For many people, time is a relatively straightforward concept; it progresses, we adapt, and occasional lateness or earliness is unremarkable. But what if the mere prospect of being late – even by a single minute – triggers a profound sense of anxiety? This has been my lifelong experience with time, an intricate relationship I’ve only recently begun to comprehend my autistic fear of being late through the lens of my late autism diagnosis.
The Weight of a Minute
Before I knew I was autistic, I just thought I was… particular. A bit odd, maybe. Definitely a tad obsessed with punctuality. You see, my relationship with time isn’t just interesting; it’s governed by an almost pathological fear of being late. I hate it. Honestly, just typing that sentence makes my shoulders tense up a little. The idea of keeping someone waiting, of not being where I’m supposed to be when I’m supposed to be there? Something I avoid at all costs.
My Internal Timekeeper: A Strict Taskmaster
It doesn’t matter if it’s a job interview or just meeting a friend – my mind makes absolutely no distinction. The worry gnaws at me, a persistent hum beneath the surface of everything else. And what makes it even more challenging is: if other people are late and it directly impacts me, I feel a similar wave of discomfort. Now, I’m acutely aware this is unreasonable; it’s entirely unfair to expect everyone else to operate on my internal, high-alert clock.
The Buffer Zone: My Strategy for Sanity
So, how do I manage this need? Simple (or perhaps not so simple, depending on your perspective): I am unreasonably early. I’d genuinely rather be an hour early for something, twiddling my thumbs and re-reading the same social media posts, than risk being even a minute or two late. It’s always been this way. If I’m working in the office, for example, I’d want to be there for 7:30 AM, I’ll be out the door by 6:15 AM. My start time isn’t even until 8 AM! But in my head, this buffer is non-negotiable. Buses get cancelled, don’t they? Roads suddenly become a car park for no apparent reason. By leaving when most people are still hitting snooze, I can mitigate those risks. It’s my way of wrestling back a tiny bit of control from the chaos of the unpredictable.
Early Bird by Necessity: Navigating Travel and Invitations
This dedication to earliness even extends to travel. I don’t drive, so I’m often reliant on public transport or the kindness of others. If I’m offered a lift to somewhere I need to be, and arriving super early is paramount to my peace of mind, I’ll quite often politely decline. It sounds ungrateful, I know! The thought of being on someone else’s schedule, where their definition of “on time” might differ wildly from mine, is often just too much. Funnily enough, I’m far more likely to accept a lift home, where the stakes feel considerably lower and arriving back at a precise moment is less critical.
Before the Lightbulb Moment: Misunderstanding My Quirk
For years, I just labelled myself as “weird” or “a bit obsessed.” I’d try to rationalise it, but deep down, it felt like a personal failing, a quirk I should somehow just… get over. Then came the autism diagnosis.
Illuminating the Path: Autism, Time, and Self-Compassion
And honestly? It was like someone switched on a light in a room I’d been stumbling around in for decades. Realising I’m autistic has allowed me to view this intense relationship with time through much kinder, more understanding eyes. It’s not just a random obsession; it’s a facet of how my brain is wired. It’s linked to a need for predictability, a difficulty with executive functioning perhaps, and an amplified response to anxiety-inducing situations.
It hasn’t magically made the fear of being late disappear, of course. But it has allowed me to treat myself with a bit more compassion. It’s okay that I need to be an hour early. I’m fine meticulously planning routes and buffer times. It’s part of my autistic way of being, and understanding that has been incredibly freeing. It’s just another piece of the puzzle, another way my path is illuminated.
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