40 Years to Find My Way Home: A Love Letter to Different Minds
They say life begins at 40. But for me, life truly began the moment I stopped trying to fit into a world that wasn't designed for my mind. It's fitting that this milestone birthday arrives just months after discovering I'm autistic—a revelation that illuminated four decades of trying to solve a puzzle without having all the pieces.

This discovery, coming after years of also understanding my ADHD, didn't feel like an ending or even a new beginning. Instead, it felt like finally finding the key to a door I'd been pushing against my entire life. Suddenly, every bruise from that door, every moment of feeling out of step with the world, and every exhausting day of trying to move at someone else's rhythm made sense.
The timing of this understanding feels almost poetic. As I prepare to enter my fifth decade, I find myself not just getting older but becoming more fully myself. The patterns of my past, the unique ways I've learned to navigate the world, and the persistent feeling of being somehow different have coalesced into a clarity I never expected to find. What once looked like a collection of quirks and challenges has revealed itself as a coherent picture of a mind that simply works differently.
This understanding hasn't just changed how I see my past—it's transformed how I envision my future. At 40, I'm not just celebrating another year of life. I'm celebrating the profound liberation that comes from finally recognizing, accepting, and embracing your true nature. This isn't the story I thought I'd be telling at 40, but it's precisely the story I needed to live.
The Journey of Unlearning
For nearly four decades, I tried with all my might to fit into a world that seemed to come naturally to everyone else. Like many "gifted" undiagnosed autistic women, I became highly skilled at masking my differences. I learned to push through sensory overwhelm, ignore my body's signals, and conform to timelines and structures that felt like wearing clothes meant for someone else's body.
The cost of this constant adaptation was steep, though I wouldn't understand just how steep it was until much later. Each day of masking chipped away at my energy, authenticity, and sense of self. I became an expert at contorting myself into shapes that looked "normal" from the outside while feeling increasingly hollow within. The exhaustion of maintaining this facade seeped into every aspect of my life, though I had no words yet to explain why everything felt so much harder for me than it seemed for others.
The women in my family had modeled this art of self-immolation in the service of others' comfort. My grandmother, mother, aunts, and sister—I watched them all light themselves on fire to keep everyone warm, wearing their burnout like a badge of honor. In their actions, I saw my future mapped out: a lifetime of shrinking myself to fit into spaces never designed for minds like mine.
But somewhere in my mid-thirties, something began to shift. It could be the years of teaching yoga, of witnessing how authenticity in one person creates permission for authenticity in others. It could be building a business that succeeds not because I followed the rules but because I dared to break them. Or it was simply that the weight of the mask had finally become too heavy to bear. Whatever the catalyst, I began to question everything I'd been taught about fitting in, success, and what it means to be "professional" or "normal."
The Revolution of Being
What I know now, standing at the threshold of 40, is that my different mind isn't something to overcome—it's my greatest gift. The realization didn't come as a lightning bolt but as a slow dawning, each small success in doing things my own way adding another ray of light to my understanding.
The sensitivity I once tried to dull has become my superpower in teaching. When I stopped apologizing for picking up on subtle energies in the room, needing time to process, and feeling things deeply, I discovered that these traits made me a better teacher. My students began to share how they felt, how my attention to detail and ability to notice slight shifts in their practice helped them feel safer and more understood.
In building my business, I discovered that success doesn't look like following someone else's blueprint. The traditional marketing advice, the "proven" systems, the rigid structures, all the funnels and pillars—none of it worked for my neurodivergent brain. Instead of forcing myself to fit into these predetermined molds, I began experimenting with my methods. Surprisingly, the more I honored my unique way of processing information, the more my business thrived.
The real revolution wasn't finding new strategies or techniques but giving myself permission to trust my instincts. Everything shifted when I stopped seeking validation from the established business world and started listening to my inner wisdom. I began transforming traditional business practices into systems that actually work for neurodivergent entrepreneurs, not because I set out to be revolutionary, but because I finally trusted that my different way of thinking had value.
This revelation rippled out into every aspect of my life. I learned to take the "should's" and "supposed to's" and transform them into "what ifs" and "why not." Each time I chose to honor my natural rhythms instead of forcing myself into conventional patterns, I discovered new strengths, possibilities, and ways of being that I would never have found if I'd stayed confined to the traditional path.
Breaking Chains, Building Bridges
My journey to 40 has been about breaking generational patterns while building new possibilities. This work began not with grand declarations or dramatic gestures, but with small, quiet moments of choosing differently—saying no when I would have previously said yes, setting boundaries where there had been none, seeking help when my family's pattern was to suffer in silence.
I've walked away from toxic family dynamics, choosing instead to work with mental health professionals to heal my CPTSD. This decision, though deeply personal, represented a radical departure from my family's approach to mental health. While they chose to keep cycling through the same patterns, talking about each other instead of to each other, I chose a different path. I sought understanding, healing, and growth through therapy, even when it meant facing uncomfortable truths about our family's legacy.
