Creating space to feel

Yesterday I tried to explain how sometimes I don't understand what it is I'm feeling. Mostly it's to do with interaction with others. When it's just me, in nature, in flow, with my thoughts and without interference, I feel tuned in. But the richness of life is made up of interactions and relationships, which I realise more and more have always been a source of uncertainty, the unknown and, as a result, often distress.

Historically, as I fumbled in the darkness of not understanding myself as autistic, the source of those feelings has been an abandonment of myself. Or what I can only describe, looking back, as "flailing": trying to keep up, kidding myself I was in control in some way, though the inner turmoil, sometimes silent, sometimes not, often suggested otherwise.

It has been a shock, in some ways a liberation, but also bewildering to realise that, having reached this point in life feeling so in touch with my emotions, so emotionally literate, it can take me months and even years to understand why I've responded to a situation the way I have.

When I started my coaching journey, I signed up to so many certifications. One was coaching around social and personal emotional intelligence. Right up my street, I thought. Early on, as experiential learning, you had to take the online assessments that potential clients would take. I was put out, offended even, and certainly confused when my results showed definite gaps in both my personal and social emotional intelligence. Clearly it was wrong, and the course was abandoned. At that point I had my ADHD diagnosis, but I was resisting, and didn't see or understand my autistic self. Such is the power of language to gloss over things, and to create solutions and explanations that don't reflect reality.

It has been an intense ride from that point to where I am now. For someone who already classed themselves as an overthinker (I don't use that term any more), who constantly dug deep into their own emotional landscape and that of others, the "aha" moments have come thick and fast over the past four years, and probably daily in the 12 months since my autism diagnosis.

The outcome for me is the realisation that so often I don't know how I feel, particularly when my response to others is involved, and learning to let go of trying to find words to make my experiences make sense, to myself or anyone else.

I'm learning to give myself space and grace with unknown feelings. It feels a little like being lost at sea, but trusting, not that I will reach a particular destination, but that I won't drown. That I will experience the weather, the movement of the waves, the connection with nature, the beauty of the stars and the warmth of the sun on the way.

It's a totally different way of being. Actually being. Present. Real. Accepting. Me.

I'm learning to notice my body's responses and reactions, and to be curious about what they might mean:

• A tight chest: anxiety
• Light-headedness: confusion
• Feeling sick: something is wrong
• Cold shivers: feeling very emotionally unsafe

Then I reflect. I've come to realise there are no rules and no certainties. Everything is fluid when it comes to emotions, and to understanding myself.

I take time to be open to whatever memories or thoughts come in, and how it might all relate. I'm not sure I'm yet disciplined enough to do this through thought alone. I seem to be someone who learns about herself through communication, through words on a page or spoken aloud, and for some reason always to an audience. Like now. I could have written this in a journal. Maybe that reflects the steps I still need to take in strengthening my self-worth, but myself as the audience doesn't seem to be enough. Or maybe it's complacency about the need to explain myself to myself, though that would certainly have been helpful on so many occasions in the past.

Maybe this sounds like ruminating. Maybe it is. Or is that a judgemental call? Because for me this feels necessary and empowering. It feels like growth, for me as a late-diagnosed 53-year-old woman experiencing life as an "awakening" right now. Rumination suggests being stuck. But I definitely feel and notice the growth, not just in my thoughts but in what I do, in my voice, and in what I'm prepared to do. Like sharing this writing here.

And all these steps mean I am consciously choosing not to abandon myself in order to make life make sense.

Late diagnosed, and making sense of it all?

Coaching gives you space to reflect, at your own pace, with someone who has been there.