‘Neurospicy and proud’: How a late autism diagnosis at 30 changed Ashlee Law’s life – and mission

Finding out she was neurodivergent aged 30 explained a lot for mum-of-three Ashlee Law, who is now a specialist in the field and keen to help other late-diagnosed autistic women. Read her story.

Ashlee Law discovered she was autistic at the age of 30, after her three children’s own autism and ADHD diagnoses.

After living life feeling “different”, Port Macquarie mum Ashlee Law discovered she was autistic at the age of 30, after her three children’s own autism and ADHD diagnoses.

As a child, she was always the social butterfly, creative and mostly cheerful, yet tagged as “overly emotional” and a “daydreamer”.

Like many women with autism, Law slid under the radar as her experiences didn’t align with the conventional criteria, leading to a delayed recognition of her autism spectrum disorder, ASD. Because of this, Law is passionate about shedding light on late-diagnosed autistic women. The now self-proclaimed “neurospicy” woman is diversity and inclusion specialist at one of Australia’s leading disability service providers, Northcott, using her superpower to help others. And there’s a lot she wants you to know. This is her story:

Ashlee Law with children Matilda, Sam and Tom.

If you had asked me a few years ago if I thought I might be autistic, or have ADHD, I probably would have said, “Oh no, not me – I’m just super anxious. Like many women, my journey to diagnosis didn’t start with me. It started with my kids. As a mum, I was doing what many mums do – advocating fiercely for my children, navigating NDIS paperwork like it was a full-time sport, and trying to decode a world that didn’t always understand them.

In helping them navigate assessments, therapists and support plans, I started noticing … patterns. Familiar ones. It turns out the apple doesn’t fall far from the AuDHD tree.

My name is Ashlee, and I’m a woman in my 30s who found out – after years of masking, burnout and wondering what was wrong with me – that I’m both autistic and ADHD. Or, as I like to call it, neurospicy.

Growing up neurodivergent (but not knowing it)

As a child I was known for being fun, social and unbelievably clumsy (I’m still ridiculously accident prone). I was a bubbly, chatty, creative kid with big feelings and an even bigger personality. I cried at everything – loud noises, harsh words, even the good old TV shows and movies of the ’90s. Australia’s Funniest Home Videos? Yeah, that got me. People got hurt and it was sad, and I couldn’t understand why the rest of my family was laughing about it.

Then there was the single most sob inducing movie of my childhood, Homeward Bound. Yep, lost kitties and doggos absolutely wrecked me. Still does, (though I will NEVER admit that to my three older siblings who still tease me).

Ashlee Law and son Tom.

People often told me I was too sensitive, a bit much, or my personal favourite: “off with the fairies”. I wasn’t sad or attention-seeking, I was just feeling everything … all the time.

When I hit my teens, the world got trickier. Social pressure kicked in, and I found myself constantly trying to fit in, to be “normal”, whatever that means.

I was often told I didn’t seem to have a personality of my own, that I mirrored my closest friends. Turns out, I was masking – observing social norms like a scientist in a field study and copying what I saw. At the time, I didn’t know I was doing it. I thought I was just bad at people and needed to try harder.

Spoiler: Trying harder doesn’t fix burnout.

Getting diagnosed as an adult

When I finally decided to seek a diagnosis for myself, it wasn’t a neat or easy process. Adults – especially women – are often overlooked when it comes to autism and ADHD. We don’t always fit the stereotypes. We’ve spent years learning how to “pass” as neurotypical, even if it costs us our mental health.

I knew I was different, but no one, including the professionals, could quite figure out how. I was misdiagnosed more times than I can count (on my fingers, because no, I’m not a maths wiz. That autism stereotype missed me entirely).

I was told I had depression – repeatedly, even though I’d explain, “I’m not sad, I’m just … overwhelmed?” But because I wasn’t coping with the world the way others seemed to, they slapped a label on me and sent me home with bad advice and worse medication.

Motherhood is where the autism stuff really came into play for our family. I met my husband at the age of 21, and with him came a super cute three-year-old bonus kid who I adored (still do, though he’s 18 and a giant now and would likely hate me calling him cute publicly).

Fast forward a few years to being 25, I was married, and my son was born. My son was 12 months old when I noticed he would spin his little hands in circles for hours. By daycare age, he was struggling with noise, changes and big emotions.

Ashlee Law holding son Tom, with Sam in the middle and husband Chris with Matilda.

Ashlee Law and daughter Matilda.

