, after years of poor treatment and rejection from the people around me, I also developed social anxiety/social phobia (which I was diagnosed with at the same time as Autism)… but I wasn’t always afraid of the people around me. This too was a trauma response.

When I was younger, as an Autistic child who was very articulate, I assumed everyone who entertained my info-dumping about animals must like me and appreciate what I had to share, so I often approached people and started talking to them about my interests.

As a young Autistic person who spoke like a little professor, with complete sentences and a vocabulary that often surprised adults, people treated this trait (infodumping) more kindly because, in my early days, it was “cute,”.

Eventually, as I grew up, the cuteness factor wore off. The older I got, the more ridicule I received from my peers and adults for my infodumping.

Apparently, a 3- or 4-year-old infodumping about dogs and other animals is cute, but a pre-teen doing the same thing is “annoying“.

I quickly learned that people are much less kind to older kids and adults who annoy them than they are to small children.

I did not know how to read people’s facial expressions or body language, and I assumed, falsely, for most of my life, that because people can use words, they would tell me what they meant and wouldn’t lie to me or pretend they were interested in me or the things I had to say if they weren’t really interested.

When I was younger, even into my early teens, I didn’t understand that people could be manipulative or would say one thing while meaning something completely different.

It didn’t occur to me that people would try to trick me into doing things for their amusement or to get what they wanted.

I thought if people were nice to me, they must like me; if they didn’t, they wouldn’t be nice to me… After all, I wasn’t nice to people I didn’t like (unless my mom forced me to be).

The three traits above (not reading facial expressions/body language, taking people at face value and assuming people were honest, and being socially vulnerable due to those traits) seem to have been related to being Autistic in my case (since they were there before my interpersonal traumas occurred). However, the older I got and the more people I engaged with, the blurrier the lines between trauma and Autism became.

Before I go any further, I think it is important that I emphasize that though trauma can produce traits that resemble Autism to the outside observer (shutdown/dissociation, sensory overload, executive dysfunction, and a desperate need for predictability), trauma DOES NOT cause Autism. While an outside observer might view these experiences as similar, the internal motivations behind them often vary greatly.

Autism is a neurodevelopmental difference (something we are born with, while PTSD / C-PTSD are acquired trauma-related conditions (that can develop due to events that happen in our lives). 

Also, because Autistic people are also at higher risk of experiencing trauma (due to the way Autism is poorly supported and understood by those in the world today), many Autistic people develop PTSD / C-PTSD, dissociation, and other traumagenic differences in addition to being Autistic (because the world, in its very nature, can often be traumatic to us).

I often can’t help but wonder… “What does an Autistic person who is not traumatized look like?“

One day, as I work on healing my own traumas, I hope to find out for myself what, for me, is Autism, and what was trauma/conditioning.

As I’ve healed, and some things have improved (like my memory and executive functioning), I do worry that some things I attributed to being Autistic years ago when sharing online may have actually been Autistic trauma responses.

For example, I used to describe my memory as “Swiss cheese, full of holes,” and attributed this to being Autistic. However, as I’ve healed, my memory and executive functioning have improved significantly.

I also used to struggle with the connection between my body and mind, and I couldn’t visualize where my body was or what it was doing in space when I closed my eyes and moved around. However, a few years ago, after doing somatic exercises regularly, I suddenly developed this ability.

It was like flipping a light switch. One day, I had no internal visualization of myself moving; the next day, I could do something I couldn’t before.

Since then, I’ve been less clumsy than I used to be and have much better bodily awareness (but I’m still clumsier than a lot of non-autistic people I know).

It is hard for me to say for sure what caused the initial disconnection between my body and mind, or if I simply failed to develop it when I was younger.

I suspect it had a lot to do with being encouraged to ignore my body’s signals of discomfort growing up (especially during critical developmental periods), and that gaining these new skills was tied to learning to tune in to and pay attention to different feelings in my body (using somatic practices) in recent years.

Autism, Trauma, or BOTH?

