Tag: Trauma

The following is a personal essay, and reflects the opinion of its author.

September 30, 2025

The Trump administration continued its attack on autism last week, this time by linking Tylenol (acetaminophen) use in pregnancy to autism and strongly discouraging its use. (“Fight like hell not to take it” and “tough it out,” Trump told expectant moms.)

White House Press Secretary Karolina Levitt said, “The Trump administration does not believe popping more pills is always the answer for better health.”

Hold on: I am healthy. So are my autistic friends — and if they aren’t, their health problems aren’t ASD.

Trump isn’t offering a cure for autism. Instead, he and RFK, Jr., are contributing to the burden of stigma that autistic people deal with every day. Autism is not a disease or a mental health condition. It’s both a disability and a kind of neurodivergence.

“Curing Autism” Is Ableist

First off, blaming autism on pregnant people taking Tylenol isn’t just wrong — it’s potentially dangerous. Since ibuprofen and aspirin are known to harm developing fetuses, acetaminophen remains the only painkiller available and safe for pregnant people, as backed by the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, the Society for Maternal-Fetal Medicine, the Autism Science Foundation, and the American Academy of Pediatrics.

During each of my three pregnancies, round ligament pain left me nearly unable to walk. If I had not been allowed to take Tylenol, I would have been bedridden, which can cause deep vein thrombosis, a loss of bone mass, and injury to the heart and lungs.

It’s true that many parents and children would benefit from a better understanding of autism, as well as improved therapies that emphasize accommodation and communication strategies.

Manifestations of autism, to be sure, can cause difficulty and frustration. Challenges with social communication and interaction, as well as “restrictive and repetitive behaviors,” can lead to friction. And autism is a spectrum condition — some people can “mask” their autism and pass for neurotypical. Others may have difficulty communicating their basic needs. For some parents, the difficulties inherent in caring for so-called “low-functioning” autistic children can be enormous. (Though it’s important to recognize that terms such as “low-functioning” are also inherently ableist; autistic people all function differently.)

Those parents need both support and improved interventions. But their children’s brain differences don’t need to be “cured.” We don’t want a “cure.” We want accommodation and understanding.

Claiming that autistic people need to be cured to fit into everyday society implies that neurodivergent people are a burden. “These are kids who… will never pay taxes,” RFK, Jr. said. “They’ll never hold a job, they’ll never play baseball, they’ll never write a poem, they’ll never go out on a date. Many of them will never use a toilet unassisted… and we need to put an end to it.”

As a published poet, I can only assure you that autistic people do indeed write poetry. Beyond that, this language and framing of autism are terrifying — echoing rhetoric that has fueled some of the darkest moments in human history. (That people are linking this administration’s language and policies to eugenics is not an overblown reaction.)

We Don’t Want a Cure for Autism

The vast majority of autistic people don’t want a cure. The idea of curing us pathologizes the way we think, feel, and interact with the world. Instead of a cure, we need help and accommodations from a society structured to favor neurotypical people.

“This administration seems to care a lot about autism as a supposed epidemic,” said Colin Killick, the executive director of the Autistic Self Advocacy Network. “It does not seem to care much at all about autistic people.”

If this government cared, it would enact comprehensive disability legislation (currently being gutted), fund special education for autistic children (also on the chopping block), and provide adequate workplace accommodations and protections for autistic adults (harder to do with the DEI rollback). Instead, our existence is being called “a family tragedy.”

This rhetoric belies the administration’s claims to care about autistic people. Instead, it tells us that priorities lay with eradicating and demonizing people it misidentifies as a societal burden. But we’re far from a burden. Autistic people have the same rights as any other American: the right to joy, the right to self-determination, and the right to make medical decisions without government interference.

We don’t want a cure. We want our value to be acknowledged.

Understanding Autism: Next Steps

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Do you feel like your attention span is that of a rock? Is TikTok rotting your brain to the point where you hyperventilate if you forget to bring your phone with you to the bathroom? (Shout out to those who had to read the backs of shampoo bottles to pass the time when they were kids!) Here’s a novel (the pun should hit you any second) idea to repair it: the mystical art of… reading.

For people with ADHD, the benefits of reading are many:

1. Reading lets you train your brain to focus on something less stimulating than, say, television, social media, or video games.
2. It can support executive functions like working memory.
3. It lets you escape reality for a bit.
4. Finishing a book does wonders for your self-esteem.

But, as someone with ADHD, I know how absurd it sounds to say, “Just sit down and read!”

Reading isn’t so simple if you’re fighting against the weight of inattention, impulsivity, low boredom tolerance, dyslexia or another learning difference, and have a brain that’s accustomed to the overstimulating content on social media. It can feel like having leg weights on your brain 24/7.

The good news is, reading really can be for everyone. With the right mindset, you can slowly re-introduce reading into your life and reap all its benefits, one of the biggest being strengthening your attention muscles.

1. Read what interests you

In college, I struggled to read because I couldn’t play to my interests. Reading for classes became a chore, so I lost all motivation for it. Unless you’re forced to power through reading assignments, find genres that interest you.

• Ask:
  • What did I like reading/watching as a kid?
  • What books, movies, and TV shows do I enjoy now?
  • What genres (horror, sci-fi, romance, fiction, nonfiction, etc.) do I gravitate to?
• If you know what books you like, use this website to find similar titles: meetnewbooks.com

[Read: What Is Dopamine Fasting?]

2. Find music that gets you in the zone

Some people need complete silence to begin reading, but I find that listening to instrumental music helps get me in the zone for focus. YouTube hosts a library of genre-specific playlists that you can have on while reading. I lean toward video game soundtracks, since they are often composed to maximize engagement.

Here are some of my favorites that promote focus for reading:

3. Read at an easy-for-you level

If you’re not much of a reader, or if it’s been a while since you’ve spent time on a book, don’t be ashamed to read books that are “easy” for you or meant for younger readers.

[Read: How to Channel Your Attention]

For example, I read the Percy Jackson series for the first time recently and had a great time with it. I would have loved the books when I was a kid, but, even as an adult, they were great fun to read. I connected with many of its themes, and, as a bonus, Percy also has ADHD that’s presented as more than just the stereotypical hyperactivity. Yay, representation!

Bonus Book Tip: If anyone gives you a hard time about your reading choice, you have a book you can throw at them.

4. Audiobooks count as reading

Some argue that audiobooks don’t count as reading, and they are entitled to their horribly wrong opinions.

Audiobooks are great for focusing busy minds. When I’m in a cleaning frenzy because people are coming over and the house looks like it was ransacked by a thief, I put a book in my ear and get to work. An engaging story helps kick me into gear for the otherwise mind-numbing work of cleaning.

Bonus Book Tip: Listening to an audiobook while reading is a great way to double-focus on the text. This can be particularly helpful if you’re assigned to read things outside of your interest.

5. It’s OK to stop reading

If a book isn’t clicking with you, move on. Your interest-based brain will tell you when to set down a book; listen to it. If you’re reading the same sentence over and over, or your mind wanders more often than normal, it may be time to try another book.