At three, he was diagnosed with autism. I wasn’t surprised – his educators and I saw it. But the rest of the family? Not so much. Even my husband took time to come around. They had a very specific idea of what autism “looked like”, and my son didn’t fit the stereotype. It took a while for everyone to understand that autism doesn’t always “look” how you expect. He wasn’t lining up toys or reciting train timetables. He was funny, bright and affectionate. And autistic.

We learned to laugh through the hard days and embrace the funnier side of being autistic. Like the time my son was hyper-focused on TV and didn’t hear his grandma calling his name. After 10 tries, she finally gave up and muttered, “Goodness, anyone would think you were hearing-impaired.” Of course, he heard that part and took it very literally. For the next 12 months, he proudly told everyone he met – including his teachers, “Sorry if I don’t answer, I’m hearing-impaired.” Fun fact: He’s not.

Then two years later came my daughter, who was the opposite. Loud, funny, charming and deeply sensory-seeking. She walked late, walked on tiptoes, and held her head sideways. Most people didn’t believe me when I raised concerns. Why? Because she was social and made eye contact. Apparently, that’s where some people draw the diagnostic line.

But at three, she too received her diagnosis – and honestly, it was hers that made me finally go: “Oh.” That was the final nudge.

One night I turned to my very neurotypical husband and asked, “Do you think I might be autistic too?” He didn’t even pause: “Well, yeah. Obviously.” And that was that. Apparently, everyone but me had figured it out. That was the moment I started my own diagnostic journey. And what a ride.

What it changed – and what it didn’t

Getting diagnosed as an adult was like being handed the manual I never got at birth. All the misdiagnoses, the misunderstandings, the emotions, the masking – it finally made sense. I wasn’t broken, I wasn’t lazy, I wasn’t too emotional, or fidgety, or forgetful. I was AuDHD. A wonderfully spicy blend of autism and ADHD – and everything about me finally clicked into place.

These days, I wear my AuDHD label with pride. I’m raising three amazing kids with love, laughter and snacks (so many snacks). I speak publicly and proudly about my neurodiversity, using my lived experience in the hope of making people aware, kinder and more inclusive of people like me – and like my kids.

Ashlee Law and husband Chris,

Today Ashlee Law wears her AuDHD label with pride.

I still have days where I feel overwhelmed, disorganised or out of sync with the world. But I also have the understanding now to know why – and the tools to manage it without shame.

The biggest gift of my diagnosis was the ability to be kind to myself. For the first time, I stopped trying to force myself into the neurotypical box. I started saying no to things that overloaded me. I started using fidget toys and turning the brightness down on life (and my phone). I stopped thinking of myself as “too much” or “not enough” and started seeing myself as exactly what I am. Differently wired, but not defective, and it only took me until I was 30 to figure it out – what a clever girl I am! (OK, fine, I was slow on the uptake on this one).

Today? It’s different (mostly).

Now, I have an amazing job as a DEI specialist (diversity, equity, inclusion). I get to use my lived experience to help shape inclusive workplaces and challenge the stereotypes that so many of us have internalised. Because here’s the thing – autism doesn’t come with a uniform. Not all of us are tech geniuses or maths prodigies (again, I’m counting on fingers here).

We’re all different. Some of us talk a lot, some don’t. Some stim with movement, some with silence. Some are neat, some are chaos goblins (hi, that’s me).

In our house, my poor husband is the odd one out. While other families wear “I love someone with autism” shirts, we flipped it, my kids and I proudly wear shirts that say, “We love someone who’s neurotypical.” He laughed so hard when I told him of my (genius) idea for this. Humour has always been the glue of our relationship and, frankly, what gets us through the hard days.

Advice for ‘maybe this is me’ crowd

If you’ve ever wondered whether you might be neurodivergent – if the labels never felt quite right, but the struggle felt real, you’re not alone. Trust that curiosity. And if you do get a diagnosis, know that it doesn’t change who you are, it just explains why you’ve always felt the way you do.

Do I wish I knew earlier? Without a doubt. I can’t change the path that led me here, but I can be part of changing what the path looks like for others. Especially for the next generation – kids like mine – who deserve to grow up in a world that sees them, understands them, and never asks them to be anything other than themselves.

Whether you seek a diagnosis or not, self-understanding is life-changing. It doesn’t “fix” you, because you don’t need fixing. But it may give you permission to stop pretending, to stop masking, and to be fully and unapologetically yourself.

And trust me, there’s nothing more freeing than finding out you were never broken … you were just a little neurospicy.”

■ Ashlee shares her story as Northcott’s diversity, equity and inclusion specialist. northcott.com.au

Originally published as ‘Neurospicy and proud’: How a late autism diagnosis at 30 changed Ashlee Law’s life – and mission