Hello there!
This has been on my mind for a while, and here it is.
I wanted to write a personal blog about my experiences of being AuDHD.
Being Autistic and ADHD (AuDHD), brings a unique set of challenges and experiences. As a psychotherapist who navigates both my own AuDHD world, and works with clients and other therapists who are also neurodivergent, I know the intricate balance required to manage daily life, and more.
This blog aims to share a bit of my experience to shed light on the nuanced realities of being neurodivergent in a neurotypical world. My aim is that this might resonate with some, and maybe help to foster understanding and connection among those who share similar experiences while also acknowledging the diverse perspectives within the broader neurodivergent population.
A Note on Privilege
I have struggled, and do struggle, being neurodivergent in a world not built for me, and I am aware that I struggle a lot less than many others who are more marginalised. What I write is shaped by my own life, steeped in privilege. I've benefitted from many societal advantages, my whiteness, class, nationality, and more, while navigating the complexities of masking, burnout, and the inherent ableism of the world.
I aim to contribute meaningfully to the broader conversation, conscious of my own blind spots. My reflections are not representative of all AuDHDers, but I hope they add to the debate rather than detract from it.
My AuDHD Experience
People often see me as successful, balanced, and positive, and I frequently hear, “I love your energy!” I am those things, sometimes. I am also a lifelong high masker (working on this), and my default when I am struggling is to hide myself away. People generally don’t see me struggling, my burnout, meltdowns or shutdowns. The world doesn't see me when I go non-verbal or when I just cannot function.
My experience of being AuDHD is not entirely positive or negative. It is my wiring, so it is my life. It is also something I have only known about myself for the past four years. At times I love my neurotype. I love that I can feel so in love with life, so deeply moved by being in nature, connect with people (the right people) quickly and deeply, and live a colourful life. I am grateful to have a voice in advocating for and supporting my neurokin with my work and to be doing something I love. But that’s not the whole story.
Every day, as an AuDHDer moving through the world, I have to work to be OK. I have practices like yoga, EFT tapping, meditation, exercise, dog walking, safe foods and routines that allow me to mostly feel OK. I am a homebody in many ways because that’s predictable and safe and allows me to use the least of my limited amount of spoons in just existing. However, I am not always content with this, my interest based nervous system craves dopamine and excitement. In supporting the sides of me that need and want routine I can at times feel starved of interest and novelty. Too much of that and then I am overwhelmed, exhausted and burnt out. Balance is a useful concept to me, and an elusive experience.
Connection vs. Loneliness
I am often happy in my own company, and I often feel very lonely and disconnected (whether on my own or with people). I have made a safe life for myself, but there are costs to this and parts of me that feel unfulfilled and unmet. Too much peopling and I need to get away, to be alone, to recharge, not enough and I do feel lonely and bored. I am the friend that cancels plans, or doesn’t make them in the first place, and in the past I’ve lost friends who weren’t OK with that. I am also the friend who sees you once every few months, years or longer and picks up right where we left off, I am not the friend who can have standing weekly or monthly plans because my energy fluctuates too much for this to be sustainable. And, if I am honest, I don’t miss people. This isn’t an unusual thing for my neurotype, but it can mean that friends who I love, and love to be with, get forgotten for long periods of time. It can also mean friendships never materialise, I have many people I wish I’d gotten to know better.
It is hard for me to balance my energy or to know when I will have more or less. I constantly over and/or underestimate myself. Writing this today, I am overdue a break and feel like I just can’t get enough sleep. Now, this should mean I do not want to do anything. Yet, here I am writing this contradicting what I would have expected from myself. Likewise When I can put in all the measures to ensure I am rested, resourced, and have timed things correctly, I can still find myself unable and unwilling.
I try to build my work week to manage my energy, giving what I need to my client work, without exhausting myself so as not only needing to rest on days off. And sometimes, this is all I can do. As someone with a menstrual cycle, the fluctuations in hormones throughout my month have a distinct effect on my mood, energy, and sociability. And, despite meticulous planning, my energy levels and mood can still surprise me.
