How to Create Space For Uncertainty in an Autistic Mind

Finding emotional stability when our physical reality falls apart.

The door opens, and for a brief moment, I catch a glimpse of what lies beyond the threshold, a life full of light and bright with colour. My carefree friends, boisterous music, dancing, laughter, and happiness. The door shuts.

I never talk about my Aspergers, but this is what my life, riddled with anxiety and labelled with autism, feels like. There’s a life I should be living, places I should be visiting, and experiences I should be able to enjoy, but I’m restricted by the confinement of my mind.

I’m constantly searching for a key to the door that everyone around me has access to. As a result, instead of enjoying my life, I’m stuck with crippling anxiety and a dysfunctional relationship with change, forcing me to remain in the mental cage I’ve created for myself.

However, a couple of weeks ago, all the habits and routines I had built up over the years suddenly fell apart like a house of cards. I was forced to adjust to a new normal as everything in my personal life turned upside down.

Since then, I’ve had to define a new normal and face the reality that I can’t control everything, no matter how much I try to prepare.

I’ve had to clear out old habits and make space for uncertainty. The most challenging aspect of my Aspergers has been put to the test, and it’s made me realise that change, scary as it may be, is crucial for personal growth.

The impact of uncertainty in an unstable mind

Whenever we take action towards an uncertain outcome, we’re taking a risk, but the consequences and aftermath of our decisions hold varying degrees of importance and irrelevance.

Most of the time, we can gauge an idea of how our choices will impact the outcome. But when we face unexpected change, we’re unable to calculate the potential cost and benefit of each risk, and as a result, we become more likely to make the wrong decision.

This uncertainty — our inability to determine the risk of each choice — makes us anxious when facing change. If we can’t decide the outcome of something, we automatically assume it’s a threat.

Uncertainty is nameless, obscure, and difficult to navigate. Making big decisions is scary because there’s no guidebook instructing us what to do when things go wrong, no keystroke for ‘undo’, nothing but complete and crippling uncertainty.

Because of my autism, I navigate change differently than most. I require structure, routines and well-formed habits. Predictability is where I work most efficiently and feel most inspired. However, I’ve realised that uncertainty is a skill we all must practice because life is constantly in motion; everything is constantly changing until the day we die.

Going on carefree adventures, taking risks to find those special moments that bring joy, and creating memories that last for decades is something I have never been able to do.

For years, I ached for a life I told myself I couldn’t have because of my fear of uncertainty. But as much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, passing on those opportunities and creating a bubble to isolate myself from that life was always a choice.

The thing is, anxiety has always been the overarching theme of my life. So even if I did go on that trip with my brothers, to that party with my friends, or on that skiing trip with my class, anxiety would be present and demanding attention. And that scared me.

Because I knew it would taint my memory with fear and frustration rather than joy and fulfilment.

The uncertainty would fill me with anxiety, and the experience would be stored away in my mind as another brick added to the wall between me and any chances I had of leading a normal life. So I always said “no thank you” to all invitations because it was the easiest option.

But I failed to prepare for unexpected change. I never considered what I would do if I were thrown into the deep end without warning. Perhaps because I knew I would be struggling to remain above the surface, gasping for air and fighting to stay afloat. Perhaps because the thought was too scary to consider.

Chapter One

August, four years ago…

I can’t see much past my own reflection looking back at me in the backseat window. I focus on the blurred landscape sweeping by, colours dull and sunlight blocked by the dark clouds looming above as my parents argue in the front.

Their voices are muted by the heavy rain hammering against the windscreen and the wheels accelerating on the road. The argument intensifies. It’s at times like these where I usually retreat to my room and play music loud enough to shatter my eardrums until the conflict settles down, but now, there is nowhere to retreat.

I am trapped in a four-wheeled metal box speeding over a bridge at 70 mph, heading home from yet enother failed camping trip that was supposed to be a stress-free weekend to belatedly celebrate my 15th birthday.

Suddenly, the arguing stops. But the rain keeps hammering, now even louder than before. When I look forward and through the windscreen, I understand my parent’s sudden silence. I barely register the two headlights heading in our direction before I’m crushed against the door as we smash through the barrier — and then we’re falling.

The atmosphere switches from anger to terror within a split second. There’s no time to react before we crash into the sea below.

Everything turns black.

