Wait... You Mean Everyone’s Brain Isn’t Doing This?

Recently, I took the RAADS R, a self report questionnaire designed to identify autistic traits in adults.

And apparently my ADHD may have brought a friend.

Autism.

Or, as I have been jokingly referring to it, perhaps just a touch of autism.

Now, before anyone comes for your friendly neighborhood therapist in the comments, the RAADS R is not a diagnosis. A screening questionnaire cannot tell me definitively that I am autistic. Autism evaluations are much more comprehensive and look at developmental history, current functioning, patterns across your lifetime and other possible explanations for your experiences.

But my score was high enough to make me stop and go: Huh.

Followed immediately by: Wait.

Followed by approximately six hours of research because, naturally, the ADHD portion of this program would not allow me to simply notice something interesting and move on with my day.

We had to investigate.

But I Thought I Was Good at People

One of the reasons autism had never really crossed my mind was that I have always considered social situations one of my strengths.

I can read a room. I notice changes in people's expressions. I pick up on tone. I can usually tell when someone is uncomfortable, irritated, disengaged or saying “I'm fine” when they are absolutely not fine.

I became a therapist, for fox sake.

People are kind of my thing.

So autism?

That didn't fit the picture I had in my head.

Until I started asking a different question.

What if I am good at reading people because I have spent my entire life studying them?

I moved around a lot growing up. When you are constantly entering new environments, you learn quickly.

Who is safe? Who is popular? How does this group communicate? What makes people laugh? What version of me works here?

I learned how to adapt.

And what I always thought of as a natural social superpower may, at least in part, have developed as a survival skill.

I didn't just walk into the room.

My brain was collecting data.

Wait... Some of You Aren't Processing ALL THE TIME?

This has probably been one of the strangest realizations for me.

Apparently there are people walking around whose brains are not constantly operating a background processing computer.

You're just... there?

You're having the conversation?

That's it?

Meanwhile, somewhere behind my eyes:

DOWNLOAD IN PROGRESS.

Tone detected. Facial expression logged. Environmental noise identified. Possible conflict anticipated. Three interpretations generated. Related memory retrieved from 2007.

Why did she say “interesting” like that? Did I interrupt? I interrupted. Stop interrupting. Don't think about interrupting.

Now you're thinking so hard about not interrupting that you haven't heard the last three sentences. Let's not forget about eye contact reminders...

SYSTEM ERROR.

And sometimes my processing computer gets stuck in an endless loop and never actually boots correctly.

Someone asks me how I feel about something and my brain goes:

Processing... processing... processing...

Three business days later:

I HAVE PREPARED A RESPONSE.

Unfortunately, the conversation ended Tuesday.

My Accents Suddenly Make More Sense

There is another thing I have done my entire life.

I pick up accents.

Put me around someone with an accent long enough and apparently my brain decides:

Excellent. This is ours now.

And I have to actively stop myself from doing it because I don't want someone to think I am mocking them.

I'm not.

My brain just heard a speech pattern and went, “Copy and paste.”

This can be related to mirroring, something humans in general do socially, but which can be especially noticeable in people who consciously or unconsciously adapt their speech, expressions, mannerisms or energy to the people around them.

ADHD can also come with heightened social responsiveness and rapid shifts in energy and communication style. Autistic masking or camouflaging can involve learning and reproducing social behaviors to fit into an environment.

For me, I suspect it is a little cocktail of everything.

ADHD. Possible autistic traits. Moving around. Learning how to survive socially.

And apparently having a brain that treats accents like free downloadable content.

Maybe Neurodivergent People Were the Explorers

I have absolutely no scientific evidence for the following theory, so please understand that this is Joy Anthropology and not an academic citation.

But I sometimes imagine people with ADHD thousands of years ago.

Everyone else:

“We have food here. Water is nearby. We should probably stay here.”

ADHD person:

“Okay, but what's over THERE?”

And off we went.

Someone had to wonder what was on the other side of the mountain. Someone had to get bored enough to follow the river. Someone had to take something apart to see how it worked. Someone had to try doing something in a completely different way for absolutely no reason other than, “I wonder what would happen.”

Were we occasionally helpful to civilization?

Absolutely.

Did a few of us probably perish after impulsively eating a berry nobody had ever seen before?

Also probably.

“Hey guys, look at this!”

DO NOT EAT THAT.

Too late.