To mitigate the financial burden of DNFing (Did Not Finish) a lot of books, which may happen while you are trying to get into reading, I recommend either using the “Download Sample” feature for Kindle Books on Amazon or getting a library card. (Most libraries grant access to e-books and audiobooks on top of print versions.)

A Final Word

If your goal with reading is to increase your attention span, great. But I’d encourage you to think about other benefits that come with focusing your attention. I have no doubt that reading has made me a better person and has helped me manage different aspects of my ADHD, most of the time without even realizing it.

ADHD and Attention Span: Next Steps

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A 17-year-old who excels in school but waits until the night before college applications are due to ask for recommendations.

A 14-year-old team captain who fights with his younger sibling as if he were 6 himself.

A 12-year-old with plenty of friends who forgets basic hygiene like brushing teeth or showering.

These are just a few ways that the gap between chronological age and developmental age shows up in youth with ADHD – a mismatch that leaves many parents bewildered.

ADHD, like autism or a learning disability, is a neurodevelopmental disorder. In plain terms, it means that your child may not always “act their age.” It’s why your child keeps pace with peers or even excels in some areas but falls well behind in others. The gap feels especially troubling as demands (and their consequences) balloon over time. Your child may be chronologically ready to get their driver’s license or go away to college, for instance, but they may not be developmentally ready.

You’re not the only one who sees the mismatch. Your child likely sees and feels it, too. For many children and teens with ADHD, the gap between their abilities and their peers’ often drives self-esteem challenges. It can deflate motivation, cause them to withdraw, and prompt them give up trying for fear of doing it wrong. Helping your child understand this temporary delay while building hope for their future can make a tremendous difference.

As your child continues to mature, use these tips to meet them where they are, support their independence, and help them reach their full potential.

[Read: What Parents Misunderstand About Executive Function]

1. Identify Your “Shoulds”

• Stop yourself when do you find yourself thinking, “My child should be able to do ___.”
• Ask: What are some expectations that you, your child’s school, or coach are maintaining, and your teen is not consistently meeting?
• Consider: If you subtracted a few years from your child’s age, would their behavior or skill level appear more appropriate?

“Shoulds” are cognitive thinking traps that fuel frustration and burnout and may even break family ties. Remember that studies suggest youth with developmental differences may function one to three years behind their peers in emotional regulation, impulse control, social awareness, and other areas. While your child may strive to be on the same page as others, the reality is different. It’s more productive to focus on adjusting expectations and building skills.

So if you find yourself thinking: He should know better than to miss assignments. He should always turn them in on time in middle school.

Try to think: It makes sense that this is hard for him. Although he is 13, his brain is working more like a 9- or 10-year-old on this skill. I’ll keep this in mind and work with him to figure out how I or school can help.

2. Create a Pathway for Success

Adjusting expectations doesn’t mean lowering them. You are meeting your child at their current maximum capacity and still nudging them forward. With that in mind, what would your child need to learn or do to develop lagging skills? What’s your role in supporting them, and who can help you?

[Read: How Can I Help My Teen Adopt a Growth Mindset?]

Be reasonable with yourself and what you can be expected to do as a parent vs. what would be the role of a teacher or support person.  If turning in assignments on time is an issue, can you scaffold with visual reminders, checklists, routines, and other supports? Can a teacher provide reminders or assist with a daily planner?  Loop your child into these conversations so they feel part of their growth.

If your child is working toward an activity they’re not developmentally ready for, like driving, provide clear guidelines and timelines for what you need to see from them to reach this goal. Remind your teen that it’s not that they’re forbidden from the activity; they just can’t do it “yet” — a tremendous difference for teens with ADHD and self-esteem challenges.

3. Where Does Your Child Shine?

Catch and reward moments of growth, and be sure to recognize your child’s efforts, not just outcomes. At the same time, ensure that your child has ample opportunity to participate in activities where they shine, like a sport or a hobby, to remind them of what their capabilities.

Let your child face small challenges independently and think like a coach; too much rescuing can reinforce anxiety and low self-esteem. Teach your child that moments of discomfort are learning opportunities that help them grow into the person they want to be. (Even better, model what you do when you face tough moments.)

Reassure your child that everyone develops at their own pace. As for yourself, know that many kids with ADHD “catch up” in maturity in young adulthood. Parenting a child with ADHD is not easy — and neither is being one.  But with greater understanding of your child’s development, you can give them the compassion and space to develop at their own pace.

ADHD and Developmental Age: Next Steps

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Mental health screenings in schools offer vital insights into a child’s emotional and behavioral needs. Contrary to what some government leaders claim, these screenings reduce stigma. They help us start conversations about how we can support youth as an unprecedented mental health crisis affects this group. They save lives.

Why Mental Health Screenings in Schools Matter

Every parent wants their child to feel safe and supported in school. (As the parent of a 13- and 9-year-old, I am no different.) But rising rates of stress, depression, anxiety, and other challenges interfere with learning — and aren’t always visible.

The primary questions schools must address: How do we identify these needs before they become more severe? What is currently being done to help kids? And what alternatives should we consider?

[Read: Why School Stress Is Toxic for Our Children]

Mental health screenings are important tools to this end. To be clear, these tools do not diagnose, assign clinical labels, or pathologize children. These screenings, which are completed in under a minute, act as critical early-warning systems. They give teachers and parents actionable insights into a child’s needs and prevent long-term problems. They are similar to vision and hearing screenings conducted regularly in every school in the U.S. that indicate additional services a student may need.

Screening research shows that youth whose needs are identified early are less likely to miss school, fall behind academically, or experience difficulty with peers. In my own research across multiple states over the last decade, I’ve seen how school mental health screenings help students who might otherwise slip through the cracks.

Referrals for health services are often made only after a student has experienced multiple or severe challenges. Screenings from teacher, parent, and student perspectives give schools a whole view of the child that allows us to catch issues early, especially among those who are suffering silently.

Far too often, teachers and parents are surprised by what these screenings reveal, like emotional difficulties in a straight-A student. I think about what we often hear when a student dies by suicide, for instance: that they were “never on the radar” because of how well they did in school. School screenings can help us avoid these tragic outcomes.

[Read: “It’s OK to Not Be OK” What Emotionally Struggling Students Need to Hear]

The Health of Our Children

There is no research to support that asking children about their emotions and behaviors creates stigma. In fact, the opposite is true. Research clearly demonstrates that universal screenings reduce the feeling of being singled out. Asking students about their needs opens a critical conversation into their health that would otherwise not happen.

Screenings and regular emotional check-ins can be an important, routine part of school. These checkups — from the neck up — are as important as routine well-child visits at the doctor’s office.

The reality is schools have faced increasing mental health needs over the past few decades. Yet, many schools only react when severe problems emerge. Screenings give every child the opportunity to be seen, every parent the chance to be heard, and every school the ability to respond with timely care rather than react to crisis. This is goal we all agree is worth pursuing.