Unseen Struggles
I frequently make mistakes due to time blindness and the inability to accurately estimate how long tasks will take, a classic ADHD symptom. The actual ADHD assessment criteria are something like ‘makes careless mistakes’, let me tell you, none of these mistakes are remotely careless for me. I care a lot, a whole lot. Every time. This leads to confusion, stress, and a smaller world than I would like as I try to avoid situations that will highlight these challenges. I use booking software to manage my clients because I got tired of writing the wrong day of the week on messages and the back and forth to correct this, refuelling my shame.
I can’t switch off. “Just put it out of your mind,” they say. Imagine that! My mind is really, really good at holding on to things with a vice-like grip. Whether it’s ruminating over and over on a social interaction that felt off or worrying about something in the future. My mind is a hyper-busy place, usually with some song stuck on repeat on the jukebox, and thoughts fractally firing off into different directions. Mindfulness, meditation, medication, all of these things help with this, but they don’t stop it, they don’t change this fundamental feature. My mind is always running and this takes energy.
Waiting feels like actual physical pain sometimes, especially when the wait is of an unknown length. I am incredibly literal with things people tell me too, so if you say something will take 5 minutes and the clock goes into the 6th minute, I’m going to notice and those extra minutes are going to feel like some special kind of torture. I am British, I know how to queue, and I despise everything about it, the proximity of other humans and their conversations I can’t drown out, the people who don’t follow the rules, the ones who stand too close, the noise of other people breathing, the shuffling snail’s pace. I’ve given up and walked out so many times, even if this is something I actually need to do because I just can’t stand it.
Costs and Deficits of Social Interactions
Recently, I was on a three-day training in Portugal on Polyvagal Theory (PVT) and Internal Family Systems (IFS). My headline for this trip is, “I had a great time, met some brilliant therapists, and learnt some new stuff.” The content of this is that on day one, I felt pretty good. I’d been by myself the day before, all day, walking along the Portuguese coast and listening to podcasts, bliss. I’d eaten out alone, content to watch the hustle and bustle around me. So, on day one, I was capable, fully spooned up, ready. I could speak to people, sit in a comfortable position, and manage my needs. That night, I even went out for food with a small group of therapists. All good.
But by day three, I was tearful, tired, and feeling more disabled than ever. I had to sit on the floor, at the back of the conference room and focus on my crochet just to be able to be there. I felt like the boundary between myself and the rest of the world was paper thin, everything was too much. Why? Because I’d been in this room of people for three days, because I’d been meeting new people, because I’d been in unfamiliar surroundings, without my daily dog walks, or my bed, or my downtime. Everyone I met was lovely, and I truly did enjoy myself. I liked being social, I liked talking all things IFS and PVT, and I was in energy deficit. On this last day there was a question about neurodivergence, and the presenter, whom I know a little, invited me to share something, which I did. The juxtaposition of being an “expert” voice while feeling utterly incapable was apparent.
There is no exertion without consequence, no experience without cost. Even now, I only have this language to express this, which isn’t enough. Everyone knows what it is like for them to feel tired, or overwhelmed, or exhausted, but this is different for ADHDers and autistics, it’s sensory; it’s more than just needing a good night’s sleep. I know other ADHD/autistic people reading this will understand people will only have their frame of reference for what exhaustion feels like, which is not the same.
Conclusion
Living as an AuDHDer is a nuanced experience. It involves balancing the joys of deeply connecting with life, the world, and the universe with the daily challenges of navigating a world not designed for me. I can often feel like an alien trying to fit in to a world where I don't speak the language, or share the customs. Understanding and self-acceptance are ongoing processes.
Sharing this, I hope will resonate with some.
Don’t confuse your sensitivity for weakness!
The final thing to say is that I love my AuDHD self, and I really do. Even at my lowest, most exhausted and most disabled, I wouldn’t change who I am, I don’t wish to be neurotypical. I love the deep and profound love I can feel towards and with life. And I love going down rabbit holes and finding out new information. I love how my brain connects seemingly random things. The feeling I get from spending time with my dogs in the woods, learning new theories and concepts, and having new experiences even from looking out the window at the trees is so deep and soul-tingling. The world is achingly beautiful to me. I love having deep and meaningful connections and conversations with other neurodivergent folks and opening up people’s minds to the realities of autism, ADHD and more. The more I see my sensitivity as what it is, a unique and powerful gift, the more I can work with it.
I hope this was helpful!
Jude.
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