5 minute read
(AuDHD, ADHD, autism, late diagnosis, neurodiversity, masking, burnout, autoimmune disease)
Apparently I have ADHD too.
Another diagnosis.
Another acronym.
Another moment of looking back over my life and thinking, "Well... that explains a lot."
I'm now officially autistic and ADHD. Depending on who you ask, that makes me autistic with ADHD, an ADHDer with autism, or my personal favourite: AuDHDer.
Around 50 to 70% of autistic people also meet the criteria for ADHD. Researchers used to believe the two conditions couldn't occur together, so for years people were often diagnosed with one or the other. We now know that's simply not true. In fact, they're so commonly found together that many people discover one diagnosis only after receiving the other.
Looking back, it really shouldn't have been a surprise.
It explains why I seem to hit a wall at work after about a couple of years. Once I've mastered the job, my ADHD starts craving novelty, challenge, and something different. Meanwhile, my autistic brain is desperately clinging to routine and predictability. It's like having two internal managers who fundamentally disagree on how life should be run.
It explains why I enthusiastically dive into a new hobby every couple of weeks, convinced that this one will be my lifelong passion.
It explains why I'm always losing my phone, keys, remote controls, pens... basically anything that isn't physically attached to me.
It explains why I can be a little impulsive when it comes to shoes, clothes, accessories, or buying all the supplies for my latest hobby before I've even tried it.
One of the biggest revelations, though, is understanding another reason why my autism went unnoticed for so long.
Research is showing that when autism and ADHD occur together, the traits can actually mask each other. ADHD's spontaneity, sociability, and novelty-seeking can make someone appear less rigid than the traditional stereotype of autism. At the same time, autistic routines and structure can sometimes compensate for ADHD-related difficulties with organization and attention. Rather than cancelling each other out, the traits create a unique presentation that doesn't always fit the diagnostic checklists many clinicians were taught.
And because so much of the conversation around neurodivergence has historically focused on young boys with very obvious presentations, many adults—especially women and those who learned to mask—slipped through the cracks.
Living with both conditions often feels like a constant tug-of-war.
Part of me craves sameness, routine, and predictability.
Part of me gets painfully bored by that same routine and desperately wants something new.
It's exhausting.
That constant internal negotiation leaves me feeling perpetually restless, as though my own mind is arguing with itself from the moment I wake up until I go to bed.
I don't think people fully appreciate what that does to a nervous system.
When your brain is constantly trying to reconcile competing needs, your body pays the price. For me, that has often looked like burnout, shutdown, paralysis, and living with autoimmune disease. I know autoimmune disease is complex and has many contributing factors, and I can't say ADHD or autism caused mine. But I do know that years of chronic stress, masking, and living with a constantly overwhelmed nervous system have taken a tremendous toll on my health.
So...
Yay for another diagnosis.
Yay for having another piece of the puzzle.
Yay for finally understanding myself a little better.
And also...
Boo for all the years of not having the right supports.
Boo for growing up believing there was something profoundly wrong with me instead of recognizing that my brain was simply wired differently.
There is grief in a late diagnosis.
Grief for the younger version of yourself who tried so hard.
Grief for the opportunities that might have looked different.
Grief for the energy spent trying to become someone you were never meant to be.
Every day, more autistic and ADHD adults are sharing their stories. They're describing experiences I profoundly relate to. They're giving words to feelings I've carried for decades. They're helping dismantle the outdated stereotypes that kept so many of us hidden.
That's one of the reasons I keep writing this blog.
If someone stumbles across these words while Googling, "Why do I feel like my brain wants routine and chaos at the same time?" or "Why am I constantly losing my keys?"...
...maybe they'll feel a little less alone.
If this blog becomes that tiny moment of recognition for anybody out there, then every awkward moment that led me here has been worth sharing.
0 comments