A Life Transformed: The Day My World Flipped

This is a guest blog by Bridget Knights, an autistic and ADHD mother, advocate, and professional in behaviour science, written as part of our Yellow Ladybugs Mentoring Series. In this powerful and honest piece, Bridget shares how her son’s autism diagnosis opened the door to her own—and how that moment marked the beginning of a life-changing journey toward self-understanding, grief, and fierce advocacy.

Bridget offers deep insight into the harm caused by late diagnosis, misdiagnosis, and being misunderstood by professionals. She reflects on the complexity of masking, the weight of internalised expectations, and the emotional cost of systems that fail to listen. Through her lived experience as both a parent and a professional, she advocates for real, respectful, evidence-based support—and urges others to centre the voice of the individual in every conversation.

Bridget’s story is one of reclamation and purpose. Despite the challenges she’s faced, she now stands as a determined advocate for neurodivergent children and families, driven to change the very systems that once failed her.

Readers will take away:

• A moving personal account of late diagnosis, masking, misdiagnosis, and reclaiming identity
• Insight into how outdated, coercive, or superficial support systems harm autistic individuals and families
• A call to challenge terms like “high functioning” and “masking” that minimise lived experience
• Encouragement for parents and professionals to listen first, understand context, and stay curious about what’s really going on
• A passionate reminder that lived experience, when combined with evidence-based practice, can drive systemic change

Wednesday, August 4th, 2021—this was the day my world was turned upside down.

After weeks of assessments and uncovering forgotten memories, I received a diagnosis that changed everything. Just a year earlier, after two years of fighting for my son’s needs, he was diagnosed with autism and ADHD. It was during this appointment where I shared our family history a doctor looked at me and I felt truly seen when he turned to me and said, “your previous diagnosis was wrong.” This resulted in my own journey of diagnosis and self-discovery. I was autistic, with combined ADHD.

That moment was a revelation. Everything I’d always felt deep down but never fully understood suddenly made sense. I had spent my life feeling different but never knew why. At the time of diagnosis, I don’t think I truly realised what it meant, I didn’t have an emotional reaction, however, about a year later I begun to feel grief and anger. Grief for the person that I could have been if I had been supported earlier and anger at those in my life as I grew up. The grief and anger still come in waves especially with questions persisting: Why did no one see this sooner? Why did no one offer the support I so desperately needed? At the same time, I felt such a high level of appreciation and confirmation that I made the right decision in starting my own children’s journey ensuring they had the support they needed.

The delay in diagnosis stemmed from not understanding that being unique was okay. It resulted from misdiagnoses and a lack of support to advocate for myself until I had my own son. Looking back, I wish someone had done for me what I did for him. The more that people are trained to recognise nuances in diagnosis and become more educated, the more we can build a society that truly understands and supports neurodivergence.

The Misconception of “Masking”

“You’re a high masker.” “You’re high functioning.”

I can’t stand terms like “high masker” or “high functioning.” These terms I always felt were used as excuses to overlook or misdiagnose autistic individuals, especially females. “High functioning” is used to oversimplify the complexity of being on the autism spectrum, minimizing needs and, in turn, leading to a lack of support. The label “masking” implies that it’s a choice—something we can just take off. But for me, the mask wasn’t something I could remove. It wasn’t a choice. It was survival. It wasn’t empowering—it made me lose myself, piece by piece, leading me into traumatic situations I couldn’t navigate at the time.

That feeling of difference was always there. Growing up, there was an undercurrent of something I couldn’t name but couldn’t escape either. Now, with my diagnosis, I see how many signs there were, how many core memories still make me angry and grieve for the life I could have had. The pressure to conform grew as I got older, resulting in toxic relationships and a deep disconnection from my own needs and desires. I couldn’t keep up resulting in turning to unsafe coping mechanisms.

