Reasons for sadness 31-year-old woman never has a boyfriend

My life has always been marked by a strange duality.

I was a DUX from high school, but I don’t have the best friend to trade secrets and friendship bracelets with.

I graduated from Double, but I couldn’t make eye contact with the cute guys in my class.

I worked professionally and was headhunted for a PhD scholarship, but at the age of 31, I still never had a boyfriend.

My stigma of the difference was all consumed until I was diagnosed with autism at the age of 28.

Finally, my life makes sense: my sensory quirks, my mental health struggles, and especially my “social awkwardness.”

For many women like me, autism diagnosis is later in life – if we have ever been diagnosed.

According to recent studies, nearly 80% of women with autism remain undiagnosed by the age of 18.

Autism has long been considered a “male” disease, four times more diagnosed as a girl.

But now, experts realize that autism is much more common in girls and women than previously thought.

Nevertheless, the diagnostic criteria for autism remain male-centric, meaning girls and women are often still not diagnosed and unsupported.

However, even with a diagnosis, women with autism often face barriers to proper support.

Take my experience in the National Disability Insurance Plan (NDIS) as an example.

According to NDIS, the program prioritizes the participants’ “choice and control” and supports “reasonable and necessary” to improve the quality of life, independence and social skills of people with disabilities.

Applying for NDI, I hope I finally get some help – the support I need, especially because of my social isolation.

I have no partner, my parents are dead.

After waiting for a year to apply, I received a life-changing call from a woman with sunny voices.

“Just call you to let you know that you are a participant in NDIS now,” she said.

The relief was drowned in me, but it was short-lived.

During my first planning meeting, an NDIS staff member asked me what support I wanted.

I replied: “Psychology and pelvic floor therapy.”

“Maybe it was my left ear hearing aid.”

“How does this have to do with your autism?” she asked.

I awkwardly explained how my social anxiety and trauma are stored in the pelvic muscles, a disease known as Vaginal Doctor.

I clarified that these therapies will one day be confident and physically capable of having normal romance, sexual relationships like everyone else.

“Not everyone with autism experiences trauma,” she said.

“There is no direct connection from autism to psychotherapy or vaginal pelvic floor physiotherapy…regardless.”

Shame swept over me.

“These are considered medical treatments, so they are not covered by NDI, but by Medicare,” she continued.

All my courage points out that none of these therapies are covered by Medicare.

Later, I discovered that NDI can cover psychotherapy and physical therapy.

At the end of the call, even though I had no speech barrier and went out alone, the NDIS planners provided me with opportunities for speech therapists and support staff.

As a disability scholar, I know why I’m stuck in a crack.

Like many services designed to help people with autism, NDIS focuses on years of male-centered diagnosis and treatment of speech bias.

This basic current of medical misogyny is ignorant about how autism manifests itself in girls and adult women and therefore may be “reasonable and necessary” support.

In other words, because I’m autistic, I get speech therapy and support workers, which I know is common for people with autism.

But I am an autistic woman and I don’t need voice therapy.

I need physical and psychotherapy to build my confidence and heal my traumatized body so that the relationship is not scared and therefore the sex is not painful.

And I’m not alone in romance and sex.

Research shows that women with autism generally have poor overall sexual function, feel less in sexual relationships than men with autism, and are also at risk of becoming victims of sexual assault or abuse.

According to a recent study, nine out of 10 women with autism experience sexual violence.

I’m in it.

Despite such statistics, support for women with autism is scarce and difficult to obtain, even for people with “high function” autism like me.

In reflecting on my NDIS experience, I thought “this shouldn’t be so difficult”. But this is.

It has a true meaning.

In a bar where noise worsens my hearing impairment, I can’t hear people close to me correctly.

He finally gave up, politely excuses, and walked away.

I had a panic attack and left.

On Facebook, I see old peers posts about their partners and children. On Instagram, I saw one of my biggest friends announce her engagement.

“Congratulations!!!” I commented, crying tears.

At the gynecologist, I failed to have a cervical examination in terms of burning pain.

A man, I remember lying in a man’s bed, filled with fear and shame of inexperience.

I wonder what a speech therapist would say.

Elena Filipczyk is an autistic writer and doctoral candidate.