A Day in the Life: When the NeuroDivergent Therapist Struggles with EVERYTHING
Note: This is a longer post than usual. Estimated reading time: 4-5 minutes.
As a psychotherapist, I spend my days guiding others through their challenges, offering tools and strategies to navigate life’s emotional and mental landscapes. However, here’s a truth that might surprise some: even with all that professional knowledge and self-awareness, there are days when I’m utterly overwhelmed—physically, emotionally, and mentally. Today was one of those days.
I woke up late, my head clouded until I’d had my medication and a few cups of coffee. It took hours to feel remotely functional. My autoimmune conditions—Crohn’s, Sjögren’s, Hashimoto’s—often flare up together, and I can’t always pinpoint which one is causing the worst symptoms. At the moment, my body feels like it’s on fire: my joints ache, my eyes and mouth burn, and my stomach’s in knots. It’s excruciating to eat, drink, or even think properly. The link between neurodivergence and autoimmune disease is something I’ve been reflecting on lately—living in a world that doesn’t quite “fit” can put extra strain on a sensitive nervous system, potentially triggering or exacerbating chronic illnesses.
Compounding all of this is a potent blend of what many neurodivergent individuals experience as part of a meltdown: guilt, self-blame, depression, anxiety, trouble reading other people’s feelings correctly, and a deep fear of letting people down. My mind loops over constant worries, I struggle with sleeping (which explains why I got up so late), and I overthink everything. I’m hyper-sensitive to physical things—like the texture of clothes and bedding—and emotionally reactive to people and situations, which only feeds my sense of overwhelm.
This morning’s messages from my sisters about caring for our elderly parents hit me hard. I want to do more, but with my fluctuating health, committing to anything feels impossible right now. That sense of helplessness leads to waves of shame: how can I, a therapist, be so incapacitated? But that’s the reality of neurodivergence and chronic illness—they don’t care about job titles or aspirations.
My flat mirrors my internal state—unfinished laundry, clutter piling up, and chores undone. In a world that already feels chaotic, the visual mess intensifies my anxiety. Then, in a moment of misplaced optimism, I checked my emails over coffee. Big mistake. The notifications reminded me of all the tiny, seemingly urgent tasks I’ve been avoiding, like fiddling with my disconnected smart meter. When my partner—who is endlessly patient—tried to help, I snapped at him. Watching myself do it felt awful, but I couldn’t stop. The meltdown had hold of me, with a dash of what’s sometimes referred to as PDA (Pathological Demand Avoidance): every request, every question, feels like too much demand on a system already in overdrive.
Getting dressed was another ordeal. My clothes feel wrong—too tight, too scratchy, none of them comfortable or flattering. Thanks to medication and stress, I’ve put on weight, stirring up old self-esteem battles. Even with all the psychological awareness in the world, it doesn’t neutralise the daily sting of self-criticism.
I’m sharing all of this not to whinge or seek sympathy, but to be relatable. I’m a therapist, yes, but I’m also a person living with neurodivergence and autoimmune conditions—both of which can be deeply misunderstood. Over the years, I’ve realised that many people who come to me for guidance are dealing with similar layers of complexity. In fact, I’ve put together a resource called “100 Life Hacks for Neurodivergents”, which lists common issues like difficