Written by: Megan Pilatzke (she/her), Inclusion Specialist, Specialisterne Canada
From the time that I was 5 years old and starting school, I knew I was different from others. It would take years before I understood why.
When I finally entered the workforce in my early 20s, I began to struggle. Things that seemed straightforward for others like understanding expectations, managing constructive feedback, or navigating communication, often felt overwhelming and unclear. I would often leave conversations confused about next steps or unsure why I was receiving certain feedback.
It wasn’t until May 19, 2021, at 31 years old, that my life changed. Being identified as autistic didn’t change my experiences, but it changed how I understood them.
From The Outside, I Appeared Fine
My work performance often looked strong. I was detail-oriented, driven, and committed to doing things well. But internally, the experience was very different.
I spent a lot of energy trying to interpret expectations that weren’t clearly stated. Unwritten rules like how to communicate, when to speak up (and when to stay silent), and what tone to use often felt like a guessing game. I would replay conversations in my head, worrying I had misunderstood something or said the wrong thing. I recall mornings staring into my mirror, practicing conversations with my manager.
At the same time, I held myself to extremely high standards, and still do. If something went wrong, even slightly, I didn’t see it as a small mistake. I saw it as proof that I wasn’t good enough to be employed. This was reinforced by feedback from managers, a lack of opportunities to grow and develop, and not being promoted, especially while watching colleagues hired at the same time progress in their careers. This pressure made it difficult to recover from challenges, and over time, it became exhausting.
But this went far beyond being tired after a long day at work. At the end of a 9-5 in-office work day, I was physically, emotionally, and cognitively exhausted. It was exhaustion that I could never understand or get ahead of. It didn’t matter how much I slept, how healthy I ate, or what exercises I did. In turn, this led to depression and anxiety. I saw various medical professionals, tried different medications, underwent testing, and participated in therapy.
Still, nothing changed.
Eventually, I progressed into chronic absenteeism.
The Turning Point: Understanding Myself Differently
In early 2020, I went on a medical leave of absence. By this time, management had told me to consider medical retirement.
I was beginning to believe that I would never be able to work. I didn’t see a path forward.
Later that same year, I was beginning to learn about autism, having recently met a friend’s autistic child. I was struck by the similarities between us. After doing some reading, I began to ask myself the question: “What if I am also autistic?”
At the time, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder – but what if I was never bipolar to begin with?
Fortunately, I was able to schedule an autism assessment, and six months later, my suspicions were confirmed. Everyone’s experience of late diagnosis is different. For myself, that day remains the best day of my life. It felt like a weight had been lifted, and my experiences of feeling different were finally validated. At the same time, I realized that for 31 years, I had lived my life not really knowing who I was.
Finding out about my autism gave me a framework to understand experiences I had struggled to explain for years. At the same time, it meant rethinking how I saw myself. Suddenly, patterns started to make sense. My sensitivity to noise and busy environments. My need for clear expectations. My intense focus and attention to detail. Even my emotional responses, which I had often judged harshly, had context.
This wasn’t about labeling myself – it was about understanding, and in turn, acceptance.
One of the most significant shifts was realizing that I wasn’t “failing” at things others found easy. I was navigating systems that weren’t built with my brain in mind. That distinction matters. When challenges are seen as personal shortcomings, the response is to try harder. But when they’re understood as mismatches between a person and their environment, the solution becomes clearer: adjust the environment.
That shift changed how I approached work, communication, and even self-expectations.
The Workplace Lens: Small Barriers, Big Impact
By 2021, the world and the way we worked had changed. It opened up opportunities for many, including myself, who had struggled in traditional open office environments.
For the first time, I saw a path forward that was not medical retirement.
I began my full-time role with Specialisterne Canada in July 2023, after leaving a previous role that refused to accommodate me. Since then, I have immersed myself in public speaking, teaching healthcare providers about best practices for working with autistic clients, collaborating on committees focused on improving healthcare and workplace experiences for autistic people, and publishing academic research on autism in the workplace.
When I reflect on my earlier work experiences, I can now see them differently. Many of the challenges I faced were not dramatic or obvious. They were subtle, but consistent.
Unclear instructions meant I had to fill in gaps on my own, often leading to anxiety about whether I was doing things “right.” Feedback that was vague or indirect left me unsure of how to improve. Busy, noisy office environments made it difficult to focus, even when I was highly motivated.
These may appear to be minor inconveniences. But over time, they add up. They affect confidence, performance, and overall well-being at work.
What’s even more important is that none of these barriers are unique to autism. I hear about these same challenges from people who are not autistic.
Importantly, they are often easy to address.
Clear communication, explicit expectations, structured feedback, and thoughtful environments benefit everyone, not just autistic employees. But for someone like me, they can make the difference between struggling and succeeding.
Between working and not working at all.
This is where organizations have a real opportunity. Not by overhauling everything, but by paying attention to the details that shape the daily experiences of all employees.
Why Late Identification Matters—and Why It’s Increasing
My experience of being identified as autistic in adulthood is something I’m hearing more often—from colleagues, clients, and others.
Historically, autism has been narrowly understood and often associated with specific stereotypes. Many people, especially women and those who have developed strong coping strategies, were overlooked. They’ve adapted, masked, and found ways to navigate environments that didn’t fully support them.
But that adaptation comes at a cost. Over time, it can lead to burnout, depression, anxiety, and a loss of confidence.
As awareness grows, more people are recognizing themselves in descriptions of autism and seeking answers. Late identification can be emotional; it involves reprocessing past experiences, but it can also be empowering. It provides language, context, and a starting point for change.
For workplaces, this shift matters.
It means that there are likely employees who are navigating similar challenges without necessarily having formal identification or support. Creating environments that reduce barriers doesn’t require disclosure; it simply requires intention.
Moving Forward with Awareness and Acceptance
Sharing my story is not about pity, inspiration, or focusing on difference. It’s about helping workplaces and organizations understand impact.
And taking real action that goes beyond wordplay.
When workplaces are designed with clarity, flexibility, and accessibility in mind, people are better able to contribute their strengths.
My experience didn’t change overnight with an autism assessment, but my understanding did. And with that understanding came the ability to approach work differently, with more awareness, more self-compassion, and clearer strategies.
For employers, the takeaway is simple: small changes matter.
Clear expectations, direct communication, and thoughtful environments don’t just support a few; they support everyone. As more people come to understand themselves later in life, there is an opportunity to meet them there. Not by asking them to fit the system, but by building systems that work better for all.
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