Aging is often portrayed as a countdown—a signal to scale back dreams and accept limits. But I see it differently, inspired by Sam, who said, “I feel lucky to be getting older. The fact that I made it to 30 and then 40 was big enough. So I can’t get too down on getting older; otherwise, it kind of undoes everything I’ve fought for” (People, 2024). As a woman with mild autism, I’ve navigated a world that doesn’t always fit me, and I’ve learned that starting anew isn’t about age—it’s about hope, courage, and embracing the fight to live fully, even when fears linger.
Living with autism means facing challenges that often go unseen. Social interactions feel like decoding a cryptic code, sensory overload can turn a simple day into a storm, and society’s milestones—career, love, family—seem just out of reach. For eight years, I poured myself into a relationship that left me feeling small. My partner’s dismissive looks made me feel like an inconvenience, not cherished. When it ended a year ago, I was left wondering: will a man ever see my autism as a strength, not a flaw? Will I find someone who shares my dream of a family, who prioritizes my health as much as I do theirs?
That fear deepens when I think about motherhood. I know women in their 40s can still have children, even if it’s riskier—it’s not impossible, and that fuels my hope. If biology doesn’t align, adoption is a beautiful path; so many children need a loving home, and I could offer that. Yet, there’s an ache for carrying a child, shaped by a miscarriage I had years ago. I would have named her Faith if she’d been a girl—a name I chose before watching Outlander and finding solace in Claire’s shared grief. Knowing I’m not alone in that pain makes it a little lighter.
My physically demanding job adds another weight. I’m proud of my work ethic, but it drains me, leaving little room for self-care. Sleepless nights and exhaustion make relaxation feel impossible, and my passions—writing, creating, living adventurously—get pushed aside to survive. It’s a hard truth, wondering if I’ll ever have space to chase what lights me up or find a partner who truly sees me.
But I’m ready to change that. Inspired by Sam’s My Peak Challenge, a global movement to encourage physical and mental wellness through community and goal-setting (My Peak Challenge, 2025), I’ve committed to my own “peak challenge” to prioritize my health and live more boldly. One fear I’m grappling with is my phobia of heights. Some heights I can handle—a low balcony or a gentle hill—but others, like cliffs or tall towers, make my heart race. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully get over this fear, and that uncertainty weighs on me. Still, I don’t want to be boring—to myself or others. I want to feel the thrill of a new view, to live adventurously. Overcoming a phobia as an autistic woman, with heightened sensory sensitivities, is daunting, but small steps could help. Exposure therapy, such as watching videos of high places, standing on manageable heights, or trying virtual reality to ease into it safely, is a proven approach (American Psychological Association, 2023). A therapist who understands autism could guide me through sensory overload and anxiety, tailoring the process to my needs (Autism Speaks, 2024). Each step, even if I never fully conquer the fear, is a victory, proving I can push beyond my comfort zone.
Autism has taught me resilience—a mind that catches details others miss, a heart that feels deeply, a persistence that keeps me going. Like Sam, I’m learning to see aging as a privilege, a chance to fight for what matters. I deserve a life where my passions thrive, where rest isn’t a luxury, where I can chase adventure without fear of judgment. I deserve a partner who sees my autism as a gift, who wants a family as much as I do, who values my well-being. Starting something new feels overwhelming when you’re exhausted and doubting, but every step counts—whether it’s joining My Peak Challenge workouts, writing for an hour, testing a manageable height, or believing love and motherhood are possible.
To anyone feeling stuck or unseen: your struggles don’t define your worth, and your age doesn’t limit your potential. As an autistic woman, I know how hard it is to carve out space in a world that doesn’t always fit. But I’m holding onto hope that things will change for the better. Every day is a chance to start again—to pursue a passion, prioritize your health, face a fear (even if it never fully fades), or believe in a love that lifts you up. My autism isn’t a barrier; it’s a lens that helps me see what matters. I’m still writing my story, holding onto hope for a family—whether through birth or adoption—and for a partner who sees me as I am. Aging isn’t a deadline; it’s a doorway. And through it lies the chance to live adventurously, to love deeply, to become. No matter how many times I’ve stumbled, I know one thing: it’s never too late to start something new.
Sources:
• American Psychological Association. (2023). Exposure Therapy for Anxiety Disorders. Retrieved from https://www.apa.org/ptsd-guideline/treatments/exposure-therapy
• Autism Speaks. (2024). Mental Health and Autism: Finding the Right Therapist. Retrieved from https://www.autismspeaks.org/mental-health-autism
• My Peak Challenge. (2025). About My Peak Challenge. Retrieved from https://www.mypeakchallenge.com/about
• People. (2024). Sam Heughan on Aging and Outlander. Retrieved from https://people.com/sam-heughan-talks-aging-outlander-2024
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