Being Both: What It’s Like to Live with an AuDHD Brain
Living with an AuDHD brain, both autistic and ADHD, often isn’t obvious from the outside. Here’s what it feels like from the inside, and what helps more than anything else: real understanding and support that meets us where we are.
When One Brain Pulls Two Ways
I wasn’t the kind of kid who stood out in a big way.
I was just quiet. Shy. Smart, maybe. Sensitive.
I remember crab-walking across the living room floor at my grandfather’s house when I was little.
He laughed and said, “You really are an odd duck.”
I knew I was different, even if I couldn’t name why.
At school, I didn’t cause trouble. I followed the rules.
But I often had no idea what was going on.
Things moved too fast or didn’t make sense.
I just stayed quiet and tried to keep up.
No one really saw me struggling.
They saw calm.
They didn’t see how much effort it took to hold it all together.
What It Feels Like Inside
At home and in my head, things were always pulling in different directions.
Sometimes I could tell autism was captaining the ship, steering toward structure, quiet, and things that made sense.
Other times, ADHD would kick in and suddenly I needed motion, excitement, or just something new.
Most of the time, it felt like they were both trying to take the wheel—one hitting the brakes, the other pressing the gas.
I needed silence, but not too much. I needed time alone, but not for too long.
Even planning was confusing. I’d make these elaborate systems in my head and then not follow any of them.
I used to pretend my school worksheets were office documents.
It made the work feel different. Like it mattered somehow.
Better than staring at another paper that was just going in the trash.
I don’t think people saw how hard I was working to hold it all together.
I wasn’t loud or disruptive. I didn’t break rules.
I just got quiet and people assumed I was fine.
What AuDHD Actually Means
Being both autistic and ADHD doesn’t mean having two separate sets of traits.
It’s a unique brain type with its own patterns, strengths, and struggles.
For example:
About 50 to 70 percent of autistic people also meet criteria for ADHD (Frontiers in Psychiatry)
About 30 to 50 percent of people with ADHD also have autistic traits
The overlap often hides key traits from being recognized
Diagnosis can be missed, especially in kids who mask or don’t match outdated stereotypes
As Vanderbilt University explains, this dual diagnosis was only officially recognized in 2013 when the DSM-5 changed the rules. Even now, it is still overlooked by many professionals.
Some of us were seen as “smart but slow.” Bright but scattered.
The kind of kid who gets overlooked because nothing looks urgent.
One of the biggest challenges is the back and forth.
Structure can feel safe but also too rigid.
Spontaneity can feel freeing but also too chaotic.
Sometimes we want both at once, and it’s hard to explain why.
For some of us, strengths like creativity, focus, or empathy are very strong.
But so are executive function challenges like organization, transitions, and communication.
What Actually Helped Me
At Summit Ranch, I get to use all the tools I’ve collected.
I have space to work in a way that fits my brain.
What didn’t help:
Forcing myself to just try harder
Pushing through tasks until I burned out
Pushing myself to do things that were already uncomfortable, because I was told they’d get easier over time
But I was never actually comfortable to begin with.
What helped:
Strategies designed with me, not just for me
Learning how my brain works
Letting go of shame
Having more than one way to do something
The biggest shift was realizing I didn’t have to fight my brain.
I could partner with it.
What I Wish Adults Understood
There is no one version of AuDHD.
We are not all the same.
But there are things I wish more adults knew:
A kid can be brilliant and still not know how to brush their teeth or turn in homework
They may crave routine one day and fight it the next
It is not about defiance. Sometimes even they don’t know why something is so hard
Needing help is not the same as being lazy
Most of the time they are trying
Most of the time they are just doing it quietly
And sometimes the simplest questions, like “How was your day?” are the hardest to answer
I could talk about chaos theory in fifth grade, but I still struggle when someone asks how my day was.
What part are they asking about?
Which moment should I pick?
And what does “fine” even tell them?
My brain tries to process everything all at once, and nothing comes out.
It’s not that I don’t want to answer.
It’s that I genuinely don’t know how to.
I wish people understood that needs don’t always look like struggle.
Sometimes it looks like silence. Or pretending. Or being “fine” right up until we aren’t.
What Would Have Helped Me as a Kid
I don’t think anyone assumed I wasn’t trying.
But they also didn’t really see me.
I remember having to pretend I was in an office just to get through seat work.
I remember always being told to talk more.
But when I did, people seemed confused or annoyed.
The reactions didn’t match the effort.
It made me want to go quiet again.
If I could go back and design a space for kids like me, I’d want:
More than one way to communicate
Adults who listen without trying to fix right away
Time to build trust and relationships slowly
Space to be creative, without pressure
Support that meets us where we are, not where we “should” be
For Parents of AuDHD Kids
If your kid feels hard to read or hard to help, you’re not doing something wrong.
Their needs might change from day to day.
They might surprise you with deep thinking and big emotions and then melt down over a sock seam or a group project.
Here’s what usually helps:
Start with connection, not correction
Give choices where you can
Remember that what seems small might feel huge to them
Offer support before things fall apart
Celebrate what works, even if it’s not the usual way
They don’t need to be fixed.
They need to be understood.
A Place That Gets It
At Summit Ranch, our neurodivergent teen and preteen groups are built for kids who feel like this.
Who don’t fit a mold.
Who shine in one area and struggle in another.
Who are trying, even when it doesn’t look like it.
We offer space to move, create, play, rest, and connect without masking.
They don’t have to fit in.
They just get to belong.
