AuDHD diagnosis; learning to understand myself and how yoga helps

Content warning: This post includes personal reflections on bullying, sexual harassment and abuse, alongside grief following a late AuDHD diagnosis and the emotional pain of rejection. There are no graphic descriptions. Please read at your own pace and take a break whenever you need to.

This is a very personal post, and I’m sharing this to raise awareness, not to draw attention to myself. I hope that speaking openly might help someone else feel less alone and bring more understanding to experiences that are often hidden or misunderstood.

Thank you.

---

A few days ago, I was diagnosed with autism and ADHD, often called AuDHD.

I’m still finding the words for what that feels like. It did not come as a surprise, yet it came as a shock. There is validation, and alongside it, a huge amount of grief. Grief for all the versions of me who felt like she was drowning. For the times I thought I was failing. Having an explanation now doesn’t erase how those moments felt. There is relief in beginning to understand, and sadness that I couldn’t offer myself that understanding sooner.

When people say, “Why do you want to label yourself?” I have an answer:

The label AuDHD is much kinder than many of the labels I have given myself over the years.

I was already labelling myself. Those labels carried blame, guilt and shame. This one offers understanding and compassion.

Friendships, social dynamics and looking back

My diagnosis makes sense of so many of the struggles I have had with friendships and social dynamics. It gives me a different way to look at situations that left me confused, hurt or questioning myself. I am beginning to understand why navigating relationships could feel so difficult, and why I so often turned that difficulty into a judgement about who I was.

There are very painful experiences woven into this, too. I have experienced bullying, sexual harassment and abuse. I am looking back at those experiences with a new understanding of vulnerability. Research points to an increased risk of sexual victimisation among autistic women, although estimates vary and individual studies cannot tell every woman’s story. Research on sexual violence against autistic women.

For some autistic women, recognising hidden intentions or manipulation can be difficult. Taking someone at their word, assuming that people mean well, or believing that apparent friendliness means safety can leave someone exposed to people who deliberately exploit that trust. This has certainly been a recurring pattern for me.

There is also the question of trusting ourselves. When your discomfort has repeatedly been dismissed, you can start to doubt your own perception. You may question whether a boundary is reasonable, or whether something that feels wrong really is wrong. The National Autistic Society discusses how this undermining of self-trust, alongside isolation and exploitation disguised as friendship, can increase vulnerability. Safeguarding autistic girls.

These experiences are not universal to autistic women. They are also never an excuse for someone else’s behaviour.

The responsibility for bullying, harassment and abuse belongs to the person choosing to cause harm.

The pain of rejection

Then there is rejection sensitive dysphoria, often shortened to RSD.

The term describes intense emotional pain around rejection, criticism or perceived failure. It is often discussed in relation to ADHD, although it is not a formally recognised diagnosis and research remains limited. More about RSD.

RSD is language for something that has plagued me for as long as I can remember.

The pain around rejection has been a significant part of my experience, especially alongside the difficulties I have had with friendships and social dynamics. When connection already feels difficult to navigate, rejection can carry so much weight.

Having words for this helps me approach that pain with more compassion. I also want to leave room for what has actually happened to me. I have experienced real mistreatment. Understanding rejection sensitivity does not mean explaining every hurt away as something I misread.

Social batteries and spoons

I am also thinking differently about my social battery.

Connection matters to me. My community matters enormously. And social contact takes energy, even when it is meaningful and enjoyable.

Those things can exist together. Enjoying someone’s company doesn’t mean having an unlimited capacity to socialise. Needing time to recover doesn’t lessen the value of the connection.

The idea of “spoons” offers another way to describe limited energy. Christine Miserandino originally developed spoon theory to explain her experience of living with lupus. Each spoon represents some of the energy available for everyday activities, and each activity uses part of that supply. Christine Miserandino’s original essay.

It gives me a useful question to sit with: how much capacity do I actually have today?

