Ah, the 80s. A time of neon scrunchies, mixtapes, and, for me, the dawning realization that my brain was not wired like everyone else’s. Except, spoiler alert: no one told me that. I wasn’t "different" in the neurological sense; I was just a problem. A hyperactive, impulsive, can’t-sit-still-for-five-minutes problem.
By the time I was seven, my behavioral report cards read like dramatic monologues: “Too loud, too talkative, too impulsive.” The solution? Medicate me to the gills and hope for the best. Therapy? Oh no, that wasn’t on the table. Why offer coping strategies when you can just hand a kid a bottle of stimulants and call it a day? And thus, I speedballed my way through life on Ritalin and vibes, wondering why dopamine became my favorite drug long before I understood what dopamine even was.
But that’s just the beginning of this wild ride. Let’s break down what it means to discover, decades too late, that your brain is a neurodivergent masterpiece that everyone—including you—misunderstood for most of your life.
ADHD: The Original Plot Twist
Did you know ADHD impacts all four regions of the brain? Neither did I, until I finally did the research in my late 20s when I realized there was more to my struggles than “being bad at focusing.” ADHD isn’t just hyperactivity or forgetfulness; it’s a full-body experience. It affects:
- Attention: Because why listen to one thought when you can have fifty competing for airtime?
- Impulse Control: Ever bought something ridiculously expensive because it “sparked joy” for 2.5 seconds? Same.
- Emotional Regulation: Oh, you thought those intense feelings were normal? Nope. Turns out, the emotional rollercoaster isn’t part of the standard human experience.
- Sensory Processing: Crowds, loud noises, fluorescent lights—everything feels like a personal attack on your nervous system.
I didn’t fully understand any of this until my late 20s, when the ADHD diagnosis I’d been carrying around since childhood finally clicked. By then, the damage was done. I’d internalized decades of being told I was “too much,” “too emotional,” “too everything.”
Autism: The Sequel I Didn’t See Coming
Fast forward to my 40s, when another puzzle piece fell into place: autism. Suddenly, the sensory sensitivities, the rigid routines, the obsessive need to deep-dive into hyper fixations (hello, two-month rabbit hole on 17th-century shipbuilding)—all of it made sense.
It also explained why anxiety became my comfort zone. The constant overstimulation of an ADHD/autistic brain made anxiety feel like home base. If I wasn’t overthinking, panicking, or catastrophizing, was I even alive?
But here’s the kicker: I spent most of my life believing I was broken, not different. That belief shaped everything—my relationships, my career choices, even my ability to trust myself.
Complex Trauma: The Third Act
As if ADHD and autism weren’t enough, let’s sprinkle in some good old-fashioned complex trauma. Growing up in a household where emotional manipulation reigned supreme taught me one thing: never trust your gut. Why? Because your gut was gaslit into oblivion before you hit puberty.
Here’s what happens when trauma and neurodivergence collide:
- Fight-or-Flight on Overdrive: Your brain responds to perceived threats, not actual ones. Spilled coffee? Cue full-blown panic attack.
- Self-Destruction as Survival: You internalize the message that you’re flawed, broken, unworthy. And then you live like it’s true.
- Scapegoat Syndrome: In childhood, you were the problem child. In adulthood, you become the problem partner, friend, or employee. You wear the role like a badge of honor because it’s all you’ve ever known.
This trifecta of ADHD, autism, and trauma creates a perfect storm of sensory overload, emotional dysregulation, and existential despair. And yet, here we are, still standing.
10 Things I Wish I’d Known Sooner
- ADHD isn’t just about being “scatterbrained.” It’s a neurological condition that affects attention, emotions, and how you process the world.
- Sensory overload isn’t you being dramatic—it’s your brain’s way of saying, “This is too much.”
- Anxiety often becomes the default setting for neurodivergent brains. Recognizing it is the first step toward managing it.
- The fight-or-flight response in trauma isn’t an overreaction; it’s a neurobiological survival mechanism.
- You’re not “too much.” The world just isn’t equipped for your intensity—and that’s a them problem.
- Emotional outbursts aren’t failures. They’re your brain’s way of processing overwhelm.
- Complex trauma rewires your brain, but it’s not irreversible. Healing is messy, but it’s possible.
- ADHD and autism often intersect with sensory processing disorders, making everyday life feel like a battleground.
- Vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s strength disguised as bravery.
- You’re not broken—you’re just different. And different isn’t a bad thing.
Where Do We Go From Here?
If you’re nodding along to this chaotic monologue, welcome to the club. The good news? You’re not alone. The bad news? Healing isn’t linear, and life doesn’t come with a cheat sheet.
But here’s what I’ve learned:
- Take the damn nap. Your nervous system needs it.
- Stop apologizing for needing space, silence, or a weighted blanket.
- Find your people—the ones who celebrate your quirks, not tolerate them.
- Therapy isn’t a magic wand, but it’s a damn good flashlight.
- You’re allowed to rewrite your story, no matter how messy the first draft was.
Final Thoughts
Being a neurodivergent woman navigating life post-divorce, post-child-rearing, and post-diagnosis feels like being handed a Rubik’s Cube with no instructions. But here’s the thing: You don’t have to solve it all at once. Take it one twist at a time, and don’t be afraid to throw the damn thing across the room when it frustrates you.
For more chaotic musings on life, love, and everything in between, Subscribe Now to join the journey.
Here’s to embracing the chaos—because sometimes, chaos is where the magic happens.
Add comment
Comments