I’m the type of ridiculous, irrational person who reads based on the seasons — just like your local bookstore rotates through themes, so do I. And in the summertime, I like to move away from heavier topics and reach for something light and fun. A cozy rom-com. A soft reset.
So when I picked up Act Your Age, Eve Brown, I wasn’t expecting to cry. I’m not really a crier. I just wanted a book I could burn through in a day and a half and then be on to the next. But what I got was something else entirely.
As I started to really tuck into the book, I realized something — I didn’t just like Eve.
I recognized her.
She Wasn’t Just Quirky. She Was Me.
Eve Brown wasn’t quirky in a way that felt cute or forced. She was autistic.
She just didn’t know it yet.
And neither did I.
So who is Eve, really? She’s colorful and free-spirited. A chaotic bundle of energy. She quits jobs left and right, her interests shifting from one thing to the next. She floats through life without a clear path — until she quite literally collides with Jacob Wayne, who exists on the complete opposite side of the spectrum. And as they begin taking up space in each other’s world, they learn to appreciate one another’s differences. Slowly, gently, Eve begins a path to self-discovery.
So did I.
Seeing Yourself Before You Know Yourself
There’s something intimate — and terrifying — about seeing yourself in someone else before you’ve fully seen yourself.
At the time, I hadn’t yet claimed the word “autistic.” I had years of misdiagnoses behind me and a long list of ways I’d learned to over-explain my existence. I was used to being the one who “doesn’t know how to take things seriously,” because I struggled with committing to what felt like permanent life-changing decisions. I was the “you’re so smart but so lazy” girl, because I struggled with focus and motivation — not because I didn’t care.
All of those contradictions echoed in Eve’s existence, one way or another. She was impulsive. She masked. She melted down. And she was still funny, lovable, soft.
That mattered to me more than I can explain.
The Music, The Meltdowns — And The Moment It Clicked
Eve needed structure. She found it in Jacob. But she also needed a constant breather in a world that felt like sensory overload. She used her love of music — from Teyana Taylor to Ravyn Lenae — to anchor herself. These were artists already in my own rotation. That made me feel even more connected to her.
I don’t remember the exact line or chapter that made everything click — I just remember stopping.
Re-reading.
Starting the book over.
“Your abilities lie in the places people usually overlook, so you’ve been convinced you don’t have any at all. But you’re smart, and you’re capable, and if people struggle to see that, it’s their problem, not yours.”
— Talia Hibbert, Act Your Age, Eve Brown
I needed to know if I was just projecting onto this character I adored… or if she genuinely felt like me. And the more I read, the more I realized it wasn’t projection at all.
“How could someone like me exist in fiction… before I even knew I was real?”
From Fiction to Diagnosis
After finishing the book, I didn’t just feel seen — I felt called. I started researching. I started looking inward. And I began what would become my self-diagnosis journey.
Years before, both my niece and nephew were diagnosed with autism. Genetic testing had been done, and specialists encouraged the family to consider broader testing to understand where it might have come from. But it never crossed anyone’s mind that I could be autistic. Because like so many others, I only knew one version of what autism “looked like” — nonverbal, visibly distressed, disconnected.
Nobody told me about the girls who smiled through shutdowns.
Nobody told me about me.
Eventually, with more reading and guidance from specialists, I received an accurate diagnosis: high-functioning autism, with a co-occurring diagnosis of ADHD — AuDHD, as it’s sometimes called now. And while I was relieved to finally have the right language, it wasn’t the diagnosis that helped me find myself.
It was Eve.
Fiction gave me the confidence to ask the right questions and look in the right places. It gave me a mirror.
Eve Brown: A Mirror Mentor
I call this blog series Mirror Mentors because sometimes the people who help us the most aren’t experts or elders. Sometimes, they’re fictional women who show us how to live more fully — especially in the mess.
Eve Brown didn’t teach me to be autistic. She helped me recognize that I already was.
Her story gave me permission to go back through my life and reframe it with gentleness, not guilt. She helped me name the things I used to hide. She helped me begin the process of coming home to myself.
To Eve — And To Talia Hibbert
Thank you for creating a character who is joyful, complicated, sensitive, and undeniably herself.
Thank you for making her Black. For making her soft. For making her real.
And if you’re reading this — you, the one still waiting to feel reflected in someone or something — I hope you find your Eve. I hope you find a person, a book, a character, a lyric… that doesn’t flatten you or try to fix you, but simply sees you.
Because it’s not weird to love what calms you.
And it’s not wrong to be exactly who you are.
So, if you’ve never felt seen, then maybe you just haven’t met your Eve yet.
“Mirror Mentors is a series about the women — real or fictional — who helped me see myself more clearly.”
⬩ Read more posts in the series ⬩
Want to know what came next after I saw myself in Eve?
👉🏽 Read how I found my voice in The Soft Loud.