Meanwhile, perhaps our more neurotypical ancestors were looking at the discoveries and saying:

“Okay. You found the river. Wonderful. Now can we please build something?”

The explorers discovered.

The settlers refined.

They created systems. Improved processes. Built structures. Stayed long enough to turn discoveries into civilizations and empires.

Obviously human history and neurodiversity are infinitely more complicated than that. But I love the metaphor because it changes the question.

Instead of asking, “What is wrong with this brain?”

We can ask:

“What might this brain be really good at?”

Sometimes Naming It Changes Everything

This is something I have seen over and over again as a therapist and psychiatric nurse practitioner.

Sometimes the most powerful moment isn't when we make something disappear.

It is when we finally have language for what has been happening.

One example that has brought enormous relief to some of my patients is finally being able to talk about episodes of explosive anger.

Some people have spent their entire lives believing:

I'm just an asshole.

They have had moments where anger comes on so intensely and so quickly that it feels like an explosion. Sometimes sensory overload, frustration, emotional dysregulation, impulsivity or feeling completely overwhelmed can contribute to that experience.

And unfortunately, when the explosion happens, it doesn't particularly care who is standing nearby.

Your spouse can be in the way.

Your kids can be in the way.

The person who asked you one completely innocent question at exactly the wrong moment can be in the way.

That does not mean hurting people is okay. Understanding a behavior is not the same thing as excusing it. We are still responsible for what happens during those moments and for repairing the harm afterward.

But there is an enormous difference between:

“I am a terrible person.”

and

“There is a pattern happening in my nervous system that I need to understand.”

Some people may hear terminology such as intermittent explosive disorder, which is an actual mental health diagnosis involving recurrent, disproportionate aggressive outbursts. But not every sensory explosion, autistic meltdown, ADHD related emotional outburst or episode of intense anger is intermittent explosive disorder. Those experiences can look similar on the outside while having very different causes underneath.

That distinction matters.

Because the goal isn't simply to slap another diagnosis onto someone.

The goal is to figure out:

What is actually happening before the explosion?

Maybe there is sensory overload.

Maybe there are too many demands.

Maybe the person hasn't eaten.

Maybe they haven't slept.

Maybe they have been masking all day and finally reached capacity.

Maybe there is ADHD related impulsivity or difficulty regulating an emotion once it has started.

Maybe there is anxiety underneath the anger.

Maybe there is trauma.

Maybe there really is an impulse control disorder that needs appropriate assessment and treatment.

Once we stop at “I'm just an asshole,” there isn't much to work with.

But once we identify a pattern, we can start targeting it.

What does my body feel like ten minutes before I explode?

What environments make it more likely?

What sensory input pushes me toward overload?

What does my family notice before I notice it?

Can I leave the room earlier?

Can I communicate that I'm reaching capacity?

Can we reduce sensory input?

Can I recognize hunger, exhaustion, overstimulation or transitions as vulnerabilities instead of waiting until my nervous system is already at DEFCON 1?

Naming something does not remove accountability.

It gives us somewhere to intervene.

And that is powerful.

Diagnosis Can Change the Story You Have Been Telling Yourself

As a therapist, one of the most rewarding things I have witnessed is someone finally receiving an explanation for how their brain works.

ADHD.

Autism.

Dyslexia.

A learning difference.

An impulse control disorder.

Or sometimes simply understanding a pattern that finally gives language to something they have experienced their entire life.

Because sometimes the diagnosis doesn't change the person at all.

It changes the story they have been telling themselves about that person.

Maybe you weren't lazy.

Maybe starting tasks requires more executive functioning support for your brain.

Maybe you weren't “too sensitive.”

Maybe your nervous system actually processes sensory input differently.

Maybe you weren't antisocial.

Maybe social interaction takes significantly more energy because you are consciously processing information that other people handle more automatically.

Maybe you weren't bad at friendships.

Maybe you needed more direct communication.

Maybe you weren't simply an angry person.

Maybe your nervous system was repeatedly reaching overload and nobody, including you, had taught you how to recognize what was happening before the explosion.

That does not erase the things you have done.

But it gives you a chance to do something differently next time.

Maybe you weren't failing at being like everyone else.

Maybe being like everyone else was never supposed to be the goal.

I have watched people realize this and almost physically soften.

Because imagine spending your entire life comparing your brain to someone else's brain without realizing you are operating two completely different systems.

You keep wondering why everyone else seems to have figured out the instructions.

