Unmasking Me: Reclaiming Identity After an AuDHD Diagnosis

For years, I knew something didn’t quite fit.

I was intuitive, creative, deeply empathetic—and constantly exhausted from trying to be “just right.” I could read a room like a script, anticipate needs before they were spoken, and (at times) adapt myself to whatever version of “acceptable” the moment required. But beneath the surface, I was overwhelmed, scattered, and silently questioning: Why does everything feel so hard for me when I’m trying so hard?

I was also relentlessly hard on myself. Why do you always get it wrong? Why can’t you be like other people?

As I began having children, the questions deepened. I sought answers—again and again. I sat across from professionals who told me I was anxious, depressed, sensitive, perfectionistic. That I’d been working in this field too long. What?! That I just needed better routines, more sleep, less stress, more exercise, better food.

I tried all of it. And still, the disconnect remained.

I wasn’t broken—but I was being misread.

A Diagnosis, A Mirror

Receiving my AuDHD diagnosis felt like both a revelation and a reckoning. It wasn’t just a label—it was a mirror. Suddenly, the traits I’d masked, managed, and misunderstood had been confirmed. The dual dance of autism and ADHD.

I cried. I exhaled. I finally saw myself clearly.

The Identity Earthquake

But clarity came with chaos.

If I wasn’t the person I’d spent decades performing—who was I?

Unmasking felt like peeling off layers of armour I didn’t know I was wearing. I questioned everything: my habits, my relationships, my work, my worth. I mourned the years spent contorting myself to fit neurotypical moulds. I felt raw, exposed, and strangely free.

Without the mask, I discovered a quieter rhythm. I noticed how much I craved spaciousness, quiet, softness, comfort. I stopped apologising for needing breaks, for not remembering people’s names or faces, for being nonlinear, for thinking in colour and metaphor.

I remember telling my psychologist how overwhelming shopping centres felt. She asked if I used my AirPods. I said no—that would be rude. She gently invited me to reflect on that belief and consider offering myself the same compassion I extend to others. That moment cracked something open.

It led me down a long, uncomfortable path of unpacking internalised ableism. How could I advocate so fiercely for others, yet deny myself the same grace?

Integrating the Personal and Professional

This shift didn’t just change me—it transformed my work.

I hold space with deeper compassion and nuance. I understand the invisible labour of masking, the grief of misdiagnosis, the power of naming. I support neurodivergent women to sort through their stories, reclaim their strengths, connect with other neurodivergent women, and build lives that honour their neurotype—not fight against it.

I’m not finished unmasking. I don’t think I ever will be.

But I’m no longer afraid to fight to be listened to and understood. But don’t get me wrong - it’s exhausting. But along the way, I’m building spaces with amazing people where listening and understanding are the starting point.

If This Resonates…

If any part of this story feels familiar—whether you’re newly diagnosed, long-undiscovered, or simply curious about your own wiring—I’d love to connect.

You’re welcome to reach out for coaching, conversation, or collaboration. Together, we can explore what it means to live, work, and grow in ways that truly honour who you are.