Schools and Mental Health: Next Steps

Nathaniel von der Embse, Ph.D., is a professor of school psychology at the University of South Florida, and Co-Executive Director of the School Mental Health Collaborative, a national research and resource center that advocates for student mental health.

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The following is a personal essay, and reflects the opinion of its author.
September 23, 2025

Yesterday, President Donald Trump carelessly advised that pregnant people should avoid Tylenol (acetaminophen), suggesting it causes autism. As an autistic, ADHD parent and social scientist, I can say plainly: this isn’t science; it’s fear-mongering. It revives mother-blaming myths, weaponizes uncertainty, and treats autistic existence as something to prevent rather than accept.

What the Evidence Actually Shows

The scientific record does not support a causal link between prenatal acetaminophen use and autism. Some observational studies report small associations — slightly higher rates of autism or ADHD in children whose mothers used acetaminophen during pregnancy — while others find no link. Associations aren’t causation, and these studies are limited by confounding and measurement problems that Trump and others in his administration didn’t mention in their press conference, which has been widely criticized.

A stronger test comes from sibling-comparison research. In a large 2024 Swedish study¹, researchers compared brothers and sisters born to the same mother when she used acetaminophen in one pregnancy and not another. If acetaminophen truly caused autism, the exposed children should show higher autism rates than their unexposed siblings. They didn’t. Once you hold family factors constant — shared genetics, home environment, maternal health — the supposed link disappears. That tells us that the small associations in simpler studies are likely explained by family-level factors (like genetics, infections, or maternal conditions) rather than acetaminophen itself. Claims that Tylenol “causes” autism ignore this stronger evidence.

[Research: Tylenol Use Is Safe During Pregnancy]

The Old Pattern of Blaming Mothers

Blaming pregnant people for autism continues a well-documented pattern of pinning differences on maternal failings. Mid-20th-century theories accused “refrigerator mothers” of causing autism and “schizophrenogenic mothers” of causing mental disorders in children. Those ideas did real harm — and they were wrong. The Tylenol scare repeats the pattern with new props.

This narrative loads families with guilt and second-guessing, fuels anxiety and depression, and can worsen perinatal mood disorders. It also discourages care: Some parents may avoid needed pain relief for their children, and some pregnant people may forgo safe, indicated treatment because they fear being blamed for lifelong outcomes. Maternal blame doesn’t support health; it undermines it.

Autism Is Human Diversity, Not a Defect

Efforts to hunt for single preventable causes — and to attempt to police pregnant people’s behavior — assume autism is a problem to eliminate. It isn’t. Autism is a heritable, lifelong form of human variation. Treating it as pathology invites stigma, casts autistic people as mistakes to be avoided, and revives eugenic thinking. It also distorts policy priorities: funds and attention shift from access, supports, and accommodations toward “prevention” or pressuring autistic people to mask or pass.

The practical alternative is clear: respect autistic ways of being; invest in communication and sensory supports; expand inclusive schooling and healthcare; and measure success by quality of life, not by reducing the number of autistic people.

[Read: “Rising ADHD and Autism Rates Reflect Education — Not a Crisis”]

What Responsible Communication Looks Like

This administration owes the public both accuracy and humility. Responsible communication distinguishes association from causation; explains uncertainty; avoids single-factor stories about complex traits; and centers the people most affected — in this case, autistic people and pregnant people. It resists the urge to make sweeping behavioral edicts based on contested findings. And it keeps the focus on what helps: access to prenatal care, evidence-based guidance from clinicians, and robust supports for autistic children and adults across the lifespan.

The Cost of Moving the Goalposts

But by asserting that acetaminophen use in pregnancy causes autism, the President shifts public focus toward prevention and surveillance of pregnant people rather than acceptance and support for autistic people. That move has a price. It diverts attention and resources to unhelpful causes and spreads avoidable fear — fear that lands hardest on those with the least margin for error, the least access to care, and the most to lose from stigma.

Autism is human diversity, not a defect. Policymakers should focus on what matters: not finding the “answer” to a complex neurotype like autism, not blaming mothers, but making autistic lives easier, safer, and freer.

Autism and Neurodiversity: Next Steps

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The sensory world presents its own set of contradictions for AuDHD women. We can be highly reactive to sensory input, yet also seek it out. Our ability to tolerate stimulation can fluctuate significantly from one minute to the next, making it hard for us — and the people around us — to predict our reactions.

We often desire highly stimulating environments, but we need to be the ones in control of the stimulation, since our needs are so specific and dynamic. We might eagerly plan a dinner party, craving the social energy, then spend the evening dimming lights, adjusting music volume, and slipping away to recharge when the sensory input becomes too much. From the outside, we can come across as unpredictable and domineering, when we’re just doing our best to stay comfortable.

Many of us also develop socially acceptable stims that don’t appear “weird” to outside observers. For me, this includes systematically filtering through clothing websites in a ritualized, repetitive pattern that provides visual, mental, and physical regulation. From the outside, I probably just look like someone scrolling through Poshmark. But for me, it’s about quietly managing my nervous system.

[Read: When ADHD Overstimulation Meltdowns Happen, Give Us Grace – and Space]

Distractibility, novelty-seeking, and a tendency to expect the worst all contribute to the ADHD-related challenge of staying with the good and shaking off the bad. When this happens with my own therapy clients with ADHD, I recommend self-monitoring, or the practice of observing your mood and behavior with intention. In my experience, it has powerful effects on symptom control and wellbeing.

If self-monitoring is new to you, here are two ways to work it into your everyday life.

Self-Monitor to Notice Your Wins

The ADHD brain is often quick to fixate on the next big thing — landing your dream job, making your TikTok post go viral, hoping for love at first sight on your next date — which can crowd out simple pleasures. Self-monitoring helps you stay with your small moments of joy.

[Get This Free Download: Make Mindfulness Work for You]

Happiness comes from the smallest seeds — moments like:

• giving directions to a lost tourist
• getting positive feedback in an art class
• showing up on time for an appointment
• crossing an item off your to-do list
• hearing from a friend who you thought was mad at you
• having something go smoothly that you thought would be a hassle

Individually, these happy moments may not be life-changing, but as they add up over the course of the day, they have tremendous effects on mood. Plus, focusing on micro-moments crowds out negative thoughts. The more you notice these moments of happiness, the more you expect to find them.

Your task: Each day, track pleasant moments of happiness that you’d rate between 1 to 3 on a 10-point happiness scale, with 10 being euphoric. Keep a running list of low-level happy moments on your phone or in a notepad — whatever promises the easiest reference. You’ll notice a change in your mood in as little as a week. A few of these moments a day can sustain happiness better than waiting for that rare 10/10 moment.

[Read: How to Get Out of a Funk]

Self-Monitoring as a Mental Spam Filter

Self-monitoring isn’t just about tracking the good. It’s also about noticing — and managing — the mental junk mail. Just as an email spam filter catches scammy or irrelevant messages, self-monitoring can help you notice, identify, and delete unhelpful thoughts.