Creating structure within chaos

My sensitivity towards and inability to deal with change has made it challenging for me to accept the fact that I can’t be in control of everything.

And these last few weeks have felt like a constant reminder of that fact as my stepdad fell into a psychosis that started a chain of events that completely altered my life.

The routines I had carefully established and religiously followed for the past few years were demolished overnight. But in these moments, I realise how hateful and grateful I am for unexpected change. As Gary John Bishop once said,

“Uncertainty is where things happen. Uncertainty is your personal pathway to opportunity. It’s the environment in which you grow, experience new things and produce new, unprecedented results. Uncertainty is where new happens.”

We devote all our time and energy to creating plans, maintaining habits, forming routines, and setting goals that will allow us to dictate outcomes and make sense of uncertainty.

But all we’re really doing is creating a false sense of security. We have a good idea of what tomorrow will hold, but what we don’t prepare for will shatter the illusion of stability we maintain. Unexpected changes will crash through our routines and temporarily disturb our lives.

Let’s toy with the idea of being able to predict the future for a second. Realistically, if we were to know everything that will happen within the coming year, we would spend every minute of every day obsessing over and creating a plan for that event. I know I would, at least. And as a result, anxiety would no longer be a temporary visitor but a permanent fixture in my life.

Even though I thrive in predictable environments and planned experiences, unpredictability is what keeps me going; it keeps all of us going. Change will always be present, and there will always be aspects of our lives that we can’t control. So maybe we’re focusing on the wrong thing.

Instead of doing everything we can to prevent change, we should prepare to navigate it. The longer we ignore a problem, the bigger it grows and the further it spreads as we allow it to seep into other areas of our life.

Leaving our comfort zone and deliberately choosing uncertainty isn’t only about gaining new experiences, but it’s also a fundamental step to building emotional resilience.

There are a few habits we can create and uphold through challenging times, such as:

1. A sleep pattern. Go to bed and wake up at similar times each day.
2. Eat regularly, routinely, and healthily.
3. Make time for yoga or a quick workout every morning.
4. Establish habits, routines, or hobbies that can be done anywhere.

That last one is crucial because that’s where mindfulness comes into the picture. If we practice meditation, we will become more in tune with ourselves and in touch with our thoughts. It’s the only reliable way to create structure within chaos — something we can pick up whenever, wherever, and for however long we want.

When the initial shock of unexpected change makes way for understanding, it’s easy to fall into a downward spiral and begin to panic. Because of this, I find that the only way to deal with change successfully is to break down and reassemble my thoughts.

Once we’ve had time to process how we’re feeling and express those emotions, we need to kick into gear and take action. Cry if you want to, scream if you need to, isolate yourself if you have to. Give yourself time to miss the idea of a life you thought you’d have. Be angry because you’ve been forced to change your plans. Then, focus on the next step.

By removing the emotion and focusing only on the facts, we avoid cluttering our minds and impairing our judgement with a cloud of overwhelming emotions.

Once we gauge a realistic view of the events taking place, we can rebuild our thoughts based on an optimistic outlook, understanding, and acceptance. Only then will we be able to create suitable plans and the best possible outcome.

Chapter two

A few minutes later…

Silence. Darkness. Pain. I’m stuck. Seatbelt. I try to unfasten it as the car rapidly fills with water, but panic grips me. As we’re sinking further and further into the depths of the sea, I quickly move to open the window before it’s too late. Relief washes over me when it rolls down. An escape route.

My seatbelt loosens after a few tries, and I float free. My dad is smashing his window. Mum is struggling with her own seatbelt. I take a deep breath of air before diving into the rising water and help her. It unclips.

I use the last bit of air near the ceiling to take one last breath. One. I push off the seat with my foot. Two. I’m out the window. Three. Four. Five. The water around me becomes lighter as I approach the surface. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. The silence is replaced by the sound of rain beating down on the surface of the sea. I struggle to stay afloat as my arms and legs frantically kick and stir beneath me.

I look around. I see nothing but the structure of the bridge. I feel overwhelmed with panic, but somehow convince myself to remain calm. Perhaps because I know that if I don’t, I won’t make it out alive. My parents reach the surface. They gasp for air, Dad grabs ahold of Mum’s arm. They seem worried, but not nearly as frightened as me. They’re in shock.

