'Coming out' as neurodivergent to people you know (after a lifetime of masking)

Hello, 40,000 people I feel more comfortable talking to than most people in my real life. Today, it hit me why: there are no pre-conceived judgement or expectations on LinkedIn. I can write much easier than I can speak, and the connections I've made on here in the past couple of years have reminded me that I am not alone, despite feeling like an alien.

I show up here and talk about neurodiversity so much, that it feels like cognitive dissonance to have these conversations in 'real life' with people who react in ways that make me feel even more frustrated than seeing articles about how it's all made up in the media.

I only remember one conversation about my ADHD around the time of my assessment 7 years ago. A family member refused to fill in the paperwork because a) they didn't have a printer, b) ADHD was 'made up by psychiatrists to hook people on drugs' and c) I was apparently fine.

Ironically, I can't remember a point where I ever 'came out' as having ADHD to the people I knew, just self-publishing a book on it during the pandemic, which I was extremely embarrassed about at the time.

I never sought out the diagnosis thinking I had ADHD - I just was having a serious mental health crisis and went to a psychiatrist with the expectation of being sectioned into hospital.

So now, it's a very odd experience to consciously decide to get this Autism assessment. It's a very long process, and following the 3 hour conversation I had a couple of weeks ago (very validating and not at all as awkward as imagined, thanks to Harriet Richardson ), I am still awaiting an 'official' diagnosis (or not, which will be pretty ironic).

It's very uncomfortable to be in the place between self-identification and formal diagnosis, especially when you already have one form of neurodivergence. I have the added bizarre experience of a national newspaper wanting me to write an article about ADHD and Autism, one which I'm trying to figure out how to write without the inevitable comments of 'JUMPING ON A TREND!' 'WANTS A LABEL!' 'MADE UP!' (any ideas, please let me know).

So, here is my experience of going through the process of an assessment, in case it helps anybody else to feel less alone, or understand someone you know:

1) Masking throughout our life

The very few conversations I've had around Autism with people I know have gone something like this:

*awkward silence in conversation - me thinking I should probably tell them about this in case they see it online, or I don't know, READ IT IN THE NEWSPAPER*

Me: so.. I've actually been going through the process of an Autism assessment

Them: YOU DON'T HAVE AUTISM, LEANNE! (*laughs*)

It's actually happened so much now that I have a scripted response: 'that's actually pretty much the worst thing you can say in response to someone when they tell you they're getting an Autism assessment'. ??

The conversation then goes into a full blown analysis of why I've decided to get it (I have started deciding to just say the horrible truth: I was extremely suicidal (them: WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME? Me: BECAUSE I AM AUTISTIC), followed by a list of reasons why I cannot possibly be Autistic.

These include most of the life I have so painfully lived for 31 years, which to be fair, does give the exact opposite impression of 'traditional' Autism.

I went out clubbing pretty much every single weekend from the age of 13 and stayed at friend's houses, because I found it extremely difficult to be at home. I hated clubbing and would get paralytically drunk as a way to cope. I also discovered that I quite liked alcohol, which gave me a way to communicate with other people without my brain feeling like it was on fire.

It actually turned it off all together, so I started many social engagements with a round of tequila shots. (Enter: ADHD impulsivity).

I have been bullied since childhood, and as a coping strategy, befriended anyone at all, with extra points if I could stay at their house. These included a range of unsavoury people, including one girl who I kid you not, made me sleep on her balcony. I couldn't understand why I kept returning to her house when she quite literally shouted at me if I wanted to go home earlier than 5am. I'd often just go to sleep in clubs from the overwhelm, hiding under coats.

As a 'young adult', I discovered the only way people seemed to like me was if I got them into cool clubs through modelling (a job which I hated more than anything but was incapable of saying no to). So my outside identity was an extremely social person, inviting anybody and everybody along in the hope that they'd talk to each other instead of me.

It was only when I started taking ADHD medication that I could stop putting myself in these situations in the first place, which also happened to drastically reduce my social relationships. This left me with the realisation that I actually find socialising incredibly difficult and exhausting.

It made me realise that I hate nothing more than dressing up in uncomfortable clothes to stand in the cold for hours in a queue, only to stand inside an over-stimulating crowd being groped to shuffle around awkwardly and get as drunk as possible.

My assumption these days is that surely no one enjoys this, but then I walk through London on a Friday night (when I can't avoid it) and remember that I am the one that's different - not them.

