The Ocean Is Dying — We Notice Too

As a kid, I didn’t just have a saltwater aquarium.

I had an entire underwater world in my living room.

While other kids might’ve been into video games or sports, I was memorizing fish species and helping my dad perfect water salinity. I wasn’t just caring for animals — I was tuning into something bigger than myself. And as an autistic person, that focus and connection weren’t just hobbies. They were how I made sense of the world.

The Stillness That Made Sense

The world often felt overwhelming — loud, chaotic, unpredictable. But the ocean didn’t.

Even in a tank, there was a calm rhythm: the steady hum of the filter, the sway of the coral, the effortless glide of a yellow tang moving past a sea anemone. That predictability felt safe. That beauty felt honest.

For someone like me, who feels things deeply and notices details others miss, the aquarium wasn’t just decoration.

It was belonging.

My Dream Tank (Then and Now)

I always imagined expanding it. A brown-banded bamboo shark (as a baby). A snowflake eel hiding in the rocks. A royal gramma flashing that brilliant purple and yellow. Maroon clownfish nestled in their anemone. Parrotfish, tangs, anthias, hawkfish — each with their own needs, behaviors, and roles in the ecosystem.

It wasn’t just fascination. It was care. It was responsibility.

And maybe that’s what autism gave me — not just the ability to go deep on a subject, but the instinct to protect what I understood.

Why This Still Matters

Now, years later, I watch ocean documentaries and feel a grief I can’t fully explain. Coral reefs are dying. Species are disappearing. Plastic is choking the water.

The oceans are sick — and most of the world barely notices.

But I do.

Many autistic people have what are called “special interests.” But that phrase doesn’t capture what it really is. These aren’t hobbies. They’re lifelines. They’re relationships. And when your interest involves living things — like marine life — that bond comes with a fierce kind of loyalty.

From Aquariums to Advocacy

I sometimes wonder if aquariums might be the only place marine life survives in the future. It’s heartbreaking to think about. But maybe that’s why people like me exist — to care deeply, to sound the alarm, to feel what others ignore.

Autism doesn’t make me less human.

If anything, it connects me more — to details, to empathy, to causes that matter.

The same instinct that helped me care for fish as a child is the one that fuels my advocacy today — for neurodivergent people, for our environment, and for a world where everything that’s beautiful is protected, not ignored.

Final Thoughts

We hear a lot about autistic “challenges.”

But what about autistic empathy? Autistic responsibility? Autistic connection?

I didn’t grow out of my saltwater aquarium phase.

I grew into someone who sees life — all life — as something worth protecting.

And I’m not stopping anytime soon.