The Path to Understanding Myself as AuDHD

This is a long overdue follow-up piece, but waaaay back in my first post, I introduced the challenges and realizations that shaped my journey as a late-diagnosed ADHD and self-identified autistic woman. Today, I want to take you deeper — to the overlooked signs, the life-changing moments, and the transformation that came with finally understanding myself.

If you’ve ever felt like you were searching for a missing piece of yourself or struggled to clarify what it was that made you feel misunderstood or different to begin with, this might feel familiar.

As a child, I was the quintessential “good girl” — quiet, introverted, and well-behaved. I spent hours immersed in books, music, and writing, or playing with family animals, a close friend or two, or my Breyer horse collection (less playing, more lining them up for display on my shelves). I loved movies (still do), obsessively rewatching The Little Mermaid, Free Willy, Titanic, Twister, and The Lord of the Rings, to name a few. My connection to certain stories and soundtracks runs so deep that even now, specific combinations of books and music are forever intertwined in my mind.

But when it came to social situations growing up, I almost always felt like I didn’t quite belong, like my way of being just didn’t resonate with most others for an intangible reason I could never discern. At parties, I’d naturally gravitate to my closest friend or find myself standing on the sidelines, unsure how to join in without feeling rude, ridiculous, judged, or rejected.

Navigating most group conversations was (and still is) a constant mystery — by the time I’d figure out something relevant to say, the moment to share had already long passed. Often, topics shift too quickly for my mind to keep up with while simultaneously attempting to analyze the words, tone, facial expressions, and body language of others.

Looking back, I see how much I masked to stave off feeling unwanted — a near-perpetual and unconscious mechanism of camouflage and mirroring utilized for self-protection and fitting in unless I was alone, with animals, or with my most trusted friends. I learned to laugh along when I didn’t understand the joke and to hide my discomfort from offhand comments or scrutiny, becoming small and seeking invisibility to avoid drawing attention to myself. I didn’t realize how much energy it took to blend in, or how deeply it would shape my sense of self (or create a distinct lack thereof) over time.

Without any frame of reference or deeper awareness, these patterns didn’t seem unusual — just me being me, doing the best I could with what I had. I don’t even think I was conscious of what I was doing beyond the simple desire to do whatever I could to avoid feeling the extremely intense sensations of embarrassment, conflict, rejection, shame, and not-enoughness around others and within my body.

Alcohol was something I leaned on heavily in social situations to ease my anxiety, to loosen the grip of hypervigilance, to dull the sharpness of chaotic sensory input, to make me care less about how I might be perceived, to help me tolerate people in general and the often unexpected ways they operate, to make it more fun to be in places with crowds or around people I didn’t know well — heck, even around people I DID know pretty well. It wasn’t until years later, when I began an impromptu exploration of neurodivergence, that the pieces started to fall into place.

In October 2021, a casual conversation with my friend changed everything. We were talking about his brother, who is on the autism spectrum, and what started as curiosity about his brother’s diagnosis quickly became something much bigger. As I explored autistic characteristics, and then female-specific presentations of autism, it felt like my entire life suddenly snapped into focus.

I stumbled across Women and Girls with Autism Spectrum Disorder by Sarah Hendrickx early on in my research. I couldn’t put the book down — it struck a deep chord that sent shockwaves through me. I remember sitting there, heart pounding, heat rushing through my body, my hands trembling as I read story after story that mirrored my own life.

Those moments of mind-blowing awareness were both illuminating and overwhelming. It was as if my entire life had been reframed, finally making sense in a way it never had before. Like I had been climbing a rugged mountain all my life, ill-equipped and shrouded in fog, when suddenly I burst free at the summit and could finally get my bearings.

“I think this might be me… I think I’m autistic,” I worked up the courage to tell my mom and a few close friends in intimate conversations. Those words of disclosure felt absolutely terrifying to say aloud, even with the trust and safe space between us.

And as much as I wanted to just bellow my newfound truth far and wide into the world following this personal revelation, I consciously reined in the energy of that notion. I’m a kind and accepting person, stubbornly optimistic and for sure a bit naive, but I’d been shown time and time again that a lot of people don’t feel the same or engage with the world in this way. What if others didn’t believe me? What if they disputed the truth of my internal lived experience?

Or, worst of all, what if they thought less of me and my capabilities, taking on the maddening social stigma that surrounds our culture’s perception of autism and mental or physical differences in general? What if they viewed me as someone who needed to be fixed or molded to seem more normal, who was suddenly a problem and inconvenience just for existing, who was unlovable as I inherently and innately am?

Facing that harrowing possibility alongside my mind’s overblown catastrophizing about it and then continuing to share this realization anyway was one of the most vulnerable things I’d ever done. Still, to my surprise and gratitude, their responses were filled with love and acceptance, curiosity instead of dismissal or challenge.

In 2023, after two years of reading, reflecting, and sharing with trusted friends (or in virtual spaces that felt safe), I pursued an ADHD assessment through ADHD Online. The results came back fast: ADHD, predominantly inattentive type.

It was a relief to see it confirmed by a professional, even though I had already largely self-identified as autistic + ADHD. This diagnosis didn’t just validate my experiences — it gave me a framework to understand and support myself with more compassion.

I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t “too weird” or “too much” or “not enough.” My brain and nervous system are simply wired differently. For the first time, I felt free to embrace that truth wholeheartedly.

Understanding my neurodivergence has been transformative. It’s taught me to release toxic self-criticism and judgments of perceived character flaws and to lean into the duality of my body-mind and nervous system.

Embracing the Dichotomy of my ADHD and Autism

My ADHD thrives on variety, adventure, expansive ideas, and new challenges. I love trying all kinds of snacks, foods, and spices, learning interesting and resonant skills, interacting with like-minded people, and exploring new places through a nomadic lifestyle.

My autism craves routine, planning, attention to tiny details, solitude, and quiet spaces to recharge. I also love holing up in my home like a hermit, forsaking social pursuits, reading or watching familiar titles, enjoying simple comfort foods, journaling, and spending time immersed in nature alone.

Balancing these two sides of myself hasn’t been easy, but it’s already been deeply rewarding to experiment with different tools and actions that support both aspects of my being.

The Power of Connection

Reading and listening to the lived experiences of others was paramount to my own awakening. It gave me language for what was happening inside me and helped me feel seen. It’s difficult to put into words just how incredible and empowering this is. And as I continued to expand into deeper authenticity and visibility, sharing my story — first with my inner circle, then more openly — I’ve found others on similar paths. There’s a profound sense of belonging in knowing I’m not alone.

Have you ever had a moment of self-discovery that changed everything? Maybe it was a book, a conversation, or a quiet realization that brought clarity to your life.

I’d love to hear your story. Share your thoughts in the comments, or let me know what has helped you embrace your authentic self. Together, we can create a space where our voices are seen and celebrated.

You’re part of a growing wildflower field here. I’m grateful to be sharing space with you.🦋

🫱🏿‍🫲🏻A Note on Community: This is a space built on curiosity, respect, and care. If you’re moved to comment, thank you for doing so with kindness — for me, for my guest, and for others who may be reading vulnerably. Let’s make this a place where it’s safe to be real. 💛

📍Land Acknowledgment: I currently live + record + create on the ancestral homelands of the Nimiipuu (Nez Perce) people. With gratitude, I honor their stories, strength, and stewardship of this land.👣

📷Photos: all pictures by me unless otherwise noted 😎