Neurodivergence Unmasked: The Frustration of Late Diagnoses
Gaslighting, Grit, and the Quest for Understanding in Adulthood
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The sheer and utter gaslighting that happens when someone in their later years starts questioning whether they have autism or ADHD is wildly frustrating. It’s dismissive, invalidating, and quite frankly, makes me want to channel my inner Samuel L. Jackson: “Say ‘it’s just a trend’ one more time. I dare you.”
This isn’t something we come to lightly, nor is it a fad we’re trying to jump on. The truth is, awareness of neurodivergence—especially in women—has grown tremendously, leading many of us to look back on our lives with new clarity. Suddenly, things that never quite made sense start falling into place like an M. Night Shyamalan plot twist.
For many of us, childhood was filled with messages that something about us was “too much.” Too loud. Too sensitive. Too wild. We didn’t think things through. We needed to stop being so different and fall in line with the “normal” kids. Ah yes, because conformity is clearly the answer. Just ask every dystopian movie ever made.
I’ll admit, I was skeptical when I first started seeing conversations about late diagnoses in women. I wondered if it was just another trend, or if environmental factors like food or technology were to blame. But as I sit with my own thoughts, reflect on my past, and recognize the patterns, I feel ashamed for ever questioning it. Cue the dramatic realization montage.
Looking back, I’ve always felt different, like I didn’t quite fit in. I would mimic those around me in an attempt to belong, but it was exhausting. (Honestly, method acting should have given me an Oscar by now.) I never had a large group of friends—just one or two people I could truly be myself with. Other kids called me weird or made fun of me. (Shout-out to every teen movie where the misfit turns out to be the coolest one of all.) I was always overflowing with emotions, writing letters in my diary just to release them. You know, the 90s version of emotionally dumping into the Notes app.
My job history is a rollercoaster—I’ve had 11 jobs in 26 years, some lasting mere months, others lasting years. Basically, my resume is a Quentin Tarantino film: non-linear, chaotic, but somehow still impressive. I dropped out of college three times. I jumped into an exciting yet toxic relationship without recognizing the danger. (Where’s a red flag detector when you need one?) I struggled to focus in school unless there was complete silence because I couldn’t process what I was reading otherwise. Hands-on learning was the only thing that ever really clicked for me. And yet, group projects were a personal form of torture.
I gravitated toward the so-called “troubled” kids, not because I wanted to be reckless, but because they didn’t judge me. And yet, I always felt out of place, using drugs and alcohol to take the edge off but inevitably taking it too far—chasing dopamine, seeking relief, and putting myself in dangerous situations. Even now, I need my space to be clean and organized or my mind feels cluttered and chaotic. (Marie Kondo would either be proud or deeply concerned.)
And here I am, listing all these traits as if I need to prove something. As if I need some external validation that I’m neurodivergent. I was pushed so hard to be better, to do better, that I learned to strive for perfection—only to still feel like I was failing. But who am I trying to prove anything to? At the end of the day, I just want to be understood, to accept myself—flaws and all. Insert Bridget Jones sipping wine and nodding knowingly.
I grew up in an era where mental health wasn’t talked about. Kids like me weren’t neurodivergent—we were just labeled as “naughty” or “difficult.”
It can be so infuriating when someone in their later years starts questioning if they have autism or ADHD and then gets met with invalidating responses or brushed off. For many people, especially later in life, these things may not have been diagnosed or recognized, leaving them to grapple with their own understanding of their experiences without support. When they try to seek answers, it's often dismissed, or they're told it’s too late for a diagnosis, which only adds to the frustration.
It’s essentially gaslighting—their lived experiences, struggles, and symptoms are minimized, leaving them feeling invalidated, unheard, and sometimes even questioning their own perception of reality.
What’s worse is that a lot of the resources that could help people understand their symptoms and challenges may be framed in a way that doesn’t fit with what they’ve gone through in their lives. It's like, "Well, you’re too old for that" or "It’s just part of aging." The reality is that ADHD and autism can be overlooked or misdiagnosed for decades because societal awareness and understanding weren't there. It’s all about creating more awareness and compassion for people of all ages, not just assuming that a diagnosis is something that only affects young people. Everyone deserves the space to explore their experiences and get the support they need.
I don’t think my family would understand or validate my experiences, so maybe telling them isn’t worth it. But I do crave that validation. Even if it only comes from my therapist, my husband, and my children, I just want to feel seen.
If you’ve ever questioned your own brain, your own behaviors, your own past—know that you’re not alone. We deserve to be understood. We deserve to accept ourselves just as we are. And if anyone tells you otherwise, hit them with a classic Elle Woods: “What? Like it’s hard?”
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