It’s not your fault if your thoughts trend negative. Humans evolved to survive by rehearsing threats, and people with ADHD often develop negative thought patterns from years of difficulty. But it is your responsibility to manage what you let into your mental inbox. That said, negative pop-ups from your inner critic like “I’m going to fail,” “I’ll be rejected,” or “I can’t handle this” are not messages that deserve your attention; they’re spam. They show up uninvited and threaten to derail your focus or your mood. The mere act of recognizing these messages as junk mail does a lot to reduce their impact.

Simple Pleasures & ADHD Mood Monitoring: Next Steps

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Watching my preschool son at the playground was stressful. It’s where we picked up early clues that he was different. He didn’t understand the other kids’ way of playing. While he was motivated to connect with them, he didn’t know how.

Kids could tell he was different, but they weren’t sure in what way. He was just quirky enough to become an object of curiosity rather than a friend.

Other signs of his social challenges became apparent over time. He struggled to understand others’ perspectives. He lacked confidence. He didn’t have an instinct for who to approach, and after a few misfires, he would withdraw and give up.

When my son started school, we were told that he needed help with social development and peer communication. In other words, he had to learn friendship skills, explicitly. Soon we had an autism diagnosis, and it all made a little more sense.

I’m overjoyed to say that my son, now 12, has friends he cherishes — friends who are neurodivergent like him. While we both felt the pain of his earlier friendship challenges, we are all in a better place now.

If your neurodivergent child longs for social connection, consider these steps that helped my child make good, caring friends.

[Get This Free Download: A Friendship Guide for Kids with ADHD]

1. Explore Social Skills Groups

We were fortunate to join a school with inclusion and social development baked into its values. Still, we took extracurricular friendship classes after school. The program we joined included a parent training component that had us practice scripts, facilitate phone calls, and report our child’s progress on social-skills homework. (The children worked on their social skills in a separate group.)

Some people may question the value of teaching autistic kids friendship skills, and I understand why. I don’t want my kid to be taught arbitrary neurotypical norms. I don’t care if he makes eye contact or small talk and I would never force any kid to make a friend. The deciding factor for us was my son’s longing for connection. Though he never asked for play dates, I saw how happy he got when I arranged time with other kids.

2. Question your Urge to Intervene

Many times throughout my child’s friendship journey, I had to ask myself, “Is my urge to intervene coming from his longing to connect, or from my anxiety that he may never have friends?”

Grounding myself, I would observe. Did he actually want to join the game, or was he content to watch? I guess watching a game before jumping in makes sense, honestly.

Pausing to consider what’s really going on will help you avoid pressuring your child and even creating awkward social situations.

[Read: Will My Child Ever Have a Best Friend?]

3. Choose the Right People for Play Dates

Parents of “easy” kids will not plan ahead for play dates. In fact, they will probably see the play date as a way to take a break. When I get a call ahead of time from a parent asking probing questions and setting clear boundaries, I know I’ve found my people.

4. Prepare Your Child

Use social stories, checklists, or role-play with puppets to get your child ready. Discuss what to expect: time of day, activity, food, and location. Keep playdates short, and don’t stress if a friendship doesn’t blossom in an hour. Kids need time to warm up. My son’s relationship with one friend started off rocky and improved over time.

5. Support Your Child’s “Friend Files”

Once your child has a friend, encourage a mental “friend file.” After each visit, ask what they learned about their friend and remind them before the next meeting. If they’re unsure what the other child likes, don’t push — perhaps you noticed something you can gently suggest.

6. Suggest Questions, But Don’t Force It

Asking questions is pivotal to building friendships. When your child is ready, they can ask a question and listen to the answer. If they’re stuck, suggest questions or role-play with puppets. Nonspeaking kids can use gestures or their AAC device.

7. It’s a Process

Some days your child will talk your ear off about the classmate with shared interests; other days, social challenges will feel overwhelming. My own child is still learning how to ask friends to hang out after school, but that will come. Social skills – and good friendships – don’t develop overnight.

Neurodivergent Youth and Friendships: Next Steps

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Does the back-to-school season fill you with anxiety and dread? Do other parents of teens with ADHD dread the Fall like I do?

This late-summer stress is a somewhat new phenomenon for me. Elementary school was great — truly. Excellent teachers, good class sizes, even programs for gifted students. My daughter was about two grade levels ahead in her reading abilities. She received great remarks during parent-teacher meetings, though there was always a comment about her chattiness. (In retrospect, this was her verbal hyperactivity, which we didn’t know then was due to ADHD.)

But the bomb exploded in middle school — the fallout of the pandemic and puberty. Enter the days of virtual open houses, parent-teacher meetings held over Zoom, books replaced with dizzying learning hubs (what happened to the books?!), and assignments becoming “optional” — a problem when my daughter needed structure. We sat for hours at the dinner table working on homework together. I noticed then that my child had developed a paralyzing obsession with her homework being perfect and had constant writer’s block. How did my gifted student become so stuck?

[Read: 5 Back-to-School Tips to Ease Parental Anxiety]

We were already seeing a therapist for help with sleeping issues when my daughter introduced the idea that she might have ADHD. Sure enough, after a lengthy process, she was diagnosed with inattentive ADHD, which answered so many questions.

Getting her back on track academically should have been straightforward then, right? Nope. How naïve I was. The first 504 meeting didn’t happen until months after her diagnosis. While the school and I agreed on measures they’d take to support my daughter, consistency in applying those supports is an ongoing headache. Also, even with a 504 Plan, no two teachers are the same.

So here we are riding the struggle bus each and every semester. Paper assignments get lost in a black hole, check-in sheets fall through the cracks, due dates and deadlines are logged in a portal somewhere. Or maybe they’re in an e-mail. Or on a white board. Or on a desk calendar. Who knows? Every semester is the same circus of multiple emails and phone meetings with the school to address issues. And adding to the chaos of it all are elements outside of our control, like how much my child likes her teacher. Her success in class pivots on this critical factor.

It’s been a hard road, and I am dreading the start of the sh*tshow yet again. But there are a few glimmers here. We are fortunate enough to have connected with a neurodivergent counselor who sees my daughter weekly for help with executive functioning skills and organization. We spent the summer finding a medication routine that works, and we have psychiatry on board for monthly medication management. It is taking a task force.

[Read: Parents — This Is YOUR Back-to-School Survival Guide]

The thing that breaks my heart the most is that my daughter is so smart — wicked smart. She can out-debate me on any topic, any day, but her grades do not reflect her brilliance. They reflect whether she can turn in items on time and completed, so we are almost guaranteed failure. But as I have since Day One, I will show up for her so she can see that the important things in life are always worth fighting for.

Back-to-School Stress: Next Steps

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I’m the mom who forgets about the birthday party. Not in the quirky, lovable, hot-mess rom-com way — just in the regular way, where the invitation has been quietly sitting in my inbox beside its 20,957 best friends.

