The Early Stages of Discovering You're ADHD or Autistic: Embracing Neurodivergence in Adulthood

More of us are realizing, often later in life, that we’re neurodivergent. (For the purposes of this blog, when I say “neurodivergent,” I’m specifically referring to ADHD, autism, or both.) For some, this understanding comes through formal assessment with a therapist. For others, it’s a process of self-discovery: reading, listening to podcasts, taking self-screening tools, and recognizing our lived experiences in the stories of other autistic or ADHD adults. However it begins, the process tends to echo a familiar rhythm of disorientation, realignment, and the slow unfolding of self-acceptance and finally peace.

The Spiral of Second-Guessing

At first, it feels like things are finally falling into place. You have words for experiences you’ve never been able to explain. But soon after that lightbulb moment, doubt can creep in. You start second-guessing yourself, wondering things like:

• “I probably answered those questions wrong…”
  (Which, to be fair, is a very neurodivergent thing—spending 20 minutes overanalyzing a vague statement like “Do you struggle to focus?” and thinking, “Well, yes… but only when I'm bored, tired, overstimulated, or under pressure. Otherwise, I'm hyperfocused. So… maybe?”)

• This is “just” anxiety or unresolved trauma, right? I mean, that’s what every therapist I’ve seen in the past told me.

• Wouldn’t someone have noticed this earlier? Like… literally anyone?

Then come the dismissive comments from others:

• “Isn’t everyone a little ADHD/Autistic?” and my personal favorite: “You have a Ph.D.—you can’t be ADHD.”

• “You can’t be autistic—you make eye contact.” (Because clearly, only people who “look autistic” are allowed to be autistic—whatever that even means.)

If your discovery came through working with a therapist, you might even start to wonder, “What if the therapist got it wrong?” I’ve had clients tell me their friends or family asked for a list of my credentials—something that’s never come up when I’ve diagnosed things like anxiety or depression. But for some reason, when it’s autism or ADHD, people get weirdly skeptical. That kind of pushback, especially from people who know you, can make you question what you thought you finally understood. And just like that, you’re back to wondering if you made the whole thing up.

One thing that helped me hold onto that clarity was writing out a list of all the traits and patterns I recognized in myself. When doubt crept in or someone made me feel like I was imagining things, I could return to that list and remind myself: “No, I’m not making this up. This is real. It fits.” If you need help building a list like that, I have a blog called Unexpected Traits of Autism that might give you a place to start.

And just to be clear, this doubt shows up no matter how you got here. I’ve seen people still question themselves after a $3,000 assessment and after months of deep self-reflection. A formal diagnosis doesn’t magically erase uncertainty. Self-doubt is a normal part of the process. Even after you start embracing your neurodivergent identity, those waves have a way of creeping back in. And that’s okay. I often joke with clients that if I could add a footnote to their assessment report, it would say: “You will question the validity of this every 6 to 9 months for the first few years. Don’t panic—it’s part of the process.”

ADHD and Autism as a Special Interest

After learning you're neurodivergent as an adult, it’s not unusual for ADHD or autism to become your new hyperfocus—or even a full-on special interest. There’s often this mix of excitement, urgency, and relief: everything suddenly makes sense, and you want to understand it all, like yesterday. And yes—you may start talking about it all the time (sorry, not sorry). Expect a few eye rolls—because some people just won’t get what a big deal this is for you. (You are. And honestly? Fair.) But that deep dive? It’s part of the process.
You might:

• Devour books, blogs, and podcasts like you're writing a thesis called "Why I Make Total Sense Now.”

• Binge neurodivergent creators who make you feel more seen than people who’ve known you for years.

• Revisit every awkward childhood memory like you're narrating a true crime doc—only to realize the “mystery” was undiagnosed neurodivergence all along.

For me, it shook me to my core. I wasn’t just learning something new—I was unlearning who I thought I was. It felt like a personal and professional existential crisis. I’d spent years studying myself just as much as I’d studied others, and yet I’d still missed an entire part of my story. That was disorienting in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

Like many newly discovered neurodivergent folks, I started finding words for things I’d spent my whole life quietly battling—executive dysfunction, sensory sensitivity, social hangovers, burnout. Things I thought were personal weaknesses suddenly had names, patterns, explanations. It was like someone finally handed me the instruction manual for a brain I’d spent decades trying to navigate in the dark. It was a “Holy sh*t” moment where I could finally say, “Oh… this explains everything.”

Self-Discovery Can Reopen Old Wounds—And Heal Them

Discovering you're neurodivergent as an adult can feel like watching a movie with a surprise twist, you start reexamining every scene of your life through a completely new lens. Childhood dynamics, family patterns, even past relationships can suddenly look different. Maybe your sensory sensitivities were dismissed as overreactions, or your emotional intensity misunderstood as defiance. You may have spent years believing a parent was emotionally immature or even narcissistic. It may become clear that neurodivergence didn’t start with you, it’s part of a longer thread that shaped your family story in quiet, unseen ways. That possibility doesn’t erase the harm, but it can offer a different context.

You may find yourself furious, not just at how much time was lost, but at how different life could have been if someone had recognized what was really going on. There’s rage in realizing that systems meant to support you, school, family, work, even therapy, kept missing the core truth. That anger is real.