After a short while, I hear voices shouting from different directions in the distance. Just before I give up and allow the sea to envelop me, an inflatable rescue boat pulls alongside us. I am hauled out of the water, coughing and spluttering, but breathing.

We survived.

Why does change feel so scary?

Uncertainty itself is unclear. It’s all around us, all the time, and it appears in irregular bursts, impacting our lives with varying degrees of dominance and insignificance.

When we expect bad outcomes, we put ourselves through a series of emotionally draining and mentally exhausting thoughts and highlight every worst-case scenario we can come up with, our imagination running wild.

The pain we prepare for and the picture we paint in our minds won’t accurately illustrate the real experience, so the distress we put ourselves through when we try and fail to predict the future is useless.

No one knows how to best deal with the curveballs that change the trajectory of our story. They are unexpected and come out of the left field — that’s how they work, and it’s this behaviour that makes uncertainty feel so terrifying.

We’re all just doing our best with the information we have available. So when we look back on our previous actions and experiences, thinking about everything we would do differently, it’s a sign of growth. In the future, we’ll look back on who we are today and notice similar flaws.

The thing is that only when we figure out what doesn’t work can we begin to search for what does. By striving to be a little less wrong today, we can expect to be a little more right tomorrow. Exposing ourselves to uncertainty is simply a way to learn, progress, and improve.

Chapter three

September, three years after the accident…

I slow to a stop before the bridge, engine idling. Rebecca is beside me, staring ahead. I grip the steering wheel tighter, wishing we could turn back around and head home. But here we are, approaching the bridge that almost took my life. Trees line the edge of the road, wind rustling the leaves. My foot hovers above the pedal before I put it back safely on the floor again.

“I’m sorry, I can’t go through with this,” I say, feeling the tears build up. “Please, let’s do this another time instead.”

Rebecca points at the phone in her hand and says, “No. We’ve already been here three times before, and every time, you’ve backed out. Don’t overthink it; just go!”

She points to the road ahead, but my thoughts are racing and my heart is pounding. Tears start running down my cheeks, but I can’t tell why. Is it fear? Disappointment? Frustration? I can’t tell. Whatever the reason, it’s a reminder of everything I’ve been through these past three years. And I’m tired. Tired of being scared. Tired of ffeeling like a burden to those around me. Tired of being controlled by a memory and pushed around by fear.

I swallow hard and turn to Rebecca releasing my grip. “Grab the wheel,” I say. She looks at me for a moment with a mixture of confusion and worry before obliging. I squeeze my eyes shut and push my foot down hard on the accelerator.

The tyres screech, and we shoot forward. Before I have time to panic, we’re over the bridge, thrashing waves now behind us. I relax. “Bloody hell! We did it!” Rebecca yells, and I burst out laughing. We did it. I can’t believe it. I did it.

I couldn’t have done it by myself, but it was the first step.

Preparing for the unexpected

We crave a certain yet indistinct amount of space. Too much of it, and we feel lonely. Too little, and we feel trapped. Space is necessary for personal growth, yet its absence can damage our well-being and ability to sustain our mental health.

Providing our minds with sufficient space to think and problem-solve in this chaotic world is a balancing act. The more saturated our schedule becomes, the stronger our grip on our expectations grows, and the less space there is to prepare for unexpected events.

The main issue is that we label uncertainty as something intimidating that we need to avoid. But, in reality, the comfort we find in established routines creates temporary relief from perpetual uncertainty.

Our idea of tomorrow is purely expectations built from previous experiences and best guesses. We can gauge a realistic view of the immediate future, but we’re constantly wandering on a path towards the unknown.

Major historic events often have a powerful impact on the world and our progress as a society. After all, the moon landing, for example, took years of trial and error and the work of hundreds of thousands of people to organise and accomplish. The uncertainty and, consequently, the triumph was spread globally and celebrated by millions worldwide, but the mistakes and failures only significantly impacted those closely involved.

For example, if a couple were to get a divorce, they would be left with a load of uncertainty and fear to navigate that doesn’t extend beyond the borders of their family. The pain is more concentrated, and there’s no time to prepare before the impact.

Personal change and unexpected outcomes are emotionally exhausting and independently complicated, whereas global events can affect everyone — equally and globally.