At that time, I was receiving mental health support, but the professionals I saw didn’t understand me. They relied on my mother’s observations of my behaviour—completely overlooking my own feelings, thoughts, and experiences. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, anxiety, and eating disorders, none of which felt right. There was no explanation or follow-up support, only medication—which I resisted. Years later, I sought support again. This time, my doctor tried to label me with a mood disorder or “just anxiety.” I felt let down. After more attempts and let downs I finally found a psychologist who helped me navigate key expectations I’d placed on myself due to my “masking” behaviours. I began to see that my self-worth wasn’t tied to “success,” and it was okay to say no or let people down. Something I continue to support in my children and advocate for with those I work alongside or come into contact with.

Though I wish I had advocated for myself sooner, this support eventually helped me get what I needed.

Advocating for Change: A Message to Parents and Professionals

The need to “fit in” and “agree” for fear of being labelled  as “argumentative” or “wrong” affected more than just me. It led to my son being mistreated and unsupported by professionals. He was suspended 80% of his school days from prep to year 3 and still frequently throughout the years that followed until recently. I understood at the time that supporting my sons schooling at home was an option, and while that’s a beautiful option it wasn’t for our family. I was caught in my own anxiety and confusion, trying to separate my own trauma from advocating for my son. I didn’t think it was fair that teachers and systems ignored his needs because he didn’t have a “label” or didn’t “conform.”

For more than two years, I fought to have my son assessed and diagnosed. Afterward, I followed advice from online communities about certain supports being “bad,” such as certain therapy options or medication. This journey led us to encounter biased views and mistreatment from professionals—teachers, doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, and occupational therapists. Even when we didn’t face these barriers directly, many of these professionals’ pushed strategies that weren’t evidence-based or contextually appropriate for my son. Terms like “zones of regulation” or “size of the problem” left him unsupported, feeling like his reactions weren’t valid. At times, I was even blamed for working or for my own differences being misunderstood. This led to me ceasing therapy with occupational therapists and other therapists.

I now see that many professionals are either stuck in outdated approaches or so focused on a “strengths-based” philosophy that they forget to offer real, systematic and evidence based support.

I firmly believe that no profession is inherently “bad,” but every field has engaged in unethical or harmful practices at some point which is important to be aware of. Psychiatry and psychology have histories of conversion therapy, institutionalisation, and lobotomies. Education once used corporal punishment. Doctors performed experimental and invasive procedures without consent. Other allied health professions, such as speech pathology and occupational therapy, have also engaged in unethical practices like involuntary participation, cultural insensitivity, and pathologizing normal human experiences.

While all of these fields have made significant progress, poor practices persist. I encourage both parents and professionals to approach these issues on an individual level. “Education” isn’t bad just because some teachers still use physical restraint or coercive “reward” systems. “Behaviour Analysis” or “Psychology” isn’t unethical because some therapists may push irrelevant goals or coerce engagement. Similarly, “Medication” isn’t harmful just because some doctors overmedicate. It’s important to focus on the specific practices and individuals involved, rather than condemning entire fields and keep true to what we know our little ones or ourselves need and being picky with the therapist we engage with.

A Final Message to Parents and Professionals

If I could say one thing to parents and professionals, it would be this: take a moment—stop trying to just answer questions. Listen to the individual. Understand where they want their life to be and listen for when and where they show distress. They are the experts in their own lives. This doesn’t mean don’t complete assessments or gather information; it means always prioritizing the individual’s voice.

My own experience with misdiagnosis, late diagnosis, and my journey through therapy and advocating for my son led me to embrace questions I’d never dared ask before: “Who am I really?” “What do I like?” For the first time in my life, I realized I can do whatever I want and like whatever I want. I’ve come to accept that my work hours may differ from most people’s, I love eating chicken, I hate sweets unless they’re frozen or have a specific texture, and sometimes, I’m burnt out—but that doesn’t mean I should “keep pushing” or that I’m “lazy.” It means I’m advocating for myself and for others who face misconceptions across all disabilities and walks of life.

Despite the trauma of misdiagnosis, I’m now driven to follow my dreams, resulting in multiple qualifications across behaviour science and psychology. I’m passionate about advocating and providing evidence-based behaviour support to families and systems, which has resulted in so many amazing outcomes which has also extended to my own children and family. Despite the challenges and those who say I can’t do something, I continue to move forward. I am an AuDHD mother and a voice of support to others, and I 100% know this is what I was meant to do.