Autism, hormones, and the unseen work of eating: a personal reflection
Food is integral to our existence. Framing our day and weaving through work, rest and play.
We are told eating well is simple. Effortless. Enjoyable….Apparently
For me, it never has been.
I like food a lot more than I used to. As long as I know what to expect, when I feel ready. Favourites include cereal. Shortbread biscuits. Cheesy pasta. Potatoes, pretty much any way. I will have the same breakfast for months on end because I like it (currently Weetabix) and it’s easy. Foods that are familiar and easy to eat work best. The same goes for people who eat with me.
Food is never just food. Aside from dodging all the contradictory advice and the oh-so-annoying food police, it can feel like a lot of work. It starts with my hunger being very, very quiet. I rely on post-it notes and phone reminders to fuel up. It helps when my family are at home because they also prompt me. Weekdays, during the day, are more tricky. I’ve asked the dogs but they’re more concerned about their stomachs than mine 🙂.
Then there’s the decision of what to eat. When you don’t have hunger as a driver, deciding what you want can be taxing. Too many options are paralysing. Lack of options is uninspiring. Then there’s the getting / making something to eat. If I’m in the middle of something - when my autistic inertia is in full flow - stopping that something if I’ve not finished is a real struggle. Shifting from one thing to another, or starting something new can create a lot of internal conflict. That in itself adds stress, which keeps me stuck in the same place. Literally.
This is where planning helps - so I know what I’m having the day before, and knowing I can just grab and go when the time comes. If I need to have a gentle word with my “you can do it later brain”, I can reassure myself eating won’t be too demanding and I will feel better for it.
There’s often a pause before I eat – even foods I know well. A moment when I go through a mental checklist:
Recognition: Is it the right thing (what I expected)?
Is it the right amount?
The right temperature
Does it smell right?
Will it feel OK in my body?
Am I ready?
If everything is hunky dory, eating is a good experience. If it’s not - when my nervous system is activated - it’s wobbly. Hormones and emotions can determine if eating is something I want to do or avoid. Situational stuff - noises and interruptions in particular - can also join the mix. Big wobbles can lead to big strops and the whole thing can tip.
Spicy surprises are not funny. Chilli hurts my mouth. The sounds of others eating, oh gawd. Having the TV on helps a lot, but only if it’s not too loud. These aren’t preferences so much as bodily alarms. My nervous system is very clear about what it can and can’t cope with, and keeps me on my toes with changeable capacity and tolerance.
I don’t avoid food any more because I’m afraid of what will happen if I eat it. But I can (consciously and subconsciously) avoid food because I’m afraid of the demands it can bring: the sensory input, the decisions, the spirals, the exhaustion afterwards. Eating is a full-body event.
Order, predictability, control
I need food to look a certain way. I don't mean executive chef level plating, I just want to see everything. Overcrowding is overwhelming. Rice needs to be on the side, not buried underneath. Never ever pour gravy on my dinner. Or allow vegetables to mingle with potatoes. Somehow spaghetti on toast is allowed. As is lasagne. If someone else dishes up for me and the portions are too big, or the food is placed “wrong”, my discomfort spikes. Not because I’m ungrateful, but because I’ve lost a layer of control that helps me eat.
On a good day, these things are background preferences. On a hard day, they’re the difference between eating and not.
Hard eating days are quiet and heavy. My appetite disappears. My ability to identify what I want evaporates. Internal conflict rises. It becomes too stressful. Food becomes the thing I don’t have capacity for.
Menopause: when capacity shrinks
Perimenopause has added another layer of complexity. My mood, energy and tolerance now fluctuate more sharply. Anxiety is louder. Sleep is poorer. Fatigue and brain fog make the already-complex task of eating harder still.
There are days – particularly in the week or so before my period – when decision-making around food feels impossible - boredom, apathy and detachment grow. Hopelessness emerges. The progesterone in my HRT brings a slow, heaviness to my gut, which doesn’t help. I’m questioning PMDD, because the patterns make so much sense, but getting any answers right now feels a bit much. My body feels like a moving target, and food often gets caught in the crossfire.
None of this shows on the outside.
The professional mask
I’m a nutritionist. That comes with assumptions.
People often assume I’m with the food police, judging others whilst eating perfectly myself. That I never skip meals, spend hours cooking every day, and that knowledge automatically translates into ease. Sometimes I feel frustration – even shame – when my personal reality doesn’t line up neatly with professional advice. And I remind myself it is more difficult to be objective with yourself. Nutrition is never black and white, but when you’re living in a neurodivergent, hormonally shifting body, the complexity deepens . I know this intellectually, and yet unlearning internalised expectations takes time.
What surprises me most is how deeply my clients’ experiences mirror my own. There’s a shared understanding that doesn’t need much explanation. A sense of being seen and recognised. The validation flows both ways, and I value that more than I can easily put into words.
Family, work, and everyday life
At home, we all have different experiences and relationships with food. My husband loves his grub and thankfully, does 95% of the cooking. He has more patience for it and is less likely to set the kitchen on fire. My son is more like me - his appetite fluctuates wildly and he can need support to eat enough. My understanding of neurodivergent eating has been invaluable there and enabled us to do what works for us.
Busy workdays can throw me off completely. Hyperfocus, paired with switching tasks mean I forget to eat, or a struggle to prioritise it until I’m running on fumes. Travelling is hard – unfamiliar places and disrupted routines shrink my capacity. Social eating is something I mostly avoid. Sensory overload makes me intensely self conscious and steals relaxed enjoyment. And yes – I still mask. I hide my struggles to look “together”, because old habits die hard.
Late diagnosis, long reflection
I received an ADHD diagnosis in 2023, and autism in 2025. The subsequent reflection and processing has been long nad complex. Recognition. Understanding. Relief. And a deep well of grief for the years spent on the perimeter of life, wondering why I was stuck in unbelonging.
Then came the shame and anger. The whys, what ifs, buts and maybes. Wondering how life might have been if more people had looked beyond their assumptions. if I’d done X or they’d done Y.
Where I am now
These days, I meet myself with more compassion. I’m learning to talk to my family and friends about my needs. I aim to plan easy food around busy days. Accept that some days, food is functional rather than joyful. Stop judging myself for needing ease and control, and for forgetting.
Some days I really enjoy eating.
Some days I tolerate it.
Some days it feels like a task I have to gear myself up for.
All of that is okay.
What helps most is acceptance – from myself, and from others. Because this relieves the pressure, reduces expectations and judgment. Just an understanding that eating can be hard, even when it looks fine from the outside.
That understanding changes everything.
What I would have loved, earlier on in life, was someone in my corner who truly understood the complexity of this. Someone who could say, “this makes sense,” without trying to fix, minimise, or reshape it into something more palatable. That absence made everything harder than it needed to be. It’s a big part of why I do the work I do now. Supporting people who feel unseen, helping them find the language for their needs, and backing them as they learn to communicate those needs to the people around them. Because even when you have loving friends and family, it can still feel incredibly lonely when they don’t quite get it, or at times they forget. I also advocate for change beyond the individual, because the systems we’re navigating are often too narrow and rigid for individual experiences. If the pathways don’t fit,or don’t exist, I’m always asking… why not? What would need to change to make them fit better? You’ve probably heard the saying “nothing changes if nothing changes”… and for me, that starts with listening properly, believing people when they tell you what’s hard, and being willing to do things differently.
Mel x
