You’re Not Broken. You’re Wired Differently: 7 Things That Helped Me Feel Less Broken After an AuDHD Diagnosis

For most of my life, I thought I was failing at being a person. And I don’t mean in the fun sitcom way, where someone burns toast and learns a heartfelt lesson before the credits roll. I mean failing in the "Why can’t I just do the basic things everyone else seems to manage without collapsing into a ball of existential dread?" kind of way. 

I’d get excited about a new idea, announce it to the world with great enthusiasm, and then somehow... forget it existed. I’d promise things and then not deliver, not because I didn’t care — but because the second I looked away, it slipped into the Bermuda Triangle of my brain. I’d blank out in conversations, go emotionally catatonic over a simple phone call, and shut down when I had three errands and one unexpected email. 

I figured I must be lazy, self-sabotaging, or just fundamentally broken. 

Spoiler: I wasn’t broken. I was just undiagnosed. In my 40s, I learned I’m neurodivergent. Autism and ADHD — the combo meal known affectionately as AuDHD — explained why life has always felt like trying to juggle flaming swords while walking a tightrope over a pit of self-help books. The diagnosis didn’t fix everything (I still get lost walking to my kitchen some days), but it gave me something I didn’t know I was missing: compassion. 

Not pity. 

Not excuses. 

Just the radical idea that I wasn’t a failed version of someone else — I was a perfectly valid version of me. That shift has changed everything. I no longer see my struggles as personal flaws but as signs that my brain processes the world differently. 

And once I stopped trying to be neurotypical, I started actually living. 

Not smoothly. 

Not perfectly. 

But more honestly. If you’re walking a similar road — or even if you’re just trying to figure out why life sometimes feels harder than it should — here are a few small strategies that have helped me: 

7 Tiny Things That Actually Help My Neurodivergent Brain (When I Remember to Use Them) 

1. Body doubling. Working next to someone else (even virtually or via a podcast host who doesn’t know I exist) makes it way easier to stay focused. I now do dishes with company — real or imaginary.

 

2. Writing things down immediately. If I don’t capture an idea the second I have it, it vanishes like a magician’s rabbit. Bonus tip: Don’t trust the “I’ll remember it later” voice. That guy’s a liar. 

 

3. Chunk it down. Big projects paralyze me. But “open the laptop” feels doable. I trick myself into working by pretending I’m only doing step one. Sometimes that’s all I do, and that’s okay. Sometimes I surprise myself. 

 

4. Take screen breaks before my brain demands one. If I wait until I feel fried, I’ve already lost the afternoon. But if I pause before I’m cooked? I might actually still be human by dinner. 

 

5. Use external timers and alarms. I used to think alarms were for waking up. Now I use them for everything: taking meds, leaving the house, remembering lunch exists. It’s like outsourcing my executive function to a friendly robot. 

 

6. Gentle routines over rigid schedules. Strict schedules make me rebel like a teenager in a YA novel. But soft structure — like “I usually write after my second coffee” — gives my brain enough of a groove to slide into. 

 

7. Treat rest as productive. When I crash, I used to panic. Now I try to see it as my brain asking for fuel. Recovery is forward momentum. Sometimes doing nothing is the most essential thing I can do. 

 

I’m not a guru. I’m not fixed. I still forget things, overcommit, and have days where I spiral into the existential equivalent of a pile of unfolded laundry. But I’m finally learning that I don’t need to be fixed. I just need to be understood — especially by myself. And so do you.