I used to think I had to pick one.

ADHD or autism. Scattered or structured. Too much or too rigid.
I’ve spent so long trying to make sense of the contradictions in me.

I talk a lot—but I miss social cues.
I crave novelty—but cling to routine like a lifeline.
I hyperfocus—but I forget to eat.
I feel everything—but can’t always name what I’m feeling.

I thought those tensions meant I was broken. That something didn’t add up.
But it turns out I’m not a puzzle with missing pieces—I’m just both.

I’m autistic. I’m ADHD.
Both, not either.

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The world doesn’t really know what to do with people like me.
Especially when you’re a woman—or raised as one.
Especially when you learned early on that being “too much” meant being too loud, too sensitive, too weird, too intense, too curious, too emotional, too different.

So I masked. Hard.
I made myself smaller in some places and shinier in others.
I excelled, so people wouldn’t look too closely.
I adapted so well they called me “resilient,” even when I was barely holding it together.

---

There’s grief in unmasking. In realizing how much of your personality was survival.

But there’s also something else.
Something softer.

There’s relief in seeing myself clearly for the first time.
There’s power in naming it: ADHD and autism.
There’s beauty in building a life that doesn’t punish me for the way my brain works.

---

Some days, it’s still hard.
I lose track of time. I miss appointments. I get overwhelmed by noise or plans or expectations.
I say the wrong thing. Or nothing at all.

But I also notice the little things. I love intensely. I create like my life depends on it.
I see patterns. I care deeply. I remember everything that ever mattered.

And I wouldn’t trade that for being “normal.”

---

I don’t have a bow to tie this up with.

But I do know this:
I’m done trying to split myself in half to make other people comfortable.
I’m both. All the time.
And I’m finally learning to be okay with that.