The Symphony in My Head: A Different Way of Processing the World

Hi. Let’s start with a metaphor.

Imagine your brain is a radio. For most people, it’s tuned clearly to one station. The music plays, the DJ talks, it’s understandable. For me, my radio is scanning all the channels at once. I’m hearing the classical station, a static-laden news report, a pop song, and a football game—all simultaneously, at the same volume. My daily task isn’t to listen to the music, but to try to separate the streams, to figure out which signal is the most important one right now.

That’s my experience with autism. It’s not a tragedy, nor a superpower. It’s a fundamentally different operating system.

I didn’t get my diagnosis until adulthood. For years, I just thought I was from a different planet, diligently studying human manuals that everyone else seemed to have been born with. Small talk felt like a complex dance where I never learned the steps. Why do you ask “How are you?” if you don’t want the real, detailed answer? Social cues were a subtle language written in invisible ink.

But autism isn’t just a social thing. It’s a sensory thing.

It’s the feeling of a clothing tag scratching like sandpaper against my skin, making focus impossible until it’s removed. It’s the fluorescent lights in a grocery store not just giving light, but humming and flickering, casting a dizzying pall over the aisles. It’s sometimes needing to retreat into a dark, quiet room not because I’m upset, but because my brain is physically full. The input buffer is overloaded.

Yet, this same sensitivity is the source of my deepest joys.

That same scanning radio? When I can control the dial, it lets me hear the symphony in the rain on the roof. I notice the precise geometry of a spiderweb, the intricate pattern in the wood grain of my desk. When I have a special interest—a topic that captures my brain completely—I fall into it like a warm pool. Time dissolves. I can learn, connect dots, and immerse myself with a focus that feels like a supercharged engine. It might be 18th-century maritime history, the taxonomy of moths, or the lore of a fantasy universe. In these deep dives, I find not just information, but peace.

The biggest myth is that autistic people lack empathy. For many of us, the opposite is true. The empathy is so potent it’s overwhelming. I can feel the emotional temperature of a room the moment I walk in. I might not always know why someone is upset, but I can feel their sadness or anxiety viscerally, sometimes to the point of physical discomfort. My response might be “logical”—offering solutions rather than a hug—but that logic is my language of care. It’s me trying to fix the hurt I can so clearly feel.

Being autistic in a neurotypical world is a constant act of translation. Translating my internal experience into words you might understand. Translating your social shorthand into my logical framework. It’s exhausting, but it’s also made me incredibly intentional. I communicate directly, I value deep honesty, and I have zero capacity for social games. What you see is what you get.

If you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. We are as varied as any other group. Some of us are nonverbal. Some are extra verbal (hello!). Some crave strict routine, others create their own. We are artists, engineers, parents, students, writers, and everything in between.

So, what’s the point of sharing this?

If you know someone who’s autistic—a colleague, a friend, a child—try to see the world from their radio. Sometimes we need quiet, not conversation. Sometimes our blunt honesty is a gift, not rudeness. Our deep dives into niche passions are not obsessions, but pathways to joy.

And to anyone out there scanning all the channels at once, trying to make sense of the symphony and static: you’re not broken. You’re not wrong. You’re running a different, fascinating, and utterly valid version of the human software. Your way of experiencing the texture of life is needed.

Our world doesn’t need everyone to hear the same single station. The beauty is in the full spectrum of the broadcast.

This blog is part of my own journey of understanding. I’m just one voice. Want to learn more from a myriad of amazing autistic voices? Seek out #ActuallyAutistic creators on social media and platforms. Listen to us directly.