Sarah Javaid - Autism, Cycling & Me
Written by Sarah Javaid. Subheadings added by the Neurodiverse Sport team to support readability.
This blog features a personal reflection by Sarah Javaid, founder of Cycle Sisters, a community cycling charity for Muslim women. In her own words, Sarah shares her late diagnosis of Autism and how cycling has become a space of healing, joy, and self-understanding. We’re honoured to feature Sarah’s voice for Neurodiversity Celebration Week 2024, and to help start more conversations about representation, accessibility, and inclusion in sport and active travel.
Sarah Javaid, Founder of Cycle Sisters
Discovering I’m Autistic
I found out I’m autistic at the age of 40. I’ve struggled with certain things all my life and wondered why they seem to come so naturally to everyone else—why I feel so different.
Being diagnosed a year ago brought a mix of emotions: grief for the mental health struggles I’ve had, and how hard I’ve been on myself; but also liberation—finally understanding myself and beginning to show self-compassion.
People often say things like, “Oh, but you don’t look autistic,” or “We’re all on the spectrum somewhere, aren’t we?” A few years ago, I might’ve said the same. Like many, my understanding of Autism was shaped by stereotypes: no empathy, maths genius, awkward. There’s still so much stigma, mostly rooted in a “problem” lens.
What Is Neurodiversity?
The neurodiversity movement reframes how we view Autism and conditions like ADHD, dyspraxia, dyslexia, and Tourette’s. Instead of focusing on deficits, it acknowledges different cognitive styles—especially in women.
Women and girls are often under-diagnosed because we learn to “mask”—to hide or compensate for traits in order to fit in. But long-term masking is exhausting and has impacted my mental health and energy levels.
Neurodiversity means people experience the world differently. Most are “neurotypical”; some are “neurodivergent”—neither is better or worse, just different. One estimate suggests 1 in 44 people may be Autistic—likely even more.
Some may relate to Autistic traits occasionally, but true Autism means life-long, more intense traits that significantly impact your life.
Not all neurodivergent people identify as disabled, but as the social model of disability shows, it’s often environments and expectations—not Autism itself—that disable us.
To me, neurodiversity is part of the beautiful diversity of God’s creation. As the Qur’an says:
“People, We created you all from a single man and a single female, and made you into races and tribes, so that you may get to know one another.” (49:13)
Sarah Javaid, Founder of Cycle Sisters
What’s All This Got to Do With Cycling?
I’m sharing my story during Neurodiversity Celebration Week to raise awareness and start a conversation about how Cycle Sisters—and all of us—can be more inclusive and live that Qur’anic call to “get to know one another.”
Cycling has created a space where I feel comfortable and supported as an Autistic woman. I’ve met many neurodivergent cyclists—it seems to attract us!
Finding a Space That Works
I’ve never been a “sporty” person. I hated PE and barely exercised in my 20s and early 30s. Fitness, stamina, and coordination were not my strengths—confirmed again when I tried running!
Add to that a mix of comorbidities—hypermobility, asthma, chronic insomnia, and autoimmune conditions—and exercise often felt out of reach.
Then I found cycling. It was a revelation. Low impact, doesn’t require high fitness to start, and I could actually do it. Even when exhausted or burned out, I can usually still ride—the gentle, rolling, daydreamy kind of cycling I love most.
Now I cycle nearly every day. It’s my transport, my exercise, and my therapy.
Special Interests, Purpose, and Advocacy
One of the things I love about being Autistic is the deep joy of a “special interest”—what are often framed as “restrictive” interests. Cycling ticks all the boxes: bikes (six and counting!), gear, routes, stats, performance.
Last year I had an intense hyperfocus on mountain biking. I even started getting quotes to redesign my garage for a new bike—then, as quickly as it came, the interest faded.
But my longest-running special interest has been supporting Muslim women to cycle. I founded Cycle Sisters in 2016, driven by a strong sense of justice and my focused, relentless brain—traits I now understand as Autistic strengths.
These traits help me speak confidently about Cycle Sisters and women’s cycling rights, even if I struggle with small talk. It’s one of the paradoxes of being Autistic.
Sarah Javaid, Founder of Cycle Sisters
Socialising—On My Terms
Socialising has always been a challenge. It takes effort and doesn’t come intuitively.
Cycling helps. You don’t have to make eye contact (which causes me sensory overwhelm), and there’s always a shared topic—cycling!
I’m much more comfortable when I have a role. As a ride leader or instructor, the social script is clear. I love helping others learn, and that makes me feel connected and part of something.
Contrary to stereotypes, many Autistic people are highly empathetic. That’s a real asset when helping someone learn to cycle—there’s a lot of emotion involved.
The Sensory Side of Cycling
Cycling is grounding. The repetitive motion is soothing—something I recently realised might be a form of “stimming.” I’m not always anxiety-free on my bike, but I’m definitely more regulated.
It also helps me avoid crowded, noisy places like public transport. I need quiet time to decompress after social interaction. Being out in the middle of nowhere on my bike is bliss.
Cycling satisfies my need for novelty too. Different routes, types of bikes, hills, nature—there’s always something new to explore. And being surrounded by creation lifts my spirit every time.
Autonomy, Control, and Confidence
I need control and structure—common Autistic traits. Cycling gives me both. I choose my route, timing, and pace. I’m not dependent on anyone else, which is incredibly liberating.
Cycling has given me a confidence I rarely feel elsewhere. Taking the lane, fixing a puncture, transporting five kids on a cargo bike—each success builds my self-esteem.
After years of feeling like something was “wrong” with me, those moments have been vital for my mental health.
Final Thoughts
Sarah’s story is a testament to the power of self-understanding and the healing potential of movement. Her journey—from internalised struggle to self-acceptance—offers a clear reminder that sport and active travel can be more than just physical activity. For many neurodivergent people, they are lifelines to wellbeing, joy, and community.
Through Cycle Sisters, Sarah is not only making cycling more accessible to Muslim women—she’s helping redefine what inclusive, affirming spaces in sport can look like. Her story reminds us that inclusion is not about changing people to fit the system, but changing the system to celebrate and support every person.
Find out more about Cycle Sisters: www.cyclesisters.org.uk.
Follow Cycle Sisters on Instagram, Facebook, or Twitter (X).
Takeaways from Sarah’s Story
For Neurodivergent Individuals:
There’s no one right way to be active
→ You don’t have to fit the "sporty" stereotype to find movement that brings you joy.
Your focus and passion are superpowers
→ Special interests and hyperfocus can fuel creativity, purpose, and meaningful work.
What regulates you is valid—always
→ If it soothes your system and supports your wellbeing, you never need to apologise for it.
For Peers, Supporters, and Parents:
Don’t make assumptions about ability
→ Strength, empathy, and leadership can show up differently in neurodivergent people.
Acceptance can be quiet but powerful
→ Just being part of a group with shared purpose can reduce social pressure and increase confidence.
Honour people’s boundaries and preferences
→ Social connection looks different for everyone—respect how others choose to engage.
For Coaches, Leaders, and Organisations:
Inclusion starts with flexibility
→ Rigid formats exclude; adaptable structures open doors for more people to thrive.
Control supports confidence
→ Giving individuals choice over pace, space, and participation can increase safety and success.
Design spaces where people feel they belong
→ Real inclusion goes beyond access—it creates emotional safety and celebrates difference.
This blog post was written by Sarah Javaid. Subheadings were added by the Neurodiverse Sport team to support readability.