Coming to terms with all of this can be deeply disorienting. Even if you’ve done years of healing work, this new lens can stir up unresolved trauma and also offer a powerful opportunity to reprocess it with more clarity and self-compassion. I dive more into this kind of emotional reframing in my blog, “Seeing the Past in a New Light,” where I explore how recognizing your neurodivergence can stir up old pain and also help you begin to heal it.

Unraveling Self-Blame and Internalized Ableism

After years of being called lazy, too sensitive, weird, or not trying hard enough, it’s easy to absorb those messages as truth. Over time, they sink in. It can start to feel like something is fundamentally wrong with you, like you’re broken.

You begin to feel the weight of everything you’ve carried. And for the first time, you start to see just how hard you’ve been on yourself. How hard you were trying. How much you were masking. Why it looked effortless for others, while you kept trying again and again—adjusting, overthinking, pushing harder, and still coming up short. You gave it everything. The real issue was never you. It was you trying to exist in a world that was not made for us.

And then, after all the grief, anger, and self-blame, something unexpected begins to settle in, relief. A diagnosis, or even just a clear self-understanding, can feel like a release. Finally, meltdowns, miscommunications, or emotional sensitivities make sense. What once felt like personal failings are now recognized as valid neurodivergent traits. There’s a change, the slow release of the need to perform, and in its place, the freedom to simply be yourself.

Suddenly Seeing It Everywhere

Once you start to understand what autism or ADHD actually look like, you might begin to see those same patterns in the people around you, your kids, your partner, your coworkers, even your parents. But that recognition can come with a sting. Sometimes, the very people you see traits in are the ones who dismissed your own diagnosis or questioned whether it was real. It’s painful to notice those patterns in others while knowing they may not be open—or ready—to explore the possibility for themselves.

I’ve been there too. I mean—hello, I have a Ph.D. and specialize in this exact area, and my own family still didn’t believe me. It took years before some of them were even open to the idea that they might be neurodivergent. Even when I gently reflected back the patterns I saw, it was met with doubt or dismissal, comments like, “You think everyone is neurodivergent,” or “I’m so sick of you bringing this up.” It was frustrating, no question—but honestly, I get it. When I step back, it really does make sense. If it took me that long to recognize my own neurodivergence—someone who lives and breathes this stuff—it’s only fair to give others the same time and space to get there too. In my clinical experience, it often takes family members a year or two to even begin catching up to what you’ve already started to understand.

Finding Your People: Why Neurodivergent Community Matters

One of the most powerful and healing parts of this process is realizing you’re not actually alone, you just hadn’t found your people yet. For so long, you might’ve felt like the odd one out. But then you meet someone who gets it, who says, “Wait, you do that too?” and something shifts. You start to realize that all the things you kept hidden or thought were “too much” are actually part of a shared language, a shared culture. And suddenly, you’re not the only one anymore.

For me, that moment came when I connected with other neurodivergent therapists—and honestly, it was electric. I felt this full-body exhale, like finally. They just got it. I didn’t have to explain my tangents or apologize for talking too fast or too much. They could follow my thought spirals, sit with my info dumps, and—best of all—they’d light up right along with me. We’d go off on the same weird rabbit holes and literally squeal together over things most people would just blink at. For the first time, I didn’t feel too intense or too much. I felt understood. I felt home. That kind of connection changes everything.

Life Settles Into a New Neurodivergent Normal

Eventually, the intense early emotions begin to settle. I see this in my therapy practice all the time—people who’ve spent years in and out of therapy finally begin to thrive. Not because life suddenly gets easy, but because you finally start to understand yourself. And that kind of integration doesn’t happen overnight. For many people, it takes several months—or even a year or more—for this new identity to really settle in. But when it does, everything begins to shift. You learn how to identify and communicate your needs, set healthy boundaries, respond to challenges with more compassion, and build relationships where you don’t have to mask who you are. It’s the kind of shift you feel deep in your bones—like something inside you is finally exhaling. You feel it in your nervous system, your breath, your sense of being. It’s that deep, and it’s beautiful. That’s the real transformation—not becoming someone new, but finally being allowed to be who you’ve always been. It’s an incredible thing to witness—and it’s why I love this work.

Start Making Sense of It All

If you're beginning to explore whether you're autistic, ADHD, or both, finding a neurodivergent-affirming therapist can make a world of difference. This process is about more than just answers—it’s about being truly seen and supported as your full self. I’m Dr. Christine Henry, a licensed psychologist with both clinical and lived experience supporting neurodivergent adults. I was late diagnosed with ADHD, dysgraphia, and dyslexia, and I also identify with many autistic traits. I’m raising two twice-exceptional children (AuDHD and gifted), both with PDA profiles, and share life with a neurodivergent partner who is also AuDHD. It’s given me a deep, personal understanding of the joys and challenges that come with navigating a world not built for our brains. I offer free 20-minute consultation calls so you can get a feel for whether we’re a good fit. If you’re looking for other affirming providers, this ND Therapist directory is a great place to start.

And if you’re not quite ready to reach out but want to keep exploring, here are a few other blogs you might find helpful:
"I’m Autistic… Now What?" and "I’m ADHD… Now What?", along with my Adult ADHD and Autism resource page full of books, podcasts, tools, and more.

You’re allowed to take your time—and when you’re ready, support is there.