I Saw Myself in The Crown: Autism, Grief, and the Cost of Being Misunderstood

⚠️ Trigger Warning:

This article discusses eating disorders, emotional trauma, grief, and themes of masking and identity. Please read with care, and take breaks if needed.

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by Caleb

When I finished watching The Crown, I didn’t feel closure. I felt cracked open. What started as a historical drama turned into something else—something personal. Something sacred.

I saw myself in all of them.

That wasn’t the plan. I just wanted something to watch. But instead, I ended up crying for people I didn’t think I’d relate to—princes, queens, even the ones I was mad at. And most of all, Diana.

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Diana Was a Mirror

Diana’s story hit me hard—especially the scenes around her eating disorder. They weren’t just dramatic moments. They were real. Raw. And triggering. I saw in her what it feels like to be trapped in a world that praises your image but punishes your truth. She kept trying to be loved, to be seen, but all they gave her was rules and silence.

As an autistic, I understood that all too well.

The world demands a performance. And when you’re neurodivergent or gender-divergent, that performance becomes your survival strategy. But it costs something. Sometimes your voice. Sometimes your body. Sometimes your whole identity.

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Even Charles Broke My Heart

Yes, I was angry at Charles. For how he treated Diana. For his inability to truly love her. But I also cried for him.

Because once I looked past the harm, I saw the hurt. I saw a boy raised in emotional starvation, taught that affection was weakness and duty was survival. That’s what masking does. It turns people into echoes of themselves. And that echo can still do harm, even when it’s not trying to.

Autism often means living in that tension—being hurt and misunderstood. Being the one in pain and the one trying not to pass it on.

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The Queen and the Art of Silent Grief

Of all the characters, I saw myself most in Queen Elizabeth. Maybe she wasn’t autistic. But the way she clung to routine, the emotional restraint, the way she performed "duty" over authenticity—it all felt familiar.

She buried herself to become what people expected. And the world called that grace.

But I know what it feels like to put your own life on hold because people won’t accept the real you. That isn’t grace. That’s grief.

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What The Crown Taught Me About Being Autistic

Watching this show was like seeing generations of people masking their pain, their needs, and their love. And for me, as an autistic person, that hit differently. Here’s what I learned:

Masking doesn’t make you strong. It makes you disappear.

Being misunderstood doesn’t mean you’re broken—it means you need to be heard.

Grief lives in silence when there’s no space to process.

The roles we’re given aren’t always the ones that fit. And that’s not our fault.

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Diana Would Want Us to Speak

So here I am. Turning a Netflix spiral into advocacy. Because Diana used her pain to help others—through landmine campaigns, AIDS awareness, and choosing compassion when the institution chose silence.

If she were here now, I think she’d understand why autistic people see ourselves in her. Why her story matters beyond the tabloids and the tiaras. Why vulnerability isn’t weakness. Why some of us are still learning how to speak after years of being silenced.

And maybe that’s the real legacy: to be real, even when it’s messy. To say, “This hurt me,” and not apologize for it. To live out loud.

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If You See Yourself Too

If you’re autistic, queer, masked, grieving, or just tired of trying to be something you’re not—you’re not alone. Your story matters. Even if it doesn’t fit the script.

And if The Crown broke something open in you like it did for me… that’s not weakness. That’s healing.

Diana saw people others ignored. This is me, doing the same.

Let’s keep seeing each other.

– Caleb 🖤

About the Author

Caleb is an autistic writer and advocate with a deep love for classic cars, coins, and emotional honesty. They write about identity, neurodivergence, grief, and healing—especially from an autistic perspective. Their work blends personal reflection with advocacy, often inspired by media that hits unexpectedly close to home.

You can find more of their work on Instagram, and right here on Blogger.