I’m also the mom who doesn’t have one master family calendar but three. Two backups for the one I’ll sure lose. I have a phone with 30 open tabs, none of which contain useful information.

Dinner is often rice and beans. Or cereal. Occasionally, a Hail Mary of defrosted chicken nuggets. I’m allergic to meal planning. The sheer cognitive toll of deciding what four people will eat every day until one of us dies is, frankly, unreasonable.

I have ADHD, and intensive parenting — the competitive, Pinterest-soaked, color-coded-calendar version — is incompatible with my brain. I do not optimize. I do not hover. I do not remember which child needs a permission slip signed by Tuesday. I cannot be the neurotypical Super Mom.

What Being a Mom with ADHD Looks Like

But what I lack in consistency, I make up for in presence. I’m here — tired, overwhelmed, probably late — but real. My kids know I’m going to try hard to understand them. They know I’ll show up when it matters. They also know that getting their lunches from the kitchen island to the car is on them. Not as some executive-functioning growth opportunity; it’s because I genuinely can’t remember to do it. We run a household, not a one-woman cruise ship.

There are rules, but not because I love order. Without rules, this whole operation would collapse into feral anarchy within 48 hours. We don’t do loud noises after dark. We don’t change plans at the last second. We don’t start new craft projects 10 minutes before we leave the house. These aren’t discipline strategies or keeping my house guest-ready hacks. They’re survival.

My kids aren’t getting the idealized maternal “holding environment.” They’re getting a person. One with sensory sensitivities, time blindness, and a running monologue about how late we’re going to be. But they’re also getting someone who apologizes, who names what’s happening, and who doesn’t pretend to be fine when she’s not.

Failing Spectacularly at Maternal Perfection

This is not the motherhood I was promised or expected. It’s definitely not what the parenting books described. But, then again, I don’t think the promise was ever realistic. The myth of the tireless, ever-regulated, selfless mother was always a performance, one designed to glorify unpaid labor and keep us too exhausted to question the premise.

Lucky for me, my ADHD refuses to perform that role. Not out of rebellion but inability. I cannot dissociate my own needs and regulate everyone else’s feelings for 18 years while also remembering it’s Pajama Day at school. And so, because there is no other choice, I let the performance collapse. I try to tell the truth instead.

I’ve come to understand that perfectionism is defensive. It’s not really about care or connection. It’s about control, and, honestly, it’s kind of a lonely hobby. So the fact that my ADHD won’t let me perform maternal invincibility might actually be a gift. A gift that shows up late, wrapped in grocery bags, and somehow makes it five miles on the roof of my car. But still, a gift. Because what my kids get instead is the good kind of messy: mistakes I own, apologies that matter, and love that’s visibly trying.

Parenting with ADHD is a daily negotiation with the limits of my own mind and body. It’s missing the spreadsheet link but still showing up with snacks. It’s low-grade panic mixed with daily improvisation and regular deep attunement. It’s toast for dinner and an elaborate made-up story featuring the day’s challenges and my kids as heroes at bedtime. In those moments, I see that “failing” to perform in a culture that demands maternal perfection might just be the best thing I do for my kids.

Being a Mom with ADHD: Next Steps

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In the ADHD world, to-do lists are often synonymous with overwhelm. There’s the risk of losing them or forgetting they exist (out of sight, out of mind, right?), filling them with vague goals instead of clear tasks, feeling guilty about ignoring them, and falling into myriad other traps that render to-do lists useless and ineffective.

For a better, more effective tool you’ll stick to, try these to-do list ideas.

Create Master Lists to Avoid Redundancy

If you find yourself writing the same type of list over and over, why not make a more permanent list that you can refer to repeatedly? Here are a few ideas.

• Keep separate lists on your phone for each of your regular stores with the items you typically purchase there.
• Print a copy of a grocery master list and hang it on your fridge door. When you realize you’re running low on an item, circle it on the list.
• Hang a sign by the door listing all the items you regularly take when you leave home — phone, keys, wallet, and so on. Even better: Keep activity-specific lists by the door (gym, kid’s soccer practice, work, etc.)
• In each area of your home (kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms, hallway), keep a laminated list of weekly cleaning tasks. Place it in a conspicuous place where you can mark things off with a dry erase marker as the week progresses. At the end of the week, erase and reuse for the next week.
• Keep a packing list in your luggage. Your future self will thank you!

[Get This Free Download: Finish Your To-Do List TODAY]

Write Actionable Lists

Long, vague lists are easy to ignore. Keep lists actionable and practical with these tips:

• Keep separate to-do lists for work, home, and other areas of your life. Each list should feature three high-priority tasks to be done that day at the top.
• Keep a running, separate list of big ideas and long-term projects. While this list can get long, it can also be the pool from which you fish your daily top three tasks. And you can always select more duties to complete on a day when you feel more motivated.
• Be specific about what needs to be accomplished by breaking down tasks into smaller parts.
  • Instead of “car to mechanic” try “call to schedule oil change and tire rotation.”
  • Instead of “clean kitchen” try “wipe down counter and stove” and “wash dishes in the sink.”
• Assign times to your to-do list tasks and estimate each one’s duration. You may note, “12pm: Call to schedule oil change and tire rotation. 15 minutes.” Sort to-do list items in chronological order.
• Include phone numbers, addresses, links, or any other pertinent information with to-do entries. This will help reduce friction, eliminate the possibility of getting sidetracked, and increase your motivation to get the task done.
• Does it need to go on a list at all?
  • If you can do something in two minutes or fewer, just go ahead and do it instead of adding it to your list.
  • Could daily reminders on your phone suffice for frequent tasks, like taking medication, watering the plants, taking out the garbage, or collecting your mail?
  • Can you automate recurring tasks, like bill payments, and sign up for auto-ship or subscription services? Pet food, medications, and household staples are great candidates for automation.

[Read: The Power of a Well-Crafted To-Do List]

Make Lists Memorable to Follow Them

Take a second to think about what list type or format will grab your attention.

• If paper and pen don’t do it for you, try a highly rated productivity app that can help you create and keep track of tasks. Some apps allow you to set reminders and chart your progress.
• Try writing your list on a whiteboard, sticky note, or colorful paper. Place the list in a location that you’re sure not to miss, like the fridge or the center of your bathroom mirror.
• Review your to-do list three times a day (preferably morning, afternoon, and evening), spending no more than 10 minutes each time. This will force you to notice your list and judge your progress. Decide the best time of the day for these check-ins and set a recurrent alarm to prompt action.
• Enlist the help of an accountability partner! Review your to-do lists together and check in with each other daily. A quick text can serve as a reminder and keep you motivated to cross off items.

To-Do List Ideas for ADHD Minds: Next Steps

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I was the kind of educator who cried after IEP meetings. Who took parent complaints home like barbs under the skin. Who paced the kitchen at midnight rehearsing conversations that never happened.

You see, I am not just an educator. I am a caregiver-educator — a combination that caused me not to burn out, but to incinerate.