Knowing how prevalent trauma is within the Autistic population, I can’t help but wonder how much of what we attribute to Autism is actually related to Autistic people being traumatized.

I want to be very clear that I don’t think healing my traumas has made me less Autistic. Though, it has definitely made many of the things I struggled with as an Autistic person less intense, like less sensory overloads, as well as fewer meltdowns and shutdowns (because I am not stuck in a state of hypervigilance, so I spend less time already on edge).

I am also more okay with changes to my plans even though they still bother me. My recovery time from being forced to change directions has gone down, and changes don’t send me into meltdowns as often as they used to, and I am more flexible and less black-and-white with things… but I am definitely still Autistic.

Even as I heal from the developmental trauma I experienced, I still see myself as Autistic, and I still have many Autistic traits.

I still have a tendency towards monotropism and hyperfocusing on my special interests.

I still have a very monotropic way of focusing (deep single-channel focus), and I still struggle to switch tasks when compared to my non-autistic peers (though I do object to non-autistic people being the norm we’re all measured against).

I also still have what some call “special interests” (for me, that means expertise in areas that catch my interest, as I collect facts about my passions and struggle to stop thinking or talking about them once I get going).

Trauma can cause us to ruminate on stressors and things that make us anxious (worrying about the future/the past), but as an Autistic person, while I can become fixated on worries, my hyperfocus these days (and when I am in better mental health) is often on things I love and that bring me a great sense of joy and calmness, not just things I am worried about.

I get deep Autistic joy from hyperfocusing on the topics that interest me, and I often build my life around those interests (RV life, Dogs, Nature, Neurodiversity).

Lately, I’ve found myself less fixated on problems and more focused on solutions and on things that bring joy to my life.

When I was early on in my trauma healing, I was often ruminating on things I was anxious or worried about, and the rumination was stressful and NOT bringing me joy.

I still have sensory processing differences.

Though I have less sensory overload and more sensory tolerance (thanks to designing my world to better meet my sensory needs, starting to use sensory protection, and being less hypervigilant), I am still a very sensory-seeking human.

I still love deep pressure, spinning, spicy food, swimming (when it is warm enough outside), feeling the contrast of warm sun and cool breeze on my skin, listening to the same songs on repeat.

I also still can’t handle too many hours under fluorescent lighting without experiencing neurological symptoms as a result.

I still prefer that people use direct communication with me.

For example, don’t ask me “how are you?” if you don’t want me to give you an honest answer.

Also, if I don’t know someone very well, I’ll probably miss it if they use sarcasm (until I learn they’re a sarcastic person).

For me, being Autistic means I prefer directness and don’t naturally look for subtext unless I know someone is the type who is never up front (which stresses me out, and I tend to avoid people like that).

I also like to surround myself with honest people, and I’ll quickly cut someone out of my life if I catch them lying (because I struggle to know whether people are lying, and I’m well aware of this vulnerability, so I can’t risk having liars in my orbit).

Yes, I know that for some, lying (and manipulation) can be a trauma response (for people who don’t have better tools to get their needs met or who are anxious about being direct with what they need)… but because of my own vulnerabilities, it is too dangerous for me to keep liars, manipulators, and dishonest people around me.

I still struggle to read body language and people’s facial expressions.

Since learning that I am Autistic, I realized that as a kid, I spent time learning to read animal body language, but because people use words, it never occurred to me to give humans the same level of study.

In recent years, I have been putting in effort to learn more about humans’ facial expressions and body language, and I’ve learned to pick up on some of the more obvious non-autistic social cues. However, it still feels very unnatural to me, like learning a foreign language, and I struggle a lot to pick up on the more subtle cues.

I still struggle to conform to social constructs.

My brain looks at many social norms and screams “NO THANK YOU!“

I can’t help but question (and struggle to follow) arbitrary rules that make no sense to me.

“What do you mean plants and fungi that grow wild all over the earth are illegal, but alcohol is widely available and okay?”