I want to get better at letting the answer matter. To recognise that teaching, socialising, processing feelings and managing everyday life all draw on my resources. To make room for recovery before I reach the point of feeling as though I am drowning.

When autism and ADHD pull in different directions

I wish we had language that captured the interaction between autism and ADHD more fully.

AuDHD is a useful shorthand. Clinically, it refers to co-occurring autism and ADHD, rather than a separate diagnosis. But to me, “having both” doesn’t fully communicate how distinct the combined experience can feel. National Autistic Society guidance.

The needs can pull in different directions. I crave predictability alongside a hunger for novelty. Structure may help, while maintaining it can be difficult. Stimulation can be appealing and then quickly become overwhelming. The ADHD tells me I want to socialise, then quickly my autism asks me to withdraw. These tensions (and many others) are described by other people living with both autism and ADHD, too. An AuDHD personal perspective.

For me, this interaction deserves its own language and fuller recognition. It shapes a whole experience, and I want words that convey that complexity.

Where yoga comes in

Yoga grounds me. It brings me back to the present moment and gives my life structure.

When I say yoga, I mean its philosophy, alongside the practical support I find in breath, movement, and rest. The principle of ahimsa, or non-harming, feels especially relevant as I notice the language I use toward myself. I am thinking about what it means to extend kindness inwards, towards the parts of me I have found hardest to understand.

Svadhyaya, or self-study, feels relevant too. My diagnosis gives me a new starting point for that reflection. I want to learn about myself with curiosity and allow understanding to develop at its own pace.

Pranayama is my go-to when I feel overwhelmed. Working with my breath helps settle my nervous system and gives my attention somewhere to return.

Asana supports me through mindful movement, sensory feedback and proprioception, the sense of where my body is in space. Movement helps bring me back into contact with my body and the moment I am in.

Meditation and yoga nidra help me find peace when I am drowning in frazzled thoughts.

These are the ways yoga supports me personally. My practice gives me somewhere to return while I process feelings that are still very new.

Teaching is an anchor

Teaching yoga keeps my practice regular. It gets me out into the world when I might otherwise retreat and become reclusive. And it has given me a wonderful, supportive community.

Teaching is something I offer, but it also sustains me. The rhythm, the shared practice and the connection with other people are anchors in my life.

I don’t yet know all the ways this diagnosis will influence the teacher I am. I do know that it is deepening the questions I bring to my practice: how we listen to ourselves, how we recognise our needs, and how we make room for different experiences.

A seed of an idea

For the past year I have been thinking about developing a program for women like me, including women who are formally diagnosed and those who are self-diagnosed. Now I have my formal diagnosis I feel ready to let this take shape in the world.

My intention is to create space for connection, grounding and rest, with room for different sensory needs, fluctuating energy and the freedom to practise in a way that feels supportive. I want to bring together what I know as a yoga teacher and what I am learning about myself.

I’ll share more when those offerings are ready.

Finding support and community

If parts of this feel familiar, these are some places to explore:

AuDHD UK: A UK charity run by AuDHD people, with a mission to prevent autism and ADHD-related suicides. They work to reduce barriers to adult assessments, provide peer support for people identified later in life, and campaign for earlier diagnosis and better support. Their work recognises how much understanding and connection can matter after years of feeling misunderstood. Check their website for current service availability.

WTF is AuDHD?: A podcast from sisters Ellie and Paige Harwood, who were both diagnosed later in life. This is one of my favourite podcasts at the moment. Through open conversations about their experiences, they explore how differently autism and ADHD can show up, even within the same family. They share their stories to raise awareness and help others feel less alone, both before and after diagnosis.

Autistic Girls Network peer support: Online support for women and non-binary adults in the UK, including people who are formally diagnosed, self-diagnosed or awaiting diagnosis. Check the current programme for availability.

National Autistic Society’s women and girls forum: A space to share experiences and connect with others.

National Autistic Society branches: Local and online groups offering connection, activities and support.

ADHD UK: Online support groups and resources, including support around adult diagnosis.