Like many educators, I never clocked out of my caregiving identity. For years I carried the unbearable weight of emotional labor, amplified by undiagnosed ADHD.

My classroom was a whirlwind of innovation and empathy. My home life, on the other hand, was a cycle of collapsing into silence and guilt. I could write a six-week unit plan in a weekend but forget to start the dishwasher. I could advocate fiercely for students with disabilities but freeze when my own child melted down. I was highly capable and chronically exhausted.

Teacher Burnout & My Breaking Point

It started during one Christmas break. I was raw from months of school stress and worn thin from family tension. Then, at the last minute, a plan that would have given me a place at the holiday table was canceled. I tried to be gracious. But that night cracked something open. I spent Christmas Eve alone, seething with rejection and stewing in shame. I completely unraveled, and it was my son who caught the shrapnel. That moment became the beginning of my understanding.

[How Burnt Out Are You? Take This Quiz to Find Out]

I didn’t realize I had ADHD until after my son was diagnosed. I remember sitting in the psychologist’s office, hearing her describe my son’s brain and realizing she could’ve been describing mine. I’d spent my entire career teaching and coaching students with ADHD, and somehow I had missed the fact that I was one of them.

And in the months that followed, I began to name what was happening to me overall: disillusionment, burnout, compassion fatigue, demoralization, and moral injury. I call them the Five Fires. Caregivers, including educators, are at risk. And when you’re raising children with unique needs while also trying to teach them, you’re often burning in more than one.

The Caregiver-Educator with ADHD

ADHD caregivers are especially vulnerable to this kind of collapse. We feel deeply, so we show up big. We care ferociously, so we keep pouring from an empty cup and blame ourselves for not being strong enough to keep it going.

No one really sees the educator-caregiver with ADHD in full collapse. They see the clipboard and the clever lesson plan, but they don’t see the meltdown in the pantry. They don’t see the silent apology after a reactive outburst. They don’t see the guilt that settles like ash over every interaction.

[Read: “What I Wish Someone Had Told Me Before My Flaming ADHD Burnout”]

But we see each other. We see the texts left on “read” because there’s no energy to respond, and the half-read self-help books and the bookmarked podcasts. We see the moments we try to break generational cycles while holding our breath through our own triggers.

Recovering from ADHD Teacher Burnout

If this is you — if you’re a neurodivergent caregiver-educator wondering how it is that you can hold an entire classroom together but lose it when your kid refuses to eat dinner, please hear this: You are not broken. You are burned. Burned doesn’t mean that it’s over, only that it’s time to rebuild.

Healing didn’t come to me in one grand gesture, but through a series of small permissions: to stop overperforming just to prove I belonged. To rest when I was tired, not at the point of collapse. To see myself as more than the roles I served. I sometimes fall back into the fire, even with daily practice. The difference is that now I know the signs and I’m better at rising again.

Your ADHD doesn’t make you a bad parent or a failed teacher. It means your nervous system is working overtime in a world not built for it. You’re wired to care. That’s not a weakness. That’s a kind of flame, too.

Teacher Burnout: Next Steps

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ADHD has a way of making good streaks feel like ticking time bombs. There’s a rush that comes from finally feeling on top of things. But smoldering underneath the momentum is a burning fear: When will I mess up next?

Can I really be blamed for living like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop? It’s been this way even before my late diagnosis of inattentive ADHD at 40. It comes from a pattern: No matter how many checklists I prepare or planners I use but don’t stick to (if you know, you know), there’s always something important that I’ll miss despite all the other things I’ve managed to achieve. Sometimes it’s forgetting to toss out the empty protein bar wrapper. Sometimes it’s leaving the garage door open or the front door unlocked.

I do so well — until I don’t. It’s almost like I’ve come to learn to fear success because it means failure is lurking.

The Other Shoe Syndrome: Bracing for Failure

When I inevitably mess up, the shame doesn’t trickle in. It crashes over me like a tidal wave. There’s shock, embarrassment, frustration, self-disgust, and confusion. Was my progress even progress at all? The crushing disappointment of it all chips away at my self-confidence — the same self-confidence I am fighting to maintain and model for my two young children. It’s the kind of spiral that makes you feel like you’re back in middle school, excited to present in front of the class, only to realize that you’ve completely misunderstood the assignment.

You know the “put a finger down” game? Where you lower a finger down for every experience you can relate to?

Let’s play. Put a finger down if you’ve ever been told:

• “You always need a reminder. Can’t you just be more organized?”
• “I feel like I’m constantly nagging you. Why do you put me in that position?”
• “It’s like you don’t care about…”
• “It just seems lazy to me, like you don’t want to do the work.”
• “Now that you have an ADHD diagnosis, everything’s about ADHD.”

[Read: “How I Halt the ADHD Shame Cycle in Its Tracks”]

Are most of your fingers down? Yeah, me too.

It’s hard for everyone to stay on top of things. That said, neurotypical people don’t quite understand the painstaking effort it takes neurodivergent brains to do the things their brains do with more ease. They also don’t understand that inconsistency is part of ADHD – a central part of ADHD that we find bewildering, too. It’s crucial to understanding where the fear of success comes from; we know we can’t keep up our hard work.

A single comment is all it takes to unravel. A forgotten protein bar wrapper is not just a crumbled piece of packaging but proof that I’m too much and not enough. And it hurts when my loved ones don’t always see how hard I tried to remember to throw it away.

Then the negative self-talk begins: How could you forget that? What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just remember to do the thing?

Next is going into hiding or a huge breakdown. Or both.

Then the cycle resets. Things are good for a time, so I feel good. And then a mistake consumes me.

[Read: 6 Cognitive Distortions That Fuel Anxiety in ADHD Brains]

Learning to Embrace — Not Fear — Success

Alongside the shame, self-doubt, and fear of messing up is something that I’m trying to become better at recognizing: resilience.

I’m not going to BS you: I still spiral, shut down, and feel like a walking dumpster fire most days. But once the tears dry and the heartache in my chest softens, it is undeniable that something in me keeps wanting to go forward and do better for myself. (I guess it’s why I end up with good streaks.)

The same brain that leaves front doors unlocked and empty wrappers atop counters is the same brain that sees patterns others don’t. It’s the same brain that has built a career in health fighting like hell for people who feel overwhelmed and discarded by the system.

So while the question of, “When will I mess up next?” is still there, so is another question upon which all neurodivergent minds should fixate: “When will I succeed next?”

Fear of Success with ADHD: Next Steps

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There’s a quiet grief that has settled in my bones over the years — a subtle, enduring, invisible sadness I never expected when I first became a parent. It’s the grief of constantly co-regulating my child, who is autistic with ADHD, and whose big emotions are often beyond their control.

Co-regulation means being present, constantly shifting my own emotional state, even when I’m not ready, to match the urgency of my child’s. I’ve learned to steady my breath when theirs quickens, to lower my voice, to adjust the environment, to make them feel safe. But when the storm passes, there’s often no space for me to process the emotional toll it’s taken.