Meanwhile, you are sitting there thinking:

THERE WERE INSTRUCTIONS?!

ADHD and Autism Are Not Just Lists of Deficits

We talk a lot about the challenges associated with ADHD and autism, and those challenges can be very real.

Executive dysfunction is real. Sensory overload is real. Communication differences are real. Transitions can be difficult. Emotional regulation can be difficult. Social exhaustion can be real.

I never want conversations about neurodivergent strengths to minimize the support that some people need.

But there can also be incredible strengths associated with neurodivergent ways of thinking.

Deep focus on areas of interest. When something captures our attention, we can learn an extraordinary amount about it.

Pattern recognition. Some neurodivergent brains are exceptionally good at noticing patterns, inconsistencies or connections that other people overlook.

Creative problem solving. If your brain does not automatically follow the traditional path, sometimes you find a path nobody else considered.

Curiosity. We ask why. And then why again. And then somehow we are reading an academic paper at 1:00 a.m. because one question led to seventeen additional questions.

Passion. Interests can run deep. That intensity can turn into expertise, creativity, advocacy or innovation.

Attention to detail. Some autistic people notice details others miss and can develop remarkable expertise in areas they care about.

Directness and authenticity. Clear, straightforward communication can be incredibly valuable.

Strong values and sense of justice. Many neurodivergent people describe feeling deeply about fairness, consistency and protecting others.

Adaptability and improvisation. Particularly with ADHD, sometimes spending your entire life forgetting Plan A means you become exceptionally skilled at inventing Plans B through Q.

And yes, these vary enormously from person to person.

There is no single ADHD brain.

There is no single autistic brain.

There is no universal neurodivergent superpower.

Sometimes a trait is a strength in one environment and a challenge in another.

Hyperfocus can help me accomplish an incredible amount of work.

Hyperfocus can also make me realize it is 4:00 p.m. and apparently human beings require food and water.

Same brain.

Different context.

Maybe My “People Skills” Aren't Contradictory After All

This has been one of the more interesting things for me to sit with.

Maybe being good with people does not automatically rule out autistic traits.

Maybe the more interesting question is how I became good with people and how much processing it requires.

Maybe I learned people.

Maybe moving frequently taught me to observe quickly and adapt.

Maybe mirroring helped me connect.

Maybe becoming a therapist gave me an entire professional framework for something my brain was already doing constantly.

Observe. Analyze. Look for patterns. Understand motivation. Notice what changed. Figure out what someone needs.

That sounds a lot like therapy.

It also sounds suspiciously like my brain at a dinner party.

The difference is that one of those situations pays me.

Different Brain. Different Needs.

This is ultimately why I think diagnosis and self understanding can be so powerful.

Not because we need another label.

Not because every personality trait needs to become a disorder.

And certainly not because an online screening test can tell you everything about yourself.

But because understanding your brain can help you stop demanding that it operate like someone else's.

Maybe I need more processing time.

Maybe I need predictability before transitions.

Maybe there are days when I can handle enormous amounts of sensory and social input and days when my system says:

Nope. Dark room. Soft clothes. Nobody speak. AHHHHHH much better.

Maybe I need to communicate that instead of judging myself for it.

That is the gift I have watched diagnoses give people in therapy.

Not an excuse.

An explanation.

And explanations can lead to accommodations, communication, self compassion and better strategies.

Sometimes a person finally understands why certain things have always felt harder for them.

Sometimes they discover strengths they had dismissed because those strengths didn't look like everyone else's.

Sometimes they finally stop asking:

“Why can't I just be normal?”

And start asking:

“What does my brain need?”

That is a much more useful question.

As for me, I'm still processing.

Obviously.

The computer is currently downloading approximately 46 years of retrospective data, analyzing every social interaction I have ever had and occasionally getting stuck on the loading screen.

Please allow three to five business days for results.

And if you have ADHD, autism, both, or received a diagnosis later in life, I would genuinely love to hear about your experience.

Did getting a diagnosis change the way you understood yourself?

Did you suddenly look back at your childhood and think, “OH. Well, that explains a lot.”

What did you once consider a flaw that you now understand as simply part of how your brain works?

Comment below and tell us your experience. Because the more we talk about the many different ways human brains work, the less alone someone else might feel when their own processing computer finally boots up.

Eventually.

Your friendly neighborhood therapist,

Joy

Moms Gone Mental