Notes from a Time Traveller by Elke Stevens

Honestly, at this point, I’m convinced the universe is writing my life like a cosmic sitcom.

Picture this: I finally get diagnosed autistic at forty-five and immediately discover I’m now both the ancient mythical sage and a small, overstimulated goblin-child who needs grape juice, quiet, and maybe a nap.

The duality is outrageous.

One minute I’m a wise oracle, hearing the secrets of the universe, “I don’t tell anyone about, lol”
reading people’s patterns like ancient runes, thinking, “Yes… I have lived many lives.”

Next minute I’m in my bed, burritoed in a blanket, crying because the shop ran out of my favourite snack, and also someone breathed too loudly near me.

It’s like: Level 100 Goddess and Level 1 Baby Dragon, who can’t regulate, sharing the same body, and arguing about who’s in charge today.

Honestly? I feel like a character in a cosmic soap opera, where the writers are drunk, dramatic, and having way too much fun. But can’t fire them!

Universe: “Let’s give her profound spiritual insight.” Also: “Let’s make fluorescent lights her mortal enemy “to much Bass will do as well!”

Universe: “Let her see danger before it happens.” Also: “Let her forget what she is saying mid-sentence.”

Universe: “She is a warrior of resilience.” Also, Universe: “She needs a sensory-friendly adult nursery with snacks and weighted blankets.” And don’t forget the dictionaries and encyclopaedias!

I swear the cosmic scriptwriters looked at me and thought, “Yes… give her all the intensity.
All the emotions. All the gifts. But also make her cry if her routine changes by 0.04 seconds.”

But honestly? I love it. Because at least I’m finally in on the joke.

Autistic at 45? Fine. Mystic goddess at 45? “I remember the lady of the lake! Fine. Gremlin-toddler who needs to be put down for a nap, so she doesn’t cry in public? You know what, that’s fine too. I can’t fight the nature of being anyway!

If this is the next chapter of my life, I’m ready. I’ll bring my oracle wisdom, my snacks, my weighted blanket, and my tiny, overstimulated inner toddler. And some Mica!

If this cosmic soap opera continues, I am finally the main character.

©️Elke T.B. Stevens 11/12/25