Co-regulation is not just about calming my child in a single moment of distress but about managing their entire emotional landscape day after day, which can vary considerably. It means that I am hypervigilant about my child’s needs, always ready to step in, always holding my breath in anticipation of the next emotional storm. I feel like the safety net that keeps it all from crashing down, but what happens when I can no longer be that lifeline?

Extreme Emotional Labor, Grief, and Parental Burnout

Parental self-regulation is part of co-regulation, but it doesn’t come easy, especially with a highly dysregulated child. Most days feel like I’m perpetually “on,” suppressing my own emotions because my child needs me to be stable. There is hardly opportunity to recuperate before the next emotional explosion. Who holds me when I need to fall apart? This constant emotional labor, this unyielding responsibility, is the grief that no one sees.

This grief is compounded by isolation. People offer sympathy, but they rarely understand what it is to co-regulate a child with unique needs.

[Get This Free Download: 5 Emotional Control Strategies for Kids with ADHD]

There is also anticipatory grief about the future — how my child’s needs will evolve as they grow older. What will independence look like for them? Will they find lasting relationships, joy, fulfillment? These worries weigh heavily on me, and I feel guilty for not being more hopeful.

Under the Grief: The Myth of the Perfect Parent

In the midst of it all, there are durable moments of love, hope, and connection that make it worthwhile. There are times when my child looks at me with a calmness that tells me they’ve found peace, moments when our bond feels unbreakable. Co-regulating has deepened my understanding of love and what it means to be there for someone, no matter how difficult the journey.

But even in those moments, the grief lingers. It’s woven into the fabric of our lives, an ever-present companion. And I’ve come to realize that the grief of co-regulating my child is part of a larger, often unspoken narrative we’ve internalized about parenting — that it requires constant sacrifice, self-effacement, and emotional depletion. The idea that we must become martyrs in our efforts to be the “perfect parent.”

We are often conditioned to believe that if we’re not always giving, always doing, always available, that we’re failing our children. The myth of the “perfect parent” tells us that our own needs are secondary, that love for our children means putting ourselves last – a construct that is especially harming to parents of neurodivergent children. But the truth is, we do our children a disservice when we sacrifice ourselves to this extent. We also risk losing the sense of who we are outside of being caregivers.

[Read: Dear Special Needs Mom Who Is Ready to Give Up…]

My Own Lifeline

I’m learning that to set boundaries and prioritize my own well-being is uncomfortable, inconvenient, and often met with judgment. There’s grief in this too — the grief of wanting to take up space without apology, of being seen as less than for simply existing as I am. But I know the cost of not speaking up is greater. When I sacrifice my voice, I lose my health, my confidence, and my joy.

Despite the grief and discomfort, I keep moving forward — balancing the pain and love, exhaustion and connection, finding strength in the quiet understanding that I am doing the best I can. I am my child’s lifeline, but I am also mine.

Co-Regulation: Next Steps for Neurodivergent Families

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As I cleaned out my desk drawer recently, I stumbled upon a collection of pictures I intended to share but never did: school photos, holiday cards, baby pictures. Sweet moments now engulfed in flames of guilt. Not a single picture had ever been mailed out as I had planned.

The shame was immediate. I thought back to the wedding thank-you notes, Christmas cards of years past, and other items that I likewise never got around to mailing. I remembered the many times I thought, “I’ll get to it later.” But later stretched into years, and now here we are.

The regret is present and heavy as I equate my lack of follow-through with incontrovertible proof of my laziness and carelessness. That I’m a terrible parent and friend by extension.

[Read: ADHD and the Epidemic of Shame]

I’m no stranger to automatic thoughts like these and to trips down the shame spiral — journeys familiar to practically everyone with ADHD. But I’m also becoming more adept at the essential art of reframing.

Though I live with ADHD, I am still learning and accepting that the condition impacts my ability to:

• hold on to important information
• initiate tasks without external pressure
• manage time – because my perception of it is different
• remember things I can’t see – if something isn’t in front of me, it easily slips my mind

Break the ADHD Shame Cycle

Nowadays, I’m getting better at reminding myself that some challenges are not a matter of willpower, but of how my brain is wired. When I notice myself spiraling into shame, I pause and ask myself four questions:

• Do I love my child?
• Am I a good person?
• Is shame helping me in any positive way?
• What does help? Utilizing strategies, self-acceptance, and forgiveness.

[Read: 6 Steps to Dismantling Internalized Shame]

So, I talk back to that critical voice. I’ve even given it the name “Britta.” (Inspired by the well-intentioned but often chaotic character from the show Community.) I challenge those ANTs (automatic negative thoughts) and recognize when my rejection sensitivity is kicking in.

Then, I focus on next steps. Can I take some action to rectify the problem, or is it a matter of letting go and moving on? Do I need to work backward from the desired outcome to determine next steps? Do I need to call an accountability buddy (a body double) to help me focus?

For now, I’ve decided to let go and keep the photos in the drawer. This time, though, I add a handwritten note for future me, designed to halt shame in its tracks. It reads: “These unsent pictures do not mean that you are a bad mother. You are a mom with ADHD who is navigating a full life, and that is perfectly acceptable.”

Shame Cycle and ADHD: Next Steps

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You want to feel close. You want to be present during sex. But instead, your brain won’t stop buzzing. You’re thinking about your to-do list, or that weird sound the fan is making, or how your bra strap suddenly feels like a vice grip. Your brain might obsessively loop on whether you’re “doing it right” or if your partner is satisfied. The mood is gone, and now you’re stuck in your head wondering, “Why can’t I just focus and enjoy this?”

As a clinical sexologist and sex therapist who specializes in ADHD, I hear this all the time. Women with ADHD, especially, come in feeling broken or ashamed because they can’t seem to stay in the moment, even when they want to. They wonder if they have low libido, or if something is wrong with their relationship, or worse, with them.

But the issue often isn’t low desire. It’s about ADHD-related challenges that cause low bandwidth. These issues can show up in surprising ways during intimacy, and when they do, we often misinterpret them.

ADHD Women and Sex: Why It Feels Like “Too Much”

For many people with ADHD, sex is unpredictable, overstimulating, or emotionally confusing. Sensory overload, distraction, and a flooded nervous system all make it difficult to access pleasure, let alone stay present long enough to enjoy it.

Some people shut down in these moments. Others mask what they’re feeling to avoid hurting their partner’s feelings. Many just disconnect and then spiral with guilt, wondering why they can’t “just be into it.” They think they simply aren’t meant to enjoy sex.

[Read: Enhancing ADHD Intimacy — 3 Rules for a Lifetime of Great Sex]

But here’s the thing: ADHD brains often need structure, stimulation, and clarity to stay engaged. And most sex advice out there doesn’t account for that.

Many ADHD Brains Need Structure and Stimulation to Enjoy Sex

As part of my doctoral research, I studied 65 women who had or suspected they had ADHD. I wanted to understand how attention struggles affected sexual satisfaction and whether certain sexual environments might actually support focus and presence like I saw happening for so many of my clients.