It’s unfortunate how the only thing we know with complete certainty is that life is unpredictable, yet we’re so poorly equipped to handle uncertainty. If we’re suddenly shoved into an extreme circumstance — death, divorce, medical emergency, or losing a home, there’s no way to mentally prepare other than to strengthen our emotional stability and expect it to be difficult.

All the lists, plans, and routines in the world will not make any of those experiences less painful or challenging. We’re rarely in control of what happens outside our minds, yet so many of us rely on external sources for stability and security.

I’ve realised that the only thing we can do is expect the unexpected, and the only way we can adequately prepare for change and uncertainty is by establishing a solid and healthy connection with our minds by practising mindfulness.

Chapter Four

July, four years after the accident…

I pick up the phone on the second ring. “Hi, I was just about to-” I begin, but Josie interrupts me, “Where are you?” I can hear Rebecca laughing in the background, a contrast to Josie’s harsh tone.

I hear some rustling, then whispering, then Rebecca starts talking, “Hey! Are you coming to the beach house?”

I don’t even hesitate before replying, “No. I can’t. I have homework.”

She sighs, disappointed. “We did the homework together last night, remember?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and cross my fingers, trying to come up with a different excuse “Yeah, but I’m talking about the biology homework due next week.”

“Oh, cut the crap and get down here, or we’re coming to get you,”

After a moment of silence, her tone softens. “Pretty please? We miss you. Just come hang out with us, the homework can wait!”

I realise this is the third time this week I’ve bailed on them. I need to stop making excuses or one day they will stop asking. There is a life beyond the walls of my house and I need to live. A life filled with joy, rather than frustration and sadness. Friends, rather than solitude.

“Fine, I’ll come,” I say, and she squeals. “Amazing! We’re going to have so much fun!” Before I can get another word in, she hangs up.

I take a deep breath and head downstairs. Key in hand, I walk out of the door. And for the first time in a long time, I lock it behind me, breaking free from the restrictions of my mind.

The power of mindfulness

There is no secret formula nor a three-step plan to guarantee happiness. Researchers have even found that we struggle to recognise our own happiness and that we are unable to estimate what will and will not make us happy.

The problem is that we expect things to be easy, and when they’re not, we create wishy-washy goals that don’t give us meaning or long-term fulfilment. We distract ourselves from the real problem — which is our inability to keep going when things get tough — by searching for happiness in short-term solutions and meaningless pleasures.

But distractions only help for a short time and yield limited benefits. If I ignore the voice inside my head begging me to retreat to safety when I feel anxious, it will continue to grow louder and louder until it explodes into a full-blown panic attack.

The only way to beat those anxious thoughts is to focus on the moment and avoid pondering on the past or worrying about the future.

“There are only two days in the year that nothing can be done. One is called Yesterday and the other is called Tomorrow. Today is the right day to Love, Believe, Do and mostly Live.” ― Dalai Lama XIV

When our environment becomes messy and disorganised, our natural reaction is to tidy and clean, yet that’s rarely the conclusion we draw when navigating a cluttered mind.

Unpredictable change is overwhelming. It can break habits and wreck routines. Cause doubt and scepticism. Demolish cherished beliefs and childhood dreams.

The key to navigating change is by building emotional stability through mindfulness. By doing so, we’re creating a barrier between external circumstances and internal reactions and become more capable of handling emotionally draining experiences without breaking apart at the seams.

It can feel like there are tectonic plates within our minds that shift and collide, causing hot molten lava to emerge from beneath the surface and flood our minds with worry. But if we’ve built emotional resilience through regular meditation practices, even the worst possible circumstances won’t rattle our ability to problem-solve and take action.

Because the real issue isn’t just about the constant stream of anxious thoughts zapping away at our emotional health; it’s that we’re not aware of them. There’s always something buzzing, beeping, and grabbing our attention. As a result, we ignore the gradually destructive thoughts pulling us away from the present.

The key is to become aware of these thoughts and simply acknowledge their existence. After all, that’s all mindfulness is. When we become attuned to our minds and accept each passing thought, we strengthen our ability to focus on what’s important and ignore the rest. We gain the ability to disconnect our emotions from our thoughts and view them as two different units.

Meditation is something I committed to daily a couple of years ago, but the habit died down after a while. I’ve recently been working to tone and strengthen that muscle again, curious to obtain the same sense of clarity and consciousness I gained from regular practice.