2) Self-diagnosis / Identification

I was very scared to initially broach the idea of Autism publicly, as I didn't have a 'formal diagnosis', unless you count endless Autistic ADHD-ers telling me that I was Autistic too. I have spent a LOT of time ruminating on this over the last 2 years, including: 'the point' of having an assessment, how I probably wouldn't meet the criteria which is based on little boys, how it would invalidate the entire book(s) I've written on ADHD, whether I am just making it up because I'm unconsciously masking... it is exhausting.

However, I couldn't deny that since managing my ADHD symptoms of severe impulsivity (as in moving country / home / job / relationship every week), I had become far less social. I realised that I found most relationships exhausting, and loved work because it gave me a structure to fit them within - especially coaching.

I first talked to my (ex) therapist about this in a session. Her response? 'YOU DON'T HAVE AUTISM LEANNE!'

Why? Because I am not like Autistic children she works with, apparently. I decided to accept it, just like I'd accepted the doctors telling me I couldn't have ADHD because I had a law degree a decade ago, and tried to not mention it again.

However, I also started having extremely intense anxiety at putting myself in over-stimulating environments, like having panic attacks in train stations on my way to parties. I started leaving social gatherings after 2 minutes of turning up. I started feeling unbearably lonely, but aware that I felt complete overwhelm at the idea of doing anything about it.

I knew that these were not normal experiences, and not even necessarily related to ADHD. Thinking that maybe it was Autism but not wanting to admit this to myself, convincing myself I was making it up, was making it all worse, spiralling off more overthinking.

I was already beating myself up about this, over-analysing whether I was somehow inauthentic or tricking people if I wasn't actually purely ADHD but offered things like ADHD coaching. My brain kept shutting down every time I went down this path, taking it all extremely literally. I believe self-diagnosis is valid, but if I was afraid to say that about myself, did that invalidate my beliefs?

So I wrote something about it. It turns out it wasn't a big deal. You were all very lovely (thank you). Not a single person in my 'real' life said anything (though I highly doubt they read my LinkedIn).

But, if someone tells you that they identify as Autistic / ADHD / Dyslexic / the moon man - here's a tip: JUST BELIEVE THEM. Don't assume that this is 'something wrong with them' or 'an illness' or 'a label'. Trust me - it's not something they're trying on for the day.

If they are disclosing this to you it's FOR A REASON. They trust you enough to tell you this extremely vulnerable thing FOR A REASON. They are probably very aware that they won't necessarily be believed, and they don't know what the right response 'should' be, but they felt like they should tell you this earth shattering realisation they've had about themselves in case you cared.

Just tell them: 'thank you so much for sharing this with me. I'm here to talk to about it without judgment, if you'd like to.'

3) Deciding to get an assessment

Possibly the most frustrating thing about hearing how neurodiversity is deemed 'a trend' is how horrible the assessment process is. For me it feels extremely embarrassing to admit to a stranger how hard I've tried to be 'normal' throughout my life, and await their judgement of whether this could be validated as a legitimate 'medical condition' or whether I am just making it up.

Assessments are also extremely inaccessible for most people. Imagine plucking up the courage to finally open up to your doctor about the internal chaos inside your brain, and... being put on a 7 year waiting list. If that had happened to me when I was 24, I would no longer exist.

Now imagine having no idea whether the assessor will completely invalidate every experience you've ever had, because they're holding you to diagnostic, deficit based criteria that was based off the external behaviour of little boys.

The only reason I decided to pay thousands for a private ADHD assessment a few years ago was because I thought I may as well spend my money before dying, so I had nothing to lose. People should not have to be at that point.

It was after having a screaming meltdown in an airport this year that I realised that maybe it was worth getting an Autism assessment. After a big change happened earlier this year, I struggled to cope. Things descended into me screaming continuously in an airport after getting lost twice, wondering if I was about to be taken to hospital.

Someone in my life made me realise how suffering I was needlessly putting myself through by denying myself these answers. They made me see how much knowing I had ADHD helped me, and how an assessment doesn't have to mean medication or 'treatment'. I have already read pretty much every Autism book out there, but I am still learning new things about myself every day as I navigate this new lens of my life.

So, if you know someone who is going through an assessment process, or on the years long waiting list, please, please, please, do not make things even more difficult for them. They are not doing it for fun. Your opinion of how pointless it is will not change their minds.

4) Assessment

There is no set process for an Autism or ADHD assessment. Generally it will follow the NICE Guidelines, in that you will be asked a series of questions. My NHS assessment consisted of this - a literal check box. My private assessment included 2 appointments and letters from family members. My 3rd ADHD assessment this year happened during what I thought was a medication review, including a very thorough history of my entire life until this point.

