From Invisible to Free: How Cycling Helped Me Embrace My Neurodiversity

The Superpower I Used to Want

As early as I can remember, I wished I could be invisible. When others talked about wanting to fly, have super strength, or even be rich and famous, my only wish was to go through life unnoticed.

I knew I was different, though I didn’t know why. I just wanted to blend in, move through life without standing out—because standing out meant being a target. No matter how hard I tried to fit in, I always seemed to get it wrong.

One of my worst experiences was in high school PE lessons—ironically, considering how much sport is part of my life now. I was bullied so badly that I was excused from all PE lessons. The very thing that would later become my passion—sport, movement, pushing my limits—was something I missed out on because of the way my brain worked and how others treated me for it. But why should I have missed out? Why should neurodivergent people be pushed out of sport?

I remember in middle school, hiding in the toilets all lunchtime because I didn’t have friends and I didn’t want people to see me sitting alone. I would rather hide than have my isolation exposed.

In lessons, I would sink into my chair, hoping the teacher wouldn’t call on me. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because of the deep anxiety around speaking out loud, losing my words, and getting stuck in the moment. I didn’t want to be noticed. I just wanted to disappear.

Masking: Trying to Become Unnoticed

Like so many autistic people, I became an expert at masking from an early age.

• I studied how people behaved.

• I rehearsed conversations before I spoke.

• I hid my real thoughts and reactions if I thought they would make me stand out.

And yet, despite all my effort, it never seemed to be enough. No matter how hard I tried to be “normal,” I always felt like I was failing at being human. And the efforts drained me, by the time I was 16 it would become too much and my mental health plummeted.

The Slow Realisation That I Didn’t Need to Hide

It took years of masking, and finally a late autism diagnosis in my mid-30s, to begin the process of understanding myself. Even after my diagnosis, unmasking wasn’t instant. I didn’t just wake up one day and know how to be my authentic self—I had spent so long hiding, I wasn’t even sure who that self was.

And then, cycling changed everything.

🚴‍♀️ On the bike, I don’t have to mask. I don’t have to make eye contact, engage in small talk, or navigate complex social rules. It is just me, my bike and I can be the real me.

🚴‍♀️ Cycling gives me structure. The routine of training, the calming rhythmic nature of pedaling, and the numbers—distance, power, cadence—all gave my brain something to focus on.

🚴‍♀️ It is an outlet for my hyperfocus. The very thing I used to feel “too much” about, that would stop me being able to switch between tasks, my intense, obsessive passion—became an asset. Instead of suppressing my enthusiasm, I leaned into it. Cycling became my special interest, my escape, my way to explore the world.

🚴‍♀️ The solitude of long rides felt like home. I was no longer hiding—I was choosing to be alone in a way that gave me so much joy and confidence.

🚴‍♀️ Ultracycling pushed my limits, but on my terms. From someone who had been excused from PE lessons, I was now pushing myself to ride distances most people wouldn’t even attempt.

🚴‍♀️ Finding my community. Through cycling, I started to connect with others—more than my whole life I found people who I could truly be myself around.

I’ve Started to Realise That:

✅ My brain works differently, and that doesn’t mean it isn’t valuable.
✅ Hyperfocus and deep interests can be an incredible strength—especially in endurance cycling.
✅ My pattern recognition and logical thinking help me understand my training, data and strategise for long rides.
✅ My ability to feel deeply helps me connect with others one-on-one.
✅ I might need adjustments—quiet space, structure, time alone—but knowing this helps me protect my energy so I can thrive.

Fighting Old Habits

Even now, my instinct to blend in is still strong after years of trying to disappear into the background. I’ve conditioned myself to try and be the “appropriate” version of myself in different groups of people. Fighting that deep rooted urge to mask is hard.

But I am fighting that instinct.

Because I know that neurodivergent athletes deserve to take up space in sport.

Because I know that being different isn’t a weakness—it’s a different way of thinking, moving, and experiencing the world.

Because I want to show other neurodivergent people that they don’t have to hide, either.

Embracing Visibility in Sport

Now, instead of wishing for invisibility, I want to be seen.

To be a visible, proud, neurodivergent athlete.

To share my story so that others don’t feel like they have to hide.

To go from the girl who hid in the school toilets and was excused from PE, to the woman who now races ultras.

If I can do that, then sport is for anyone.

🚴‍♀️ Neurodivergent athletes deserve space in cycling.
🚴‍♀️ Neurodivergent people deserve access to sport.
🚴‍♀️ We don’t have to mask to belong.

If I could tell my younger self one thing, it would be this:

🦋“You don’t have to disappear to be accepted. You are enough, exactly as you are.”