Juan, 35, is a professional actor based in London who plays an understanding doctor in Our World 2030. However, his personal experiences with health professionals haven’t been as positive. Here, he talks about late diagnosis, mental health, masking, acting, and his vision for 2030 for autistic people.

My diagnosis journey

When I finally heard the words from the specialists, “Yes, we believe you are autistic,” it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I cried—not because I was sad, but because it felt like, “Finally, someone believes me, understands me and hears me.”

The hardest part of being late-diagnosed autistic is all the years of knowing there’s something different about you but not quite understanding what it is. So, you blame yourself. And others blame you too.

I was almost 31 when I first tried to get referred for an autism assessment, over four years ago. The doctor just brushed it off. He said what I was explaining was normal, possibly depression or anxiety. I was devastated that he would not listen, as I was sure I had finally found out what was different about me. I couldn’t give up. Someone online suggested I write a letter explaining all my difficulties and struggles from childhood to adulthood to get a referral. So, that’s what I did.

I struggled immensely just to get on the waiting list. After that, I had to wait two and a half years for an assessment. Those two and a half years took a significant toll on my mental health. Like many autistic people, I spent hours reading online about autism, trying to understand and make up my mind about whether I was autistic or not. I kept doubting myself. It was extremely draining.

When I finally heard the words from the specialists, “Yes, we believe you are autistic,” it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I cried—not because I was sad, but because it felt like, “Finally, someone believes me, understands me and hears me.” I had high hopes that I’d finally receive support. (The assessors said I might also have ADHD, but I would need a separate assessment. It’s been over 18 months and I’m still on the waiting list).

But there wasn’t much support, at least not long-term. They put me in touch with a charity that ran group sessions on understanding autism. These sessions were helpful while they lasted, but there weren’t many sessions.

Before long, I was on my own again. I think the charity was prioritising people with higher support needs. The available support is minimal, so it goes to those who need it most. But pretty much all autistic people need support. We could all benefit from help, and most of us struggle with mental health issues.

We need mental health support tailored for autistic people

I think the biggest problem with being autistic isn’t the autism itself, but the mental health challenges that come from being autistic in a world that doesn’t understand us and very often mistreats us.

I think the biggest problem with being autistic isn’t the autism itself, but the mental health challenges that come from being autistic in a world that doesn’t understand us and very often mistreats us. There’s a belief that we’re the problem, that we’re the ones who are wrong, and therefore we must mould ourselves to fit allistic (non-autistic) expectations. I often get told that I find excuses not to make an effort. But I am trying all the time, 24/7.

In the past, I’ve tried counselling and CBT. I didn’t find either very helpful. If you’re autistic, you need someone who understands autism and how it affects your life. The issues we face often come from different places than those of neurotypical people, so we need different treatments and support. Standard treatments that haven’t been designed with autism in mind won’t be as effective for us. That’s why we need autism research—to find out what works.

I’ve been to the doctor multiple times and tried to explain my feelings. I might say, “I’ve been feeling more anxious than usual lately,” or “My depression has worsened, can I have some support with this?” But outwardly, I might not show it how they expect a neurotypical person would. My face might be neutral and non-expressive and the worse I am, the less I express. They don’t understand how much I’m struggling, so I don’t get the support I need. I believe the problem is masking, shutdowns and energy depletion. I’ve become so used to monitoring and adapting my behaviour to fit in with allistic people, that I often do it subconsciously. It’s a protective mechanism, which often leads to misunderstandings.

Masking is exhausting. Acting is energising.

For me, the worlds created in movies or video games feel easier to understand and more welcoming. Life is less complicated there. I think many of us wish we could jump into those worlds and live that life instead. Acting gives me that chance.

Many of us have been criticised, bullied, or laughed at throughout our lives. We’re told we’re too sensitive or too childish. As a child, I couldn’t relate to my peers, and I remember often saying to my mum, “I don’t know how to make friends.”

We become desperate to fit in, so we learn to mask. But masking is damaging, and it takes a huge amount of energy. I’m constantly thinking, “Am I giving enough eye contact? Am I giving too much? Am I saying things appropriate for this environment? Am I talking too loudly or too quietly?” It’s exhausting. Masking comes from a negative place. You’re hiding who you are because you feel who you truly are isn’t acceptable. Masking drains your energy.

Acting, on the other hand, can recharge it because it’s a choice and it’s enjoyable. Acting comes from a creative place. It has a clear script and defined roles. It removes ambiguity. You know what’s happening, especially with lots of rehearsing or takes. There are clear expectations, and everything is structured. You’re also playing a character, not yourself. This reduces the pressure.

For me, the worlds created in movies or video games feel easier to understand and more welcoming. Life is less complicated there. I think many of us wish we could jump into those worlds and live that life instead. Acting gives me that chance. I can experience things that real life doesn’t allow me to. I can be in a spaceship, slay a dragon, or sail a boat in the middle of the ocean in the 1800s.

My 2030 vision for autistic people

For a better 2030 for autistic people, mental health must be a priority, with treatments designed for neurodivergent people’s needs. Personalised mental health support is crucial. As autistic adults, we barely have any support right now. I’d like to see more resources and accommodations to help autistic people thrive, along with early intervention and comprehensive, ongoing support that empowers us as individuals at every life stage..Society needs to understand the value of autistic individuals. Right now, there are so many misconceptions, and we don’t get as many opportunities as we should, which is a loss for everyone. I’d love to see a future where autistic people feel understood, respected, and valued—where we no longer feel obliged to mask and can finally be our true selves.

Thank you for sharing your story, Juan, and for taking part in Our World, 2030.