Specifically, I looked at BDSM. Yes, that’s right: Bondage, Discipline, Dominance, Submission, Sadism, and Masochism. But not in the sensationalized way you might be picturing. I studied it as a structured, consensual, often sensory-rich form of intimacy that might provide what ADHD brains are missing in more “typical” sex.

And what I found was compelling: The more a participant struggled with attention, the more likely she was to engage in BDSM, and report feeling more satisfied and focused on those experiences.

[Read: The Key to a Better ADHD Relationship? Better Sex]

Why Would BDSM Help?

It turns out that many of the elements of BDSM naturally align with the needs of an ADHD brain:

• Clear roles and expectations: You know what’s happening, what’s coming next, and what your role is, which reduces cognitive overwhelm.
• High stimulation: Touch, sound, and movement are often more intense, which can help ADHD brains stay present.
• Built-in communication: Most BDSM dynamics involve clear negotiation, check-ins, and feedback, which helps reduce second-guessing and overthinking.
• Permission to pause: The emphasis on consent means there’s always space to slow down, stop, or readjust without shame.

For many participants, BDSM was about clarity, focus, and feeling more in their bodies.

What This Means for You

If you have ADHD and find yourself struggling with presence or satisfaction during sex, it doesn’t mean you’re broken, “bad at sex,” or even that you have low desire. It might just mean that the way you’re approaching intimacy isn’t working for your brain.

This doesn’t mean everyone needs to jump into kink. But it does suggest that you may benefit from:

• More structured, intentional intimacy
• Higher levels of sensation or novelty
• Clear communication about what feels good or overwhelming
• Environments that reduce unpredictability and distraction

In other words, it’s not about “fixing” your desire. It’s about finding the context where desire can actually show up.

How to Enjoy Sex: Let’s Rethink ADHD and Sex Drive

What if instead of asking, “How can I stop overthinking during sex?” or, “How do I get in the mood?” we started asking:

• What does my body need to feel safe right now?
• What type of stimulation helps me stay present?
• How much downtime or prep does my brain need before switching into intimacy mode?

These are ADHD-informed questions. And they often reveal that the desire is there; it’s just waiting for the right environment.

ADHD and Sex Drive: Next Steps

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I thought I sucked at life. On the outside, I was positive and upbeat, a married mom of three, a business owner. I had a mortgage, an investment property, a postgraduate degree in psychology. I had friends, prospects, blonde highlights. On the inside, I felt broken.

I faked enthusiasm for most conversations. I was either painfully uninterested in the small talk of the other school moms, or wishing I could mitigate my ever-present fatigue with a nap by midday. Every social event left me exhausted by anxious rumination. Why did I say that? What did they think of me? I’m so hopeless.

By the end of the day, every noise felt like nails on a chalkboard: my kids scraping their dinner plates, the neighbor’s electric gate buzzing, my husband swallowing his beer. The touch of my children, wanting a cuddle, made me recoil. I had to sleep alone to avoid the distressing sounds of someone else’s breathing.

My adulthood was peppered with jobs abandoned, degrees unfinished. I loved my role as a telephone counselor but felt the excruciating closeness of my colleagues’ cubicles like a cheese grater on an open wound. I adored owning my own coffee van, thriving in the autonomy and pride of working alone, but I didn’t have energy once I got home. I often spent weekends in bed, my body and mind depleted in burnout. I spent hours applying makeup and doing my hair before leaving my house, hyperconscious of how I would be perceived. Later, I would pick at my skin until it bled as I pored over the minutia of the day. Did everything go okay? Was I okay?

I already had diagnoses of ADHD and complex trauma, but I still had many questions. Why did everyone else seem to move so easily through life? Why couldn’t I be at ease around others instead of agonizing over how much eye contact I gave during conversation? Why was I so sensitive to sounds, smells, and my environment? Why did I never miss others when they weren’t around, and feel the sting of rejection so sharply, and hide behind the couch when my doorbell rang even though I desperately wanted to connect?

Autism was the answer.

[Take This Self-Test: Signs of Autism in Women]

Life as a High-Masking Autistic Woman

I already suspected the diagnosis, of course. A lot of us do. Although I don’t have hyperfixations or stereotypical obsessional interests in trains, my “for you” page on TikTok has been entirely neurodivergent for the past few years. That’s me! I would think as I scrolled through video after video of late-diagnosed, high-masking autistic women sharing their experiences. I do that! I feel that! That’s me. And then my inner critic would come in. No, it isn’t. You’re just pathetic. You’re unlikeable, lazy, worthless. You’re not okay, and you suck at life. For 40 years, I believed that voice.

So, while I suspected autism, I had my doubts, too. Sure, it costs me enormous amounts of planning, exhaustion, and recovery just to be a human in this world, but that’s normal, right?

Um, nope. That’s autism — at least how it manifests for me. When my big YES moment came and my evaluator confirmed my diagnosis, I felt an exhausted sort of calm. That question-mark box inside of me gently ticked itself in sage green, my favorite color. My experience is real. I’m not defective. I’m not faking the enormous strength it takes me to show up in this world.

Peeling back the layers of my diagnoses with my psychologist, processing my past, and medicating my dopamine-deficient brain not only uncovered my social and sensory sensitivities but helped me to understand them.

[Read: A Woman’s Guide to Pursuing an AuDHD Diagnosis]

Masking Autism, No More

My brain is beautiful, and different, and it has tried so very hard to fit in in this world. I have been very good at fitting in, and I have paid the price for it every day. Taking off the neurotypical mask is a scary process because I don’t know what lies underneath. What I do know is I am tired of putting it on every day. I don’t have enough spoons of energy, and I’m finally beginning to say so.

I don’t have to say yes to social events I don’t wish to attend. I can be open about the fact that my social battery can suddenly and inexplicably run out, and that I want — no,  need — to go home and sit in the shower to regulate. I can talk about the weird things I find interesting and laugh about the weird things most people consider normal. I can mourn the decades lost in muddling through and be grateful for the financial privilege of obtaining an autism assessment. I can also be horrified that others will go through their lives without validation, understanding, and support instead of celebrating their unique brains.

So, yes, I do suck at life. I suck at expending more energy than I have in pretending to be like everyone else, just because I have the ability to hide my differences. I suck at knowing what to say and how to act around people, and I suck at pretending that certain noises and smells don’t bother me or that my feelings aren’t so very tender.

But for the first time, I can try on the idea that this is OK. That there might be a whole new way of living that supports my needs, sensitivities, and dreams. Where I can thrive as my true, messy self and be proud of who I am.

My diagnosis and these words are my first tentative steps into this new world. It’s a little bit scary, and my navigation system may look different from yours. What is guiding me now is better understanding, and a determination to believe myself when I say that I don’t suck. I am okay, and I have been okay, all along.

High-Masking Autistic Women: Next Steps

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