MY JOURNEY THROUGH SCHOOL, DIAGNOSIS, AND
SELF-ACCEPTANCE

Yas Bartle, aged 26

From a young age, I always knew I was a little different. While other kids
were obsessing over popstars, playground games, and the latest fads, I was
busy building dens, drawing, reading about history, and pulling apart
electronic toys just to see how they worked. I was a hyperactive, geeky,
freckled kid who couldn’t keep quiet if someone broke a rule—and that
didn’t exactly make me popular at school.
My interests felt “boring” to my peers, and slowly, I started to feel like I
didn’t fit in. When I transitioned to secondary school, I realised something
painful: being myself wasn’t going to get me accepted. So, I adapted. Or
rather, I masked.
At the time, I was obsessed with Hannah Montana. Looking back, I think I
resonated with her because she was living a double life—and so was I. I kept
everything I loved hidden away, even from myself at times. I became a
mirror of whoever I was around, changing myself to fit their expectations
just to get by.

The Struggle Behind the Smile
On paper, I was doing well academically. But underneath, anxiety was eating me alive. In primary school, it showed up as
constant headaches and stomach aches. In secondary school, it became avoidance—I would skip lessons or hide out in the
matron’s office or safeguarding room to escape the overwhelm. The only subject I consistently attended was science.
I remember feeling broken—like I had missed the memo on how to “do school.” Everyone else seemed to just know how
things worked. They understood rules that felt invisible to me. Teachers started expecting more because of my abilities,
but the pressure made me shut down. My grades dropped, and so did my confidence. I figured if I couldn’t meet
expectations, why even try?

When GCSEs came around, everything hit a breaking point. The idea of sitting in silence, in an exam hall, having my future
decided by a paper—my body couldn’t handle it. My blood pressure skyrocketed. I remember a doctor telling me, “This is
the highest I’ve seen in a stable 15-year-old.” That’s when I stopped caring. I walked out of every exam. I physically couldn’t
do it. Somehow, I still got enough grades to get by—though I failed English, which was no surprise. That had always been a
struggle.

College: New Place, Same Pain
I had high hopes for college. I chose Health and Social Care, thinking a fresh start and a course I cared about would change
things. But it was worse. I was bullied, not for anything I did—just for existing. Even the tutors joined in. I barely spoke, yet
I was constantly the topic of conversation. I felt invisible and too visible at the same time.
It wasn’t until then that I finally got tested for dyslexia. One of my secondary school teachers had suspected it, but
dismissed it with, “There’s no point in testing.” That sentence left me unrecognised and unsupported for years. I had
always been told I had good ideas, but I was lazy. That if I just “tried harder,” I wouldn’t make so many grammar or spelling
mistakes and my writing wouldnt be so messy
Turns out, I wasn’t lazy—I was dyslexic. Severely, in fact. The official diagnosis came with more clarity: visual stress,
auditory and phonological processing disorder, and I was in the bottom 5% of the population in terms of how my brain
processed language. Despite a 25% attendance rate in my second year, I passed with top grades: DDD. That should’ve
been proof enough that I was never the problem.

Finding Myself Through Diagnosis
The final piece of the puzzle came: a Tourettes syndrome and an autism
diagnosis. Suddenly, so much made sense. The way I struggled with social
rules, the overwhelm, the hyper fixations, the masking. The little noises,
movements and phrases that bubbled up inside me and just ‘had’ to come
out. I wasn’t just “weird” or “odd.” I was neurodivergent. My brain simply
worked differently.
Coming to terms with this was empowering—but it also left me grieving. I felt
deeply let down by the people in my life who missed it specifically teachers,
by the system that forced me to fit a mould I was never designed for. So much
trauma could have been avoided if someone had just seen me for who I really
was.
Why I’m Sharing This
I’m not writing this for pity. I’m writing it because maybe there’s a young
person out there right now who feels like I did—misunderstood, anxious, and
tired of pretending. Maybe you’ve been told you’re lazy when you’re actually
struggling. Maybe you feel like no one gets you.
You are not broken. You are not lazy. And you are definitely not alone.
My self acceptance journey is no where near over there are many days filled with ‘if only’ thoughts but i know every step
I take is one closer and I have excellent support around me!
Getting diagnosed didn’t “fix” me, but it helped me understand myself. It gave me language for the battles I’ve fought my
whole life. And more than anything, it reminded me: I was never supposed to be like everyone else.
And that’s okay