Discovering My Autism

My wife and I married later in life. We were both 62, both with previous marriages behind us, and both with grown-up children. Like many people who come together later on, we also came with our own homes, habits, and ways of doing things.

When we began to clash, I assumed that was the reason. We were set in our ways. I told myself I just needed to try harder and change more. I did try—but I failed rather spectacularly, and I became utterly exhausted in the process.

My wife wondered if I might be depressed. I spoke to my GP and was diagnosed with anxiety and depression, and I was prescribed antidepressants. They helped a little: I felt less overwhelmed. But they didn’t lift my mood in any lasting way, and they didn’t ease the tension between us.
Then one day my wife said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“I think you might be autistic.”

She hadn’t said it lightly. She’d been thinking about it for some time. Out of curiosity, she took the AQ50 questionnaire herself and realised just how differently I would answer many of the questions.

I’ve always been a natural researcher—perhaps a clue in itself, if I’d thought about it sooner. I quickly worked my way through the AQ10, AQ50, RAADS-R, CAT-Q, and several other screening tools. Each time, the result was the same: I scored well within the autistic range.

That was two years ago.

Since then, I’ve been assessed through the NHS Right to Choose pathway, and I received my formal autism diagnosis just before Christmas.

Looking back, so much now makes sense. Why I have always felt different from most other people. Why I dislike hearing my recorded voice, with its flat tone and lack of intonation. And why, despite feeling love deeply, I struggle to show it to my wife in ways she naturally recognises.

If it hadn’t been for my wife’s insight, care, and patience, I might never have understood myself in this way. This diagnosis hasn’t changed who I am—but it has finally explained why I am the way I am.