Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)

With ADHD, I was often chastised for misunderstanding simple instructions, forgetting things, not finishing what we start, doing things the wrong way, not caring enough, being too emotional, not being emotional enough.

I soon ended up carrying so much baggage relating to how I’d been rejected, that it felt like everything I did would result in rejection.

After a time, we often learn to become people pleasers to try counter the rejection– by being more helpful, seeking approval, and saying yes to everything because we are trying to counter balance that teeter-totter of rejection/approval.

Of course, with executive function issues, we are often unable to finish what we start, or adhere to and honor our commitments to others easily for a multitude of reasons.

This can, in turn, lead to more heightened experiences of rejection when those same people question our dedication and for over- promising and under-delivering, yet again.

I became trapped in an insidious feedback loop where I’d take on more tasks to compensate for the ones I’d dropped, and I’d fail to achieve those as well, begetting more experiences of rejection. 

For the neurotypical people in your life:

If you’ve ever wondered what AuDHD feels like, this video walks you through the lived, everyday experience of having both autism and ADHD—at the same time.
Especially for adults who were diagnosed late, the experience isn’t always what people expect. It’s not just a mix of traits. It’s a whole different way of thinking, feeling, and processing the world.

In this video, I explore the emotional, cognitive, sensory, and social patterns that show up again and again in AuDHD adults—and how they’re different from ADHD or autism alone.

Whether you’re figuring this out for yourself or finally putting words to what you’ve always felt, this is what AuDHD feels like from the inside.

Such a lovely story:

Eventually, Miss Parsons tells us about her department’s annual production. It’s called Oakfield’s Got Talent, and she wonders whether James might perform? When I ask him, I get a fervent yes; to reduce the chances of anything unexpected happening, she agrees to the suggestion that I should accompany him on an acoustic guitar.

[…]

I reach for a piece of paper that is serving as a cue card, and James reads it out: “This next song was originally by the Velvet Underground, and it’s called” – he then slows down – “I’m. Waiting. For. The. Man.”

When we play it, James sounds like Mark E Smith from the Fall, barking out the words, and rising to the conclusion of each verse – “Oh, I’m waiting for mah man” – with a loud sense of triumph. A few times, he drifts away from the microphone, and yells the words into the air. We have worked out a procedure for this: I say “Microphone! Microphone!” out of the side of my mouth, and he returns to the right spot.

I don’t know if many of the audience quite understand what they are listening to: a less-than-wholesome song about copping dope in 1960s Manhattan, the grimness of withdrawal, and the rapturous pleasure of yet another hit of heroin. But they like it: we get a second round of applause, and I do that showbiz thing of camply extending my arm in James’s direction. There are a few whoops, and he picks his way down the wooden stairs to the right of us, before taking a seat in the audience.

Ginny and Rosa are there. To us, the meaning of the six minutes James and I have just spent on the stage is pretty obvious. If you are repeatedly told what your child can’t do, it starts to eat at you. Certain words hover over you: “severe”, “profound”, “impairment”. You miss superlatives; whatever successes your child achieves, they don’t tend to feel like the same ones other kids experience. But here is something James can do – brilliantly, fantastically, wonderfully – on the same terms as everyone else. Better still, he loves doing it, and it makes him the centre of attention.

It is a gorgeous summer evening, and everything feels as if it is surrounded by a lovely glow. When we get home, James does not sleep, but I do not mind at all. “I want to do that again,” he says. “I want to do that again!”

Online, the idea that autism and ADHD can coexist is so widely accepted that it has spawned its own label – “AuDHD” – and a groundswell of people who say they recognise its oxymoronic nature, perpetual internal war and rollercoaster of needs. There are tens of thousands of people in AuDHD self-help forums, and millions more watching AuDHD videos.

Some of those videos come from Samantha Stein, a British YouTuber. “The fact that you can have both [autism and ADHD] at the same time is kind of paradoxical in nature,” she admits. “You think: ‘How can you be extremely rigid and need routines and structure, but also be completely incapable of maintaining a routine and structure?’”

[…]

Other AuDHDers give colourful analogies to describe the epiphany of diagnosis. Before the discovery, I’m told, it’s as if you are trying to fit in and be a horse rather than celebrating the fact that you’re a zebra. It’s like being trapped in a maze in the dark, then suddenly the lights are on and now there’s a way to navigate out.

The autistic traits in our sample may represent an epiphenomenon of GD rather than being part of an Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) condition, since they significantly decreased after 12 months of GAHT.

Results suggest that nonautistic transgender individuals might be more prone to experience alexithymia (including at clinically significant levels) than nonautistic cisgender people. When autism occurs in transgender people, the average level and clinical rate of alexithymia is higher than among nonautistic transgender people and potentially higher than among autistic cisgender people. Our findings are in keeping with evidence of a subgroup of transgender people with “subclinical autism” and inconsistent with the notion that autism among transgender and gender diverse people is a “phenomimic” of autism. Lastly, our study highlights the potential importance of screening autistic and nonautistic transgender people for alexithymia.