The beauty of mindfulness is its simplicity and flexibility. You don’t need any experience or equipment to get started. There’s no right or wrong, better or worse way to meditate. As long as you focus on taking a moment to bring awareness to your mind, your body, and the present, then you’re practising mindfulness. Here is a simple technique to help get you started:

1. Set aside 10 minutes of your day and retreat to a quiet room.
2. Remove any distractions.
3. Sit or lay down, whatever is easiest and most comfortable.
4. Take a few deep breaths to relax fully.
5. Bring awareness to the lowest part of your body — your toes, for example. First, tense your muscles, then relax.
6. Inhale for five seconds, then exhale for five.
7. Slowly work your way up your body and through each body part, repeating the process of tensing, relaxing, and taking a deep breath before moving on.

Alternatively, you can bring awareness to your thoughts rather than your body by following steps one, two, and three, then simply observing your thoughts passing in and out of consciousness as you focus on your breath.

Staring into the vast dark space of uncertainty is terrifying. Not knowing what will happen from one moment to the next is paralysing, but instead of yearning for a life we lived in the past, we should create security within our minds and become more aware of how we react in uncertain times.

Building emotional stability and mental structure is the answer to finding our way in the physical world. Regularly practising mindfulness allows us to build a sense of certainty where we would otherwise be lost. It’s about finding comfort in the moment, becoming self-aware, and gaining the ability to shift our perception and find joy in something we otherwise would fear.

Chapter Five

July, four years after the accident…

The beach is almost deserted, but the sunset is mesmerising; deep oranges, reds, and purples reflected on the surface of the sea, dancing along the horizon and following the ripples in the water.

The air is warm and filled with fun and laughter, and it feels as though the caterpillar that has been crawling around inside my stomach since the accident has finally emerged as a butterfly. Light and fluttery.

I don’t know if it is the sound of the waves gently breaking and sloshing on the shoreline, or the calls of the gannets on the rocks announcing the arrival of summer, but for the first time in a long time, I feel that I belong here, at the beach, facing the vast unexplored ocean.

Seizing the moment, I jump up from my beach towel to join my friends in the water. Just as my toes touch the cool water, I realise that I haven’t been in the sea for almost four years. Standing here, right now, on the brink of a mysterious world we’re yet to fully explore, I make a promise to myself. I will no longer fear the future based on experiences from my past. Instead, I will find joy in the present and welcome new opportunities.

I take a moment for that to sink in before eliminating the last trace of fear from my mind. While standing here, knee-deep in the water, a wave hits me. I dive into it and allow it to swallow me whole. I don’t fight it.

I swim. I come up to the surface. And for the first time since the accident, I notice how vibrant the world looks. Saturated with colour and filled with life. I close my eyes. I breathe. I live.

Final thoughts

The story I incorporated throughout this article is purely fictional, but it demonstrates how anxiety feels to me. From one moment to the next, I can go from being completely fine to feeling like I’m being consumed by a wave of fear to the point of drowning.

There is always one moment where everything suddenly shifts. And that shift, the memory of an experience and the anchor of my anxiety, remains until I build up the courage to revisit that moment and re-wire my thoughts.

That’s the thing about anxiety — it’s uncertain. The only way to combat fear is by facing it, which requires the ability to remain present. It’s the past that holds the tainted memory, and the future is what carries the worry.

The journey to accepting change and overcoming uncertainty is never straightforward. There are always obstacles to face and mistakes to work through — it’s a long and tiresome process. I love predictability and certainty, but life doesn’t work that way. It’s through those unexpected moments, immediate struggles, and long-term difficulties, that we learn, grow, and adapt.

We have to make space for uncertainty, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. If we don’t, we’ll be crushed by the weight of unexpected change. The further we try to run away from uncomfortable experiences, the more intense they become.

Practising mindfulness while consciously making an effort to move forward has helped me understand and accept change throughout my life and helped me navigate this unclear chapter of my story.

The thing is that we all face locked doors that are holding us back from experiences that we long for and adventures we seek. What most people don’t realise, however, is that there is no destination. Life is a journey, but experience comes from making bad decisions and learning. We all want memories to look back through when we’re old and have no regrets.

Once we unlock the door in front of us, there will be another key to find. And we’ll go through a similar process of pain, heartache, discomfort, and uncertainty all over again. We’ll probably struggle. But that’s what makes everything worth it—the struggle.