Competitive Irish Dance & Undiagnosed Autism - Looking Back

“Looking back, I’ve realised how being autistic has influenced many aspects of my dancing career. It impacts everything in my life, it’s who I am.”

Irish dancing has been a part of my life since as long as I can remember. I’m pretty sure my mum knew right away that she had to sign me up for classes considering I was watching a Riverdance DVD from morning until night in my living room 24/7 trying to copy all of the choreography. I loved the movements, the music, the sound of heavy shoes, the costumes, the lights. I’d dance around constantly, gaining the nickname “Happy Feet” by my entire family.

Beginning classes when I was only three years old, dance has always meant absolutely everything to me. Every single day I was dancing, going to classes 4-5 times a week - up until I became injured and had to stop competing entirely. Despite never making it to any shows, I still find joy in it through teaching, and dance has become one of my main forms of stimming. I can’t even count how many times I got told off in school for tapping under the desk or dancing with my hands during exams!

It’s always been a form of escapism - where I can let go, forget about the negative aspects in my life, and be completely free.

However, looking back, I’ve realised how being autistic has influenced many aspects of my dancing career. It impacts everything in my life, it’s who I am. What I often thought was just nerves or anxiety were usually sensory overload or meltdowns. I even missed out on aspects of intense training due to what I thought were asthma attacks (extreme chest tightness, shortness of breath, rapid breathing), but it turns out these were actually autistic meltdowns. Doctors were constantly giving me several different coloured inhalers, medications, and PEF meters despite the fact that I didn’t need any of these. Instead, I was in a constant state of sensory overload and intense anxiety that I couldn’t get out of. I was persistently unregulated and unrecognised. Doctors mistook these symptoms for years until I was diagnosed with autism at the age of eighteen, a few years after my competitive career had ended.

Competitions were an absolute sensory nightmare if I’m being 100% honest. If you’ve ever seen Irish dancers at a feis (competition), you’ve likely seen how extreme the looks can become. Gigantic curly wigs, bold stage makeup, heavily tanned legs, and artistically crafted dresses with hundreds of diamonds that sparkle right into your eyes. If you’re autistic, I’m sure you can just imagine how this alone would most likely trigger your sensory issues.

And it certainly triggered mine! I’d spend the morning at a feis sobbing (mostly screaming) at my mum while she tightened that wig onto my head and put the slimy makeup on my face at 6am. I would have intense meltdowns before leaving the hotel room, and as soon as I made it to the competition area my mask would be on, and I never allowed anyone to see what was truly going on inside my head. To them, I probably just seemed nervous.

There was no way I was going to tell them that the feeling of the wig, the feeling of the makeup, the feeling of the tan, the smell of tan, the smell of makeup, the smell of hairspray, the loud noise from heavy shoes in the practice room, the scattered conversations surrounding me, and the loud music coming from the halls were all causing me severe pain - pain that I couldn’t ignore, pain that was only getting worse and worse. Everything in my mind and body was heightened, there were too many things happening at once - making it almost impossible to focus on the fact that I was competing.

It's difficult to deal with the fact that, if I had known I was autistic, then feis mornings and dance training may have been the slightest bit easier if I was able to receive the support I so desperately needed. Maybe I could’ve regulated myself better, maybe my mum or my teachers would’ve understood my needs a little bit more. It wouldn’t have been perfect, my autism would’ve still been disabling in lots of ways, but maybe things would’ve been better. But back then, I didn’t know what I needed. No one did.

Don’t get me wrong, I still found competitions fun in different ways! Although dancing at them was nerve-wrecking, I adored being on that stage - feeling free, hearing the music, and wearing my dress was absolutely magical. I loved spending time with friends and the opportunities to travel around the world were incredible, and I will forever be grateful and cherish these memories.

But sometimes, I wish that competitive dance was more accessible - I’m unsure what exactly is available at feiseanna now as I haven’t competed since 2019 - but to start, I think designated quiet spaces would be a wonderful addition for autistic and neurodivergent people to allow our minds and bodies to rest and focus. I believe that feis runners and teachers should have a better understanding of different minds and needs, and be much more open to creating an inclusive environment for all.

Irish dance is a wonderful and beautiful art and sport, and I am undeniably glad that it has been a part of my life for so many years. I just think that there will forever be a part of me that deeply longs for the support I could have received, that may have made those years a little easier and more accessible to my needs.