by Understanding both ADHD and autism has helped me work with my brain, not against it.
I was diagnosed with ADHD not once but twice — yet for most of my life, I only knew about one of those diagnoses.
The first diagnosis happened when I was 11. But I wouldn’t know about it until I was 31, during a conversation with my mom after I was re-evaluated as an adult.
Looking back, it makes sense now. I wasn’t the hyperactive, bouncing-off-the-walls kid that doctors often associated with ADHD back then — especially in boys. Instead, I was dreamy, quiet, and lived inside my head. But other signs were there. Signs that went beyond ADHD.
Many of my childhood memories are snapshots of me feeling overwhelmed by experiences that other kids seemed to handle effortlessly.
I remember falling down a flight of stairs and being so terrified afterward that I avoided them for days. Loud noises, bright lights, and sudden changes could overpower me, making me freeze up or lash out. I misread social cues constantly — I was convinced that my classmates hated me when they were just confused by my awkwardness.
School was a blur of inconsistent focus and frustration. I excelled when the subject interested me, but more often, I was staring out the window, lost in imaginary worlds or doodling in the margins of my notebooks. My teachers often had to “call me back” to reality, surprised that I usually knew the answers despite barely seeming present.
I learned to read by age four and had an impressive vocabulary for my age, but my teachers still said I wasn’t living up to my potential. I felt disconnected from the other kids, as though I was living life on a different frequency.
I spent years wishing I could escape to a world where I wasn’t so out of place. I waited for that Hogwarts letter, convinced that if I just found the right world, I would finally fit.
Two Versions of Me
At home, I was both too much and too little.
I was impulsive, throwing toys across the room and feeling an odd satisfaction when they broke. I had tantrums that exhausted everyone around me. But then I could also disappear into a book or my GameBoy for hours, so deeply absorbed that I was unreachable.
There were two “me’s” — the “good me,” who was quiet, sweet, and serious, and the “bad me,” who was loud, difficult, and unpredictable. My mom used to tell me to throw the “bad me” out the car window. I remember miming the action, pretending to grasp this invisible, troublesome part of myself and hurling it away.
I wished I could do it for real — to get rid of the part of me that felt uncontrollable.
Rediscovering My ADHD Diagnosis
When I hit my early 30s, life had become unmanageable. I was drowning in missed deadlines, forgotten appointments, and emotional exhaustion. After a mild mental health crisis, I decided to get evaluated for ADHD as an adult.
The diagnosis wasn’t a surprise. What was surprising was what happened next.
When I told my mom, she casually mentioned, “You were diagnosed with ADHD when you were 11. We just… didn’t want to put you on medication.”
I was stunned. I had spent 20 years feeling like I was constantly falling short, thinking something was wrong with me — and the answer had been there all along. But even with this newfound knowledge, something still didn’t add up.
The Missing Piece: Autism
As I researched ADHD, I kept stumbling across personal stories that resonated a little too deeply. Stories about people discovering that ADHD wasn’t their only diagnosis — they were also autistic.
People were talking about AuDHD, a term used by the neurodivergent community to describe the intersection of ADHD and autism. The more I read, the more I realized these experiences explained the gaps in my understanding.
I had always thought of autism as something that looked very different from my life. But when I read about masking, sensory sensitivities, and hyperfocus, everything clicked.
For the first time, I had a framework that explained why I felt this constant push and pull between chaos and order, spontaneity and structure. My ADHD craved excitement and novelty, while my autism demanded predictability and control.
The Science Behind AuDHD
The overlap between ADHD and autism is more common than most people realize.
- According to the CDC, around 28–44% of people with autism also have ADHD. Other studies place that number between 50–70%.
- Until 2013, when the DSM-V was updated, clinicians weren’t even allowed to diagnose ADHD and autism together. Before then, it was either one or the other.
- AuDHD presents in a unique way, often making diagnosis harder — especially in women and AFAB (assigned female at birth) individuals, who tend to mask their traits more effectively.
I decided to take the RAADS-R (Ritvo Autism Asperger Diagnostic Scale-Revised), a self-report screener designed for people who might slip through the cracks of traditional autism diagnosis. My score? A solid 158 — well above the threshold for “strong evidence of autism.”
Why Identifying as AuDHD Changed Everything
Realizing I was AuDHD wasn’t just a lightbulb moment — it was like someone finally handed me the missing instruction manual to my brain.
I stopped trying to force myself to fit into neurotypical systems. I started asking myself:
- “Is this my ADHD talking, or is this my autism needing control?”
- “Am I overstimulated because I need a break, or am I under-stimulated and craving novelty?”
By understanding both my ADHD and autism, I finally began to work with my brain instead of fighting against it. I allowed myself to build systems that embraced both sides of me. I learned to lean into my hyperfocus when it served me and to honor my need for quiet, structured time when I felt overwhelmed.
The Power of Self-Acceptance
Identifying as AuDHD has given me permission to be my full, authentic self — messy, intense, thoughtful, and everything in between. I’m no longer trying to suppress parts of me that I once thought were flaws.
I’m still learning, still unmasking, and still figuring out what works best for me. But for the first time, I feel like I’m doing it from a place of understanding, not shame.
And that? That changes everything.
