Content note: This piece mentions suicidal ideation and burnout. If that's a hard place for you right now, take care of yourself—come back when it's right, or skip completely
There were mornings when I woke up & wish I hadn’t.
Prior to my diagnosis, there were days when my first waking thought was, “I can’t do this anymore”. It was on repeat—as I got ready for work, ran meetings, talked to coworkers, and went through all the actions that made me a “high performer”.
I thought I was just an anxious introvert.
Despite doing well at my corporate job, I never felt like I fit in, and couldn’t relate to the things other people cared about. And the things everyone else seemed to do naturally were things I had to consciously build systems & reminders for.
Things like:
Being hyperaware of maintaining eye contact
Consciously maintaining a "friendly" facial expression.
Hiding sensory overwhelm, & hating obligatory small talk
Having mental scripts for conversations & rehearsing them in my head
Creating detailed systems & triple-checking to compensate for executive functioning challenges
Replaying convos in my head afterward, scanning & analyzing the situation
Looking back, I realized my exhaustion came from the constant self-monitoring required to appear "normal”—e.g masking. It's also one reason many late-diagnosed autistic women are initially diagnosed with anxiety.
Being '“normal” was exhausting.
On the surface, by every measurable metric, I was thriving— good job, good friends, physically fit, financially secure, owned a home, nice travel. But behind the scenes, I was running on empty and couldn’t understand why simply existing was so tiring.
I’d finish work and collapse on the couch. Most days, my dog was the only interaction I had the bandwidth for, and weekends were spent recovering in couch-potato mode. Long periods of alone time was always needed. Even simple text conversations felt mentally draining. And I had zero desire or patience to interact with any human, even people I liked.
Physically my body was healthy - blood tests came back normal, sleep averaged ~8 hours a night, worked out ~4x a week, meal prepped so food intake was nutritionally dense. I looked great.
But I felt like shit.
“Sounds like depression”
My doctor said it was anxiety and depression, and prescribed an antidepressant. I accepted that as the answer—at first. I took the medication as instructed and it seemed to help for a short time. But I was still exhausted, and something in my gut told me it was more than that.
So I kept looking for answers, & spent thousands of dollars trying to figure out why —hormone testing, allergy testing, nutritional assessments, functional medicine. I knew something was wrong; I just didn’t have the right framework to understand what I was experiencing.
And I was right —I now know the depression/exhaustion was the result of prolonged masking and burnout. This is common in late-diagnosed women, because our nervous systems spend years working overtime to manage sensory overload, social expectations, and the constant effort of appearing “normal”.
The “aha moment”
I remember the exact moment a friend mentioned she’d been assessed for ADHD and started describing her brain, and I got this, “omg, is that what it is?!” vertigo.
So I did what we all do. I went down the internet rabbit hole at 2 AM. I took the unofficial quizzes. I watched videos of people explaining things I’d assumed was just my “flaws”. And I scheduled an appointment to get assessed.
The autism piece came later, and slower — because I “didn’t look autistic.” I was “too pretty to be autistic.” I made eye contact. I had friends and accomplishments.
It took a good assessor to point out that I ran my life on coping mechanisms and exhaustion. That I’d built an entire personality out of masking, and then spent years wondering why I was so tired.
Post-diagnosis
The diagnosis helped me understand my brain was built one way, and I was in a world built for another. I’d spent years white-knuckling life and calling it “being an adult”.
But the diagnosis gave me permission to stop forcing myself to fit into something that wasn’t working. It reframed the situation from me just “being weird”, “not trying hard enough” or “antisocial” to “my body needs rest”. I started prioritizing my brain and nervous system — unmasking, noticing my sensory needs, and stopped giving a fu*k about social obligations.
Some mornings are still tough, but I don’t see them as a personal failure anymore. I see them as a sign that I need to slow down, prioritize myself, and give my nervous system the rest it needs.
Are you in burnout or wondering what your options are?
If you suspect you’re in burnout, read about the 9 burnout signs, AuDHD burnout faqs, or review worker accommodations and medical leave articles to explore your options.
Need a detailed step by step?
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Note: This is my personal experience, not medical advice. If you recognize yourself in it, consider talking to a clinician who can help you figure out what you're dealing with and what support fits. And if you're struggling right now: in the US, you can call or text 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline—free, confidential, and available 24/7.
About the Author
Hey, I’m glad you’re here. I’m a work psychology nerd (Masters in I/O Psychology), and HR expert, with over a decade of experience designing human performance programs in Corporate America. Starting this newsletter was a way for me to share my special interests, connect with other tired ladies, & help ND folks who may be struggling like I was. Don’t be shy, say hi.
What am I doing when I’m not writing? I live in the PNW in the U.S, and in my spare time, I’m a garden gremlin, trail troll, weightlifting couch potato, who reads way too many fantasy romance novels. Lately my special interest has been Dahlias & gardening.