My Autism experience was different. I initially booked a 'cheap' one, being sent pre-questions including 'do you struggle with your nerves?'. After answering a different version of this question 3 times, I accepted that there was probably no worse thing to waste my money on, so cancelled it and booked in with Autistic Girls.

I had seen Harriet Richardson 's posts on LinkedIn talking about things like Hyperlexia and for the first time ever, had felt like an 'assessor' understood my particular type of neurodivergence. I trusted her implicitly, just from seeing the way she showed up online and how she was affirming, validating, and compassionate. To see Dr Becky Quicke 's posts about how if you want an 'in and out' assessment they are not the place solidified the decision: this was something I should go 'all in' on.

This involved a free pre-assessment screening call to see if it was worth going ahead, which led to assessments in areas I'd not previously considered, like Monotropism and Alexithyma. It was confirmed that I should go ahead, and I paid before filling in the written paperwork beforehand asking about my life. I think I wrote about 27 pages, in true Hyperlexic style.

I was also sent an optional form for a family member to complete. I asked the only person who I felt comfortable talking about this openly with, who also identified as Autistic. Their responses were pretty much the same for every question: 'normal, as far as I recall'. I expressed frustration that they hadn't answered 'in as much detail as possible' or given any examples as requested, to which they told me they'd spent hours stressing out over it. I realised that of course my behaviour was normal for them, in that they were also undiagnosed neurodivergent.

Then I had a 3 hour assessment with Harriet. I was expecting to be asked the standard DSM style questions of things like 'do you prefer the theatre or museums', and 'how would you brush your teeth?', but I wasn't. Instead, it was an extremely validating (if exhausting) conversation about my early life, developmental milestones, and how the symptoms are showing up these days.

It's pretty sad to comb through your life with a stranger and to realise just how vulnerable you've been. That these things that happened to you were not actually your fault - not because you've now got an excuse for bad decisions - but because they were actually people who took advantage of your inherent vulnerability.

I saw how I'd stayed in so many terrible situations throughout my life I'd blamed myself for in retrospect: I often didn't even realise I was being mistreated until it was too late.

5) Post assessment

Assessors don't necessarily announce your diagnosis there and then. But afterwards it's a broadly similar feeling either way: what am I meant to do with this experience or information? Who does this make me now? How has this experience just redefined my understanding of myself, and how on earth am I meant to communicate this to other people?

I have quickly learned that it's not a great idea to tell other people in my 'real life' about this in causal conversation. Every time I've tried, I've been shocked at the responses, which range from 'you're not Autistic because everybody likes you', to 'why do you want another label?'.

I do understand, which makes it very hard. I understand how surprising it must be to hear from someone you've always assumed is fine, especially because they seemed so happy all the time, tell you out of the blue that they think they are neurodivergent.

For people who have known us our whole lives, it can be very disconcerting. They might experience guilt about not having been able to see if we were suffering. When we explain it's not actually a bad thing, they may enquire about why we'd put ourselves through such a process otherwise. The conversation then descends into even more awkwardness.

They haven't been on the same journey as we have. They haven't read every book on neurodivergence or obsessively ruminated over it. If we've spent our entire life masking to everybody around us, including ourself, it can feel like we've somehow been lying - without even meaning to.

For the person who has been through this process, it's life-changing. They may not make their diagnosis their identity, but it will forever change their own interpretation of themselves. They're still at the very start of this life-long experience of connecting the dots, but the people around them may really not get it, especially if they've spent a lifetime masking.

From writing the Neuro-Affirmative course (ironically as a way to process these experiences), I've realised where this ultimately all comes from: our own capacity for self-reflection and acceptance. The many comments calling out things like ADHD and Autism as excuses are often from people whose own struggles haven't been recognised or heard.

Hearing someone take this deep, brave introspection when we've been conditioned to see things like therapy as 'weak', is going to naturally stir up deep discomfort. Whether that's insecurity about this person we've known suddenly changing before our eyes, or what that means about the potential for us to be neurodivergent as well, it can be very overwhelming, resulting in misunderstanding.

So, my advice for us all is to stop, breathe, and try our best to think about what we're saying and why we're saying it. Ultimately, someone doing an assessment like this isn't about labelling themselves with a diagnosis: it's about them getting help in the ways that work for them. Please just believe them.

Join the Neuro-Affirmative course here , & become an ADHD coach here .