There comes a point after a late diagnosis where you start looking back. Not just at what happened, but at what you believed. About who you were. About what you were capable of. About what was wrong with you. It's one of the most painful and powerful parts of this journey. Because for many of us, the stories we absorbed were never true.

I used to think I could be quite a confident person. But then when I looked deeper I realised I was just a people-pleasing peacekeeper. I avoided speaking up, I said yes when I meant no, I stayed small, apologised too much, over-explained, or laughed at something that hurt. I thought if If I could just believe in myself more, I'd stop holding back.

Late-diagnosed AuDHD coach helping women stop masking, start healing, and finally feel like themselves. For the burned out, curious, and done-people-pleasing crew. Expect truth, softness, swearing, an...

I used to think I was lazy. Not all the time, just in those moments when I couldn't get off the sofa, or start the laundry, or make a decision that should have been simple. I'd look around at the mess, at the half-finished lists, and I'd think, "You're just not trying hard enough." But it wasn't laziness. It was burnout.

When I first got my diagnoses, ADHD and autism at 37, I thought I'd feel relief. Finally, answers. Finally, a reason for why everything had always felt so hard. And yes, relief did come. Eventually. But first came something I wasn't prepared for. Something no one had warned me about. Grief. Not the kind of grief you expect. Not loss of a person or a dream.

Letting go of the pressure to prove yourself How would you live if you truly believed your worth was not up for negotiation? If you didn’t feel the need to prove, perform, or push through just to be seen as valuable? These are the kinds of questions that shake people. Because most of us were never taught how to feel valuable unless we were doing something.

Why executive dysfunction isn’t laziness and how to work with your brain, not against it If your day starts with a to-do list and ends in shame because none of it got done, you are not alone. If you’ve ever sat frozen on the sofa while your brain screamed at you to just start the thing, this blog is for you.

How guilt around rest is stealing your self-worth You know that voice. The one that whispers you should be doing something right now. The one that jolts you into folding laundry instead of resting. That calls you lazy for pausing. That keeps you in motion even when your bones feel tired and your brain is screaming for a break. If your nervous system is wired for guilt and your brain sees rest as suspicious, this isn’t a productivity problem.

What if I told you that your to-do list is not your moral compass? For most of my working life, I used productivity to prove I was a good person. I was the teacher who never stopped, the mum who did everything herself, the woman who kept going even when her body was screaming for rest. The world rewards us for being busy.

This hasn’t been the May I imagined. I had a plan. I was excited to get ahead with content. I felt a rare kind of clarity towards the end of April, a knowing that I was finally stepping into the work that matters most to me. And then I got ill. Really ill. For the first three weeks of May, I’ve been low energy, foggy-brained, and physically run down.

If you’ve ever heard someone say “you seem more autistic since your diagnosis”, you’re not alone. Maybe it was meant as a joke. Maybe it came from someone close to you. Maybe it was your own inner voice, quietly wondering why everything suddenly feels harder than it used to. You’re not becoming more autistic. You’re just no longer pretending to be less.

If you’ve ever heard someone say “you seem more autistic since your diagnosis”, you’re not alone. Maybe it was meant as a joke. Maybe it came from someone close to you. Maybe it was your own inner voice, quietly wondering why everything suddenly feels harder than it used to. You’re not becoming more autistic. You’re just no longer pretending to be less.

When I first started learning about "unmasking" after my late diagnosis, I genuinely thought it was going to feel like freedom. Like I’d just pull off the layers I’d built up over the years, have a few emotional breakthroughs, and then suddenly I’d be skipping through a field somewhere, fully expressed and glowing. Maybe wearing linen. Definitely very zen. Spoiler: it did not go like that.

Self-acceptance after a late autism or ADHD diagnosis isn’t a light-switch moment. It’s more like taking apart a massive IKEA wardrobe you built without instructions, only to realise half the screws were in the wrong place and you’ve been sitting inside it the whole time wondering why the doors don’t close properly. If you’re sitting there wondering who the hell you even are anymore, you’re not alone.

1. Parenting Without a Map Before I knew I was AuDHD, parenting felt like a constant uphill climb. I was overwhelmed nearly all the time, touched out, snappy, counting down the hours until bedtime. It felt like everyone always needed something from me, and I was somehow always behind. I thought this was just what parenting was. I didn’t realise that not everyone felt triggered by noise, even the happy kind, or that not everyone found joy hard to access, even when they were aware they…

For most of my life, I felt like an unfinished puzzle, like everyone else had been given the completed picture, but I was left trying to fit pieces together without the full image. I knew I was different, but I couldn’t explain why. I masked, I overcompensated, I tried to mould myself into what I thought I should be. I was anxious and exhausted.

Autism, ADHD and Us Three · Episode

ALT: a cartoon of snoopy holding a red umbrella with the words stay dry below it