I was born tired. Always fragile, always awkward. It never occurred to me it meant anything. I thought I was weak, that if only I tried harder…

Over almost forty years as a journalist, I never put myself in the story, and I rarely spoke about my strange upbringing. Then everything changed.

I was talking to a brain surgeon the other day (yes, really, albeit a recently retired one) and he said some disturbing things about autism.

News reports about a so-called doctor offering stem-cell treatments to ‘cure’ autism in children have left me raging.

Ever since autism was recognised, it’s been defined by the way it appears to and affects others, rather than by how it impacts us, as autistic people.

The economy is tanking with unfilled jobs everywhere, yet fewer than a third of autistic people are in work. For everyone’s sake, something has to change.

I’ve had so many migraines recently I had to buy teaspoons in the January sales. Bear with and I’ll explain the connection.

At last a theory of autism that makes sense – and it was developed by people who actually know what they’re talking about.

Autistic girls and women could be missing out on diagnosis because the most commonly used test isn’t designed for us.

The number of adults in England waiting far longer than they should for autism assessment has increased by almost 70 per cent in the past year.

Autistic people of all ages are dying long before they should. But it isn’t autism itself that’s killing us.

What do your bookshelves say about you? A casual browser might be struck by your love of the classics, niche interests or soft spot for racy romances, but could they also tell if you’re autistic?

Blue is my favourite colour. It makes me think of bright skies and wide-open seascapes, movement, hope and possibility. It also makes me think of new shoes.