The idea of borders on the map seems silly to me… they don’t even make sense, because they don’t line up with different ecosystems (deserts, forests, mountains, plains, beaches) or anything my brain sees as logical.

I am still put off by hierarchies of all kinds.

In school, I didn’t automatically respect my teachers just because they held authority, and at work I spoke to executives and entry-level people the same way (and that didn’t always go over well).

Monogamy? No, thank you… It’s always felt compulsory and very unnatural to me.

“What do you mean I am supposed to be attracted to certain types of people, and only one person at a time?”

“Why do we have to have norms around sex, gender, and social dressing?” These all seem silly to me.

“Why did we have to invent money and credit scores?”

“Why did we create the clocks, calendars, and days of the week?”

I never agreed to follow these things that seem arbitrary to me…

“Can’t we just live off the earth, move with the seasons, and wake up when it feels natural?”

“Why is nudity taboo? Why do we have to wear clothes (especially when it is hot or to go swimming)?”

I hate that we need money to survive, I hate that we have to keep track of time, and I hate that we are bound by the calendar and days of the week… also don’t get me started on the whole “move the clocks back or forward an hour” nonsense (that boggles my brain).

To me, these are all ways I can see my brain still operating in a very clearly Autistic manner, even as many of my trauma symptoms ease up.

I have no doubts that I am Autistic, even as I integrate all the traumatic things that happened to me growing up (when the traumas began twisting themselves into my Autistic nature).

When I entered school, my vulnerabilities and unidentified differences led me to more traumatic experiences.

I didn’t know I was Autistic yet, but the people around me noticed something about me was “different“. I stood out and was frequently bullied for it (by teachers and peers), but didn’t understand the cause of all the unwanted attention.

At one point, I even asked my teacher for help because the other kids were picking on me, but my teacher told me I was bringing it on myself because I was “acting weird” and that if I would “just act normal,” the other kids would leave me alone.

Again, I didn’t understand what my teacher meant by “act normal“… In my mind, it was the other kids who were being irrational and immature.  

I did pick up that my teacher thought I was to blame for the other kids picking on me because I stood out too much (even if I didn’t understand what made me stand out).

The message that who I was naturally was unacceptable burned into my young heart, becoming a core childhood trauma.

From that moment, I began the journey of abandoning myself and who I wanted to be in favor of making myself small and palatable to those around me (losing myself to who others expected me to be).

That loss of self/self abandonment, was a trauma response.

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Lyric Rivera is an educator and author of multiple books, including the best-selling business ethics book, Workplace Neurodiversity Rising, Neurodivergent Rebel’s The Weight of Normal, a collaborator on the U.S. Version of the Autism, Identity and Me children’s workbooks and helper guide by Rebecca Duffus, and co-author with Rebecca Duffus on the upcoming Autism, Identity, and me Workbook for adults releasing on November 13, 2026 (pre-orders open NOW)!

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First… I want to quickly talk about Focused Space (a tool I use regularly to get these pieces written and published).

What is Focused Space?

Focused Space is an ADHD-focused, Neurodiversity affirming, goal‑setting, and online co‑working / body‑doubling platform designed to help people prioritize, stay motivated, and bust through procrastination (and it is something I believe in and personally use to get my work done).

More info about how I use Focused Space:

Learn more about how I use it here!

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Now, a quick note about Moonbird…

What is Moonbird?

Moonbird is a breathwork coach that helps me stay grounded when doing breathwork. Basically, it’s like a little silicone-coated lung that you hold in your hand that expands and contracts as you breathe along with it.

The Moonbird expands, and I inhale with it. It pauses, and I hold the inhale or exhale for a few seconds. Then, as the Moonbird contracts, I exhale, mirroring its movements. The Moonbird is simple, and that simplicity is beautiful. There’s no counting or sequence to memorize.

More info about how I, personally, use Moonbird HERE:

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Moonbird comes with a 30-day trial period, a 100% money-back guarantee, free shipping, and free returns. Some people can also pay with their HSA/FSA accounts.

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