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In a world that often focuses on deficits and challenges, I want to share some of the strengths that come with my neurocomplex mind. My neurodivergence includes AuDHD (Autism and ADHD),
2e giftedness, mirror touch synesthaesia and heightened existential awareness (plus a few more I could add)—a combination that shapes how I experience and interact with the world in ways that I've come to deeply value.
2e giftedness, mirror touch synesthaesia and heightened existential awareness (plus a few more I could add)—a combination that shapes how I experience and interact with the world in ways that I've come to deeply value.
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“A perspective on living with ADHD, Autism, and the harm of casual comparisons”
"Everyone is a little bit neurodivergent." If you're AuDHD—living with both ADHD and Autism—you've probably heard this phrase more times than you can count. It's usually said with good intentions, meant to be reassuring or inclusive. But here's the reality: this statement minimises and dismisses the profound ways neurodivergent people navigate the world differently.
Being neurodivergent isn't about having quirks or occasional struggles that everyone experiences "a little bit of." It's about fundamentally different neurological wiring that affects every aspect of daily life—from how we process information to how we interact with our environment and other people.
Being neurodivergent isn't about having quirks or occasional struggles that everyone experiences "a little bit of." It's about fundamentally different neurological wiring that affects every aspect of daily life—from how we process information to how we interact with our environment and other people.
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Discovering that I’m autistic as well as ADHD and 2eGifted has been like finding that long-lost puzzle piece that finally completes the picture of who I am. For more than 60 years, I’ve carried an unshakable sense that something was missing—like I was navigating life without the full manual.
The best way I can describe it is this: it’s like suddenly realising the reason I could never “run on Windows” was because I’m actually a Mac. I was built differently, but beautifully, and that difference was never the flaw I believed it to be.
This discovery hasn’t erased the struggles, but it has changed how I see them. I look back at the child I once was—the misunderstood little girl who tried so hard to fit in, who believed she had to be like everyone else—and my heart aches for her. She carried the weight of feeling “wrong” for so long. Today, I want her to know: you have been heard.
We are free now. Free to just be. Free to embrace the wonderful, unique person we were always meant to be.
Of course, the journey hasn’t been without scars. Along the way, I’ve gathered CPTSD, Fibromyalgia, ME/CFS and anxiety. These challenges are part of my story, but they no longer define it. I’ve adapted, learned, surrendered, and risen again, time and time over the decades.
This late diagnosis doesn’t make those years wasted. It gives them meaning. It allows me to honour my younger self for surviving in a world that never fully understood her. Now, together, we can move forward—healing, thriving, and living authentically as the person we were born to be.
The best way I can describe it is this: it’s like suddenly realising the reason I could never “run on Windows” was because I’m actually a Mac. I was built differently, but beautifully, and that difference was never the flaw I believed it to be.
This discovery hasn’t erased the struggles, but it has changed how I see them. I look back at the child I once was—the misunderstood little girl who tried so hard to fit in, who believed she had to be like everyone else—and my heart aches for her. She carried the weight of feeling “wrong” for so long. Today, I want her to know: you have been heard.
We are free now. Free to just be. Free to embrace the wonderful, unique person we were always meant to be.
Of course, the journey hasn’t been without scars. Along the way, I’ve gathered CPTSD, Fibromyalgia, ME/CFS and anxiety. These challenges are part of my story, but they no longer define it. I’ve adapted, learned, surrendered, and risen again, time and time over the decades.
This late diagnosis doesn’t make those years wasted. It gives them meaning. It allows me to honour my younger self for surviving in a world that never fully understood her. Now, together, we can move forward—healing, thriving, and living authentically as the person we were born to be.
- Published on
Navigating life as an AuDHD artist can feel like a dance between two contrasting worlds, each demanding its own rhythm and attention. Much of this I am only just learning to understand myself. At the heart of this journey lies a complex interplay of traits: autism’s need for structure, routine, and deep analysis, and ADHD’s thirst for novelty, spontaneity, and the struggle to form lasting habits.
For instance, my autistic brain finds peace in predictability, needing things organised in a certain way to feel secure. Each morning begins with the same familiar routine, a foundation that keeps me grounded. However, my ADHD can throw a curveball, easily distracted by the allure of something new—a project that pops into my head suddenly, or someone demanding my time during those crucial morning moments. One stray disruption, and my carefully crafted routine unravels, leaving me overwhelmed and struggling to regain stability for days.
Social interactions present another contradiction. My autistic brain overanalyses every detail, seeking clarity in social cues and instructions. I crave meaningful connections, yet find myself drained by the effort of deciphering social nuances. Meanwhile, my ADHD gets overly excited, can over-share, and struggles to stay focused on conversations or follow through with tasks that require sustained attention.
Balancing these dual forces goes beyond daily routines. I often feel the urge to say yes to every opportunity, fueled by my passion for exploration and creativity. Yet, the fear of overcommitting looms large, a constant reminder of past burnouts. Structure provides a sense of security, but too much structure can feel stifling. I crave excitement and spontaneity to keep my creativity alive and thriving.
As an AuDHD artist, my journey is one of resilience and adaptation. It’s about embracing the strengths each trait brings—meticulous attention to detail, seemingly boundless creativity, and a unique perspective—while navigating the challenges they pose. It’s a delicate balance of honouring my need for structure and routine, while allowing room for the unpredictable bursts of inspiration that define my artistic expression.
But it is in this dance of contrasts that makes me who I am as an artist— shaped by the interplay of autism and ADHD, weaving together moments of clarity, creativity, and constant growth. I continue to learn how these two parts of me work themselves together to allow me to be who I am.
For instance, my autistic brain finds peace in predictability, needing things organised in a certain way to feel secure. Each morning begins with the same familiar routine, a foundation that keeps me grounded. However, my ADHD can throw a curveball, easily distracted by the allure of something new—a project that pops into my head suddenly, or someone demanding my time during those crucial morning moments. One stray disruption, and my carefully crafted routine unravels, leaving me overwhelmed and struggling to regain stability for days.
Social interactions present another contradiction. My autistic brain overanalyses every detail, seeking clarity in social cues and instructions. I crave meaningful connections, yet find myself drained by the effort of deciphering social nuances. Meanwhile, my ADHD gets overly excited, can over-share, and struggles to stay focused on conversations or follow through with tasks that require sustained attention.
Balancing these dual forces goes beyond daily routines. I often feel the urge to say yes to every opportunity, fueled by my passion for exploration and creativity. Yet, the fear of overcommitting looms large, a constant reminder of past burnouts. Structure provides a sense of security, but too much structure can feel stifling. I crave excitement and spontaneity to keep my creativity alive and thriving.
As an AuDHD artist, my journey is one of resilience and adaptation. It’s about embracing the strengths each trait brings—meticulous attention to detail, seemingly boundless creativity, and a unique perspective—while navigating the challenges they pose. It’s a delicate balance of honouring my need for structure and routine, while allowing room for the unpredictable bursts of inspiration that define my artistic expression.
But it is in this dance of contrasts that makes me who I am as an artist— shaped by the interplay of autism and ADHD, weaving together moments of clarity, creativity, and constant growth. I continue to learn how these two parts of me work themselves together to allow me to be who I am.