The cost of this transformation has been both subtle and profound. When I stopped participating in toxic communication patterns and set firm boundaries, some relationships didn't survive. The response to my withdrawal wasn't confrontation or questioning—it was silence. They just kept talking amongst themselves about why they hadn't heard from me, never once reaching out directly. This pattern itself revealed precisely why I needed to step away.
But in the space created by these necessary endings, new beginnings emerged. I discovered that authentic connections could exist without the constant drain of masking and that relationships could be nurturing instead of depleting. The peace I found in choosing authenticity over obligation, in prioritizing genuine connection over familiar patterns, has been worth every difficult choice and painful transition.
What I've gained goes beyond personal peace—it's become a template for future generations. I'm not just healing my wounds by breaking these chains of toxic communication and people-pleasing. I'm creating new possibilities for those who come after me, showing that different ways of being in relationship are possible.
The Yoga of Becoming
Ten years ago, I was drawn to the teaching from the Bhagavad Gita: "Yoga is the journey of the self, through the self, to the self." At first, these words simply resonated with my desire for self-discovery. They felt important enough to inspire the name of my company, Sole Journey Wellness.
Now, approaching 40, these words carry layers of meaning I couldn't have imagined. The "self" I thought I was seeking turned out to be buried under years of masking, people-pleasing, and internalized ableism. The journey wasn't just about discovering who I was—it was also about unlearning who I wasn't, about peeling away the layers of adaptation that had kept me safe but separate from my true nature.
I've discovered through my yoga practice that the journey never ends—it only deepens. Each day brings new understanding about myself, my ancestors, and my path forward. The practices I've worked with for nearly a decade continue to reveal new insights, new layers of meaning, and new ways of understanding myself and the world around me. This deepening of understanding has transformed how I approach my personal practice and teaching. What seemed like the pathway to mastery at 30 is merely the beginning of the trail at 40. There's a profound beauty in this endless unfolding, in recognizing that every answer leads to more questions, and every insight opens new doors for exploration.
My practice has become less about achieving any particular pose, state, or understanding, and more about remaining open to constant revelation. It's about honoring the spiral nature of growth, where we continually return to the same themes but with a more profound understanding each time.
A Different Kind of Presence
The confidence I've found in embracing my neurodivergent mind hasn't come from conquering my differences, but from finally celebrating them. This shift represents a complete reversal from my earlier years when I spent countless hours trying to learn and replicate neurotypical ways of doing things. Now, I recognize that my different ways of thinking and being are precisely what make my contributions valuable.
This transformation has affected every aspect of how I show up in the world. In my teaching, I no longer try to emulate other teachers' styles or pacing. Instead, I've created an approach that works for me by honoring both my natural rhythms and the diverse needs of my students. In my business, I've developed systems and approaches that work with my brain instead of against it, finding success not despite my differences but because of them.
The power I've found in this authentic presence has surprised me the most. By simply being myself—processing at my speed, honoring my sensory needs, and expressing my thoughts in my own way—I've created permission for others to do the same. This isn't the kind of presence I was taught to cultivate in my early yoga training. It's deeper, more genuine, and paradoxically more powerful precisely because it doesn't try to be powerful.
I've learned that true revolution often looks like a simple presence—being unapologetically yourself in a world that profits from conformity. It's about choosing authenticity over acceptance, growth over comfort, and truth over tradition. This kind of presence doesn't require special techniques or strategies. It simply requires the courage to be exactly who you are, especially when that doesn't match others' expectations.
Creating spaces where different minds can thrive has become my passion and purpose. I've discovered that when we stop trying to fit neurodivergent minds into neurotypical spaces, something magical happens. Innovation flourishes, authentic connections form, and meaningful transformation becomes possible.
The View from Here
As I stand at the threshold of 40, I find myself filled not with nostalgia for youth but with excitement for what's ahead. The view from here is different than I expected—clearer, more expansive, more full of possibility. Now, I know with unshakeable certainty that my sensitivity is not too much, my processing speed is not an issue, and my way of moving through the world is not wrong. It's simply, beautifully different.
This understanding has been hard-won, earned through years of unlearning, questioning, and gradually learning to trust my own experience over others' expectations. The path here wasn't straight or simple, but each detour and difficulty contributed to the clarity I now possess. Even the years spent masking and trying to conform taught me valuable lessons about authenticity and the cost of denying one's true nature.
Looking back, I see how every challenge and moment of feeling out of step with the world prepared me for my true work. Those experiences now inform how I create spaces where other sensitive individuals can thrive, how I develop business systems that honor different ways of thinking, and how I teach from a place of genuine understanding and acceptance.
To every sensitive soul, every different mind, every person who's felt out of step with the world's rhythm: your way of being is valid. Whether you discover it at 14, 40, or 84, your path to understanding yourself is right on time. Your presence in this world, exactly as you are, creates the possibility for others to show up authentically, too.
Here's to 40 years of finding my way home to myself. Here's to breaking patterns that don't serve us. Here's to building businesses, relationships, and lives that honor our true nature. Here's to the endless journey of becoming. And most of all, here's to all the different minds out there, lighting the way for others by simply being themselves. Our presence is revolutionary. Our sensitivity is our strength. Our different way of being in the world is exactly what this world needs.
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