"All I want is to be listened to and properly assessed"

I’m in my late 30s, and I’ve faced challenges my entire life. I’m quiet, socially isolated, and I hate to be a bother to anyone. For years I suffered in silence, told that I just had anxiety and depression, and taking the medication prescribed.

In recent years, more and more people have been seeking help for neurodiversity. With my husband’s support, I finally took the leap to fight for help for myself. The first GP I saw told me everyone’s a little autistic, but sent away for a referral anyway—incorrectly. A month later I was told the process had to start again.

The second doctor I saw was wonderful: they listened, understood, and genuinely cared. They gave me a long form to complete, which was then sent to the Adult Autism Diagnostic Service.

A few months later, I received another detailed form, this time asking many questions about my childhood. Some I couldn’t answer—like what age I started walking or if I was an “easy baby”—but I did my best. They also asked for the contact details of someone who had known me since childhood. This was very difficult for me. I am socially isolated and struggle to maintain even close family relationships. I also didn’t want to disclose something so personal to people I rarely speak to. So, I provided my husband’s details. He has known me for 14 years and sees my struggles daily.

Two weeks later I received a reply. Without ever meeting or speaking to me, they dismissed me, saying there wasn’t enough evidence to diagnose autism and that my difficulties were most likely stress and anxiety. It felt like being penalised for the very reason I sought help—because I’m socially withdrawn and have no one from childhood they could contact.

I called the service, hoping to explain, but the senior staff member I spoke to was extremely rude. They told me they didn’t have time for phone calls, was ending the conversation, and the only thing I could do was get another referral.

It took me until my late 30s to build the courage to fight for myself. That first attempt was already so difficult, and now I’m expected to go through the whole process again—and involve my mother in my personal healthcare, even though this is supposed to be an adult service.

I feel dismissed, unheard, and punished for circumstances beyond my control. All I want is to be listened to and properly assessed.