August 1, 2025

I stared at the screen, feeling both disbelief and agreement with the diagnoses in front of me. At 41, I finally had my answers. A lifetime of feeling like an outsider, not always completely dialed into the jokes or pop culture references. Intense special interests that made me feel a bit odd and childish. Years of second-guessing my interactions long after they occurred, spiraling over what I said and should have said, when the other party had long moved on from the conversation. In school, I was a “nerd” and “goody two-shoes.” I always struggled internally over unspoken social rules. I’ve always been high-achieving in the workplace, but also often perplexed by the rules of social engagement. Luckily, I have worked my way to a leadership position that benefits from standing out among others. The workplace rewards being different, so long as you overachieve and follow basic social constructs.

The psychological evaluation revealed I have autism and ADHD, inattentive type. I felt a little surprised that I have both ADHD and autism, but I mostly felt relief. I’ve spent my entire life feeling like there was something wrong with me–that I didn’t fit in anywhere. With these diagnoses, I finally had an answer. I’m not weird. I’m not an outcast. There’s a reason my brain goes in hyperdrive and then my body crashes. A reason I’m terribly disorganized in my home, but you’ll find one room perfectly staged. Autism and ADHD have been competing against one another in my fascinating brain for all of these years.

I never would have imagined five years ago that I was either of these things. As a lifelong overachiever that thrives in the workplace, my life doesn’t match the televised perception of autism or ADHD. Three years ago, my youngest son was diagnosed with autism and PDA (pathological demand avoidance). From there, researching autism and PDA became a special interest of mine, and I started to see myself in him and the literature. My oldest son was going through learning struggles, and diagnosed with ADHD. My husband is almost certainly autistic, but has no interest in confirming his neurotype. Understanding the strong, although not necessary, genetic component made me question my own contribution to our familial neurodiversity. Unlike my husband, I couldn’t live with not knowing myself. I underwent evaluation, and here I am. It means nothing and it also means everything.

My life experience finally makes sense. I finally belong to a community. My children are in a family full of rich, diverse neurotypes. I can start to figure out what kind of support I need tailored to me, with an understanding of the building blocks I am working with.

My life begins now.