The Idea

I’ve always been someone who finds comfort in routine, predictability, and pursuing dreams I’ve held close since childhood. As an autistic individual, the world often feels like a chaotic and overwhelming place. Having dreams and goals provided me with a sense of stability. For me, that dream was to work in childcare. I dedicated years to this dream, feeling a profound connection to the idea of nurturing young minds and creating safe spaces for children to grow and thrive. But life, as it often does, took me on a path I never anticipated, and it was filled with profound loneliness.

The first significant change came when I had to leave high school in Year 11. Bullying had become unbearable, and each day felt like I was walking into a storm without an umbrella. The teasing, the isolation, the feeling of being out of place—it all wore me down. I tried to stay strong, but the toll on my mental health became too much. My parents and I decided that homeschooling was the best option. While it was a relief to leave the hostile environment, it also meant stepping away from the small social circle I had. My days became quieter, the kind of quiet that feels heavy rather than peaceful. I missed the chatter of classmates, even if it wasn’t directed at me, and the sense of being part of something bigger.

Still, I pushed forward. I poured myself into my studies, holding tightly to my dream of working in childcare. I told myself that this was temporary, that once I graduated, I could rebuild. And for a while, it seemed like things were falling into place. I started my traineeship in childcare and felt a sense of purpose. I loved watching the children grow, their curiosity and creativity reminding me why I chose this path. But as time went on, cracks began to form.

The job was emotionally and physically demanding, and I often felt overwhelmed. I struggled with the fast-paced environment and the constant social interactions. I began to question if I was cut out for this, if my dream was truly attainable. But admitting that felt like admitting failure, and the thought of letting go of something I’d worked so hard for was devastating.

Eventually, I made the difficult decision to step away from childcare. It wasn’t an easy choice; it felt like I was walking away from a piece of myself. I transitioned to retail, a field I’d never imagined myself in. While it was less emotionally taxing, it came with its own challenges. The loneliness I felt during this period was profound. I was grieving the loss of a dream and trying to navigate a new path that didn’t feel like mine. I missed the connection I had with the children, the sense of making a difference in their lives. In retail, I often felt like a cog in a machine, replaceable and unseen.

Throughout these changes, loneliness was a constant companion. It wasn’t just the physical isolation or the lack of familiar faces; it was the sense that no one truly understood what I was going through. People would tell me to stay positive, to focus on the opportunities ahead, but their words felt hollow. I wanted someone to sit with me in my grief, to acknowledge the weight of what I was carrying.

Over time, I’ve learned to find small pockets of connection and meaning. I’ve started to see that it’s okay for dreams to change and that stepping away from something doesn’t mean I’ve failed. I’ve discovered strengths I didn’t know I had and begun to explore new interests. But the loneliness still lingers, a quiet reminder of the path I’ve walked.

If I could offer advice to others navigating big life changes, it would be this: your feelings are valid, even the hard ones. It’s okay to grieve what you’ve lost while also making space for what’s to come. And most importantly, you’re not alone, even when it feels like you are. There are people who want to listen, to understand, and to walk alongside you as you navigate the twists and turns of life. Your voice and experience matter, and they deserve to be heard.