There's nothing in the world like autistic joy

Learning to let my body feel what she feels

Shimmering water makes me so happy. The light filtering through leaves in a forest does the same. Not like a vague sense of positivity. It’s a whole body grin.

For years, I responded to this physical thrill that raced through my body by snapping a few pictures, trying to capture and express the awe-inspiring beauty my being saw. Meanwhile, playing it cool, I tamped down the joy because years of sneaking side glances confirmed that no one else thought that tree or stream was a big deal.

Now? I know I’m autistic and why joy radiates through my body in this way. I’m learning to make space for my body to enjoy and express that depth of happiness in the moment.

A month or so ago, I found myself walking through a local trail as the leaves turned brilliant oranges and yellows. A light breeze danced through the drying leaves. A flock of birds flew overhead in an oddly shaped formation. A stream of sunlight gently landed on the path in front of me. Drawing my gaze heavenward, the light shimmered through the foliage.

My heart exploded. In only the way that true beauty can instigate.

Instead of just snapping a picture and moving along, I glanced around to see if anyone was in sight. It looked like the coast was clear. Sheepishly at first, and then growing in confidence, I gave my body permission to feel the beauty.

My arms and hands shook. My feet danced up and down. I shook my head. A giggle erupted from a body so tired of muzzling itself so no one else would ever feel uncomfortable.

My holy forest joy lasted ten seconds tops. But it unlocked another facet of my humanity.

When my kids speak at my memorial service, they’ll probably tell stories about how often I comment on sunrises, sunsets, leaves, bodies of water, trees, etc. They roll their eyes at a mom who frequently pulls the car over to look at something beautiful. Let their eyes roll. I like to think they secretly like it. But who knows. As much as my brain is wired to see deep beauty, it’s equally wired to see fear and overwhelm. So if this practice of joy helps me balance out the polarities, then maybe I love my brain more than I think I do.

Intense joy

“Autistic Joy is intense – like everything we do.  An autist in a state of engrossing joy can be just as intense as one in a meltdown.  Our joy can be so consuming that it comes out in our movements and our voices, our happyflapping hands, our vocalizations, singing, and humming.  We DO our joy – we hop, we dance, we skip and twirl, we clap and jump with excitement.”

My body is an instrument of my emotions – I can’t feel without it – and it allows me to feel and express my happiness and joy to the utmost degree.

We find our joy in all kinds of things that neurotypicals often miss.  The play of light and shadow on the ground under a tree; a rush of wind through the trees that feels like it could lift you off your feet and teach you to fly.  A delightful little play on words or a quote that matches up perfectly to the current situation.  Any little thought that makes us giggle to ourselves even though we wouldn’t bother explaining it to someone else because it’s dependent on the way our own brain makes connections between ideas.

The right sort of fabric or texture can put us into a state of bliss.  A bite of a favorite food can send us into a happy dance.  We can listen to the same song over and over for hours and get not only the same enjoyment out of it each time, but also a cumulative build-up of happiness that comes from finding new harmonies and melodies and letting the music seep so deep into our brains that it becomes part of us.

Autistic hyperfixation can bring us joy, too.  For some, there is nothing so joyful as spending hours learning about ancient civilizations, working on a favorite project, or just going down an internet rabbit hole learning all about some new obsession.  We can get so engrossed in our hobbies that we may forget to eat or lose track of time and stay up all night, and we will be riding high on the thrill of doing something we love. 

Autistic joy is a beautiful, magical thing.  It’s the biggest reason I would never give up being autistic – I doubt that neurotypicals can feel joy so intensely.  We don’t just get happy, we get filled up with happiness.  It builds up like electricity and flows out through our fingers and toes and spills out from our mouths.  If you’ve never felt that, imagine what it could feel like to be so overcome with joy that you absolutely have to let it out physically – and what might it be like to be able to do so unashamedly, unabashedly?

Uninhibited, consuming, and brought on by small everyday things as much as by big events.  That’s autistic joy.  We don’t just feel it, as if it were separate from us, we experience it on every level of our being.  It’s one of my favorite parts of being autistic and I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world (Autistic Empath).”

I’ve written before about feeling like I’ve been holding so much of me back for so long. I didn’t have language for why. Now I know. Masking autism and trying to contain all the parts of me so I can fit in, keep up, and pass as neurotypical took immense unconscious effort. Some may wonder why the diagnosis really matters if there’s no real treatment for autism.

Knowing WHY makes all the difference.

Hannah Gadsby once said, “Getting a late autism diagnosis is an exfoliation of shame.”

YES.

The shame that wraps itself every around square inch of life if suffocating. When someone starts learning WHY that shame had such an open runway, the freeing work begins with renewed fire. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve grinned through tears and thought, “It’s not my fault! This is why that’s hard for me.”

I now get to choose when to ask for accommodations and support. I get to choose when to disclose to someone. I get to choose when to push through and when to stop.

One time, a few months after diagnosis, something beautiful happened in my life and I walked into my room and shut the door. The grin on my face took over my entire soul. I was so happy I started crying and flapping my hands like an adorable T-rex. My rational brain watched this ridiculously large expression of happiness and engaged a bit of self-judgment. “Seriously? You find out your autistic and now you start flapping your arms. Who do you think you are?” My inner critic loves to shame me back into pre-diagnosis chapters of life.

But her voice didn’t work that day. Because all I knew was that moving my arms that way MADE ME SO HAPPY! I remember thinking, “I didn’t know my body could move like this! I never want to go back to suppression and disconnection.”

So I haven’t.

And surprise…there’s a lot more embodied joy in my life lately. Joy that I feel.

In fact, you know I’m a Swiftie around here. Yes, I watched the Argentina night two Eras Tour on TikTok and screamed along as Taylor sang to Travis and they kissed at the end. I died with JOY. (I know a million other Swifties who are feeling the same, regardless of neurotype!).

A week or so earlier, I asked my husband if he’d go with me to see the Eras Tour movie at the theater. Had I seen the live show? Yes. Had I seen the movie? Yes. But because I know how healing it is for me to FEEL my joy, I knew the one thing I wanted to do that Sunday afternoon was sit in a theater snuggled up with him singing every single song. He smiled and enjoyed his popcorn while I bopped around and grinned my heart out for three hours.

There’s nothing like autistic joy.

And the best thing about autistic joy? The more we normalize the wild and fun expressions of joy from our autistic friends, the more we’re all invited to embody joy in our own beautiful bodies. You don’t have to be autistic to welcome the movement of joy inside you. Next time you notice something that makes you happy, check in with your body. See if there’s some movement your body would enjoy. And do it!

We could all use a little more joy in these days.

You are loved, my friend.

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