Late diagnosis has a way of reframing your entire life.
This is something I wrote about my experiences before I knew I was autistic and ADHD — and how understanding that has brought compassion, not regret. I am sharing it in case it helps someone else feel less alone.
A vacation spot I am dying to visit would not be your normal places abroad. I have no desire to travel far right now. I want familiarity. I want a place that holds happy memories.
The place I long to visit is the quaint market town of Knaresborough. That isn’t much of a vacation spot, I imagine you say. Alas, for me it is home.
My best childhood memories happened in Knaresborough. I felt my authentic self there. My parents had a holiday home on a caravan site in one of the villages just outside of Knaresborough in the 90s. I used to go on the weekends and holidays between the ages of 11 and 16.
It was here I met my first proper friend. I remember being sat on the tyre swing and she was on the climbing frame. We were looking at each other, and then she went to sit on the picnic bench.
I got off the swing, being all confident and wanting to make a good impression. I walked over to her. I smiled — then these words fell out of my mouth:
“Have you started your period yet?”
There was no hello or introduction, just straight-up personal conversation. She was 9 and I was 11.
We’ve been friends almost 30 years now, so I definitely recommend my autistic greeting if you’re in the market for a new friendship. Although, if like me you are 40+ and female, I’d suggest swapping the question for “Are you in perimenopause yet?”
On a serious note, it did help me remain my authentic self around her, and she knew right from the start I was a little bag of Dolly Mixtures.
Over the next five years we explored Knaresborough together, besties that were more like sisters. One of my favourite memories was our Saturdays in town. We would visit our favourite shops — Boots, Woolworths, Giraffe and The Rowan Tree — then go to Drakes fish shop for chips and gravy. Finally, we would go down to the river and visit the riverside café for a Coca-Cola ice cream float.
Knaresborough also brought me my first boyfriend. He was a Geordie from Gateshead, three years younger than me. We were together three years. In the end he became a bit mean about my struggles. I didn’t have words for them back then, so I just called the things I couldn’t do and didn’t know why “struggles”. I know now it was AuDHD.
Another fond memory from my time there was our swimming trips. On one occasion I almost drowned my friend because she took me into the deep end and I panicked, so I used her head as a float to keep me above water.
On another trip my friend became ill after drinking a blue slushie and chewing some blueberry-flavoured gum before swimming. We made it to the changing rooms before she went full exorcist. Sadly, she didn’t make it to the toilet.
I was a nervous wreck. My friend needed my help and I didn’t know what to do. She was upset. I was having an internal breakdown. So, in true Frost style, I looked around me. Then I saw it — shining brightly at me from the change slot in the tampon machine.
I picked it up, fully believing it would make everything better, and handed it to my friend with the words,
“Here, twenty pence, do you feel better now?”
She erupted into laughter. I nervously laughed. She did go and find a member of staff to alert them to the second-hand slushie — we weren’t animals. And we learned that I am only good for comedy in emergency situations because I freeze.
To go back to Knaresborough for a vacation would bring sunshine to my soul. For two weeks I can feel free again. That is what a vacation should do for you.
Thank you for reading. I’m sharing this quietly and gently — please feel free to take what resonates and leave the rest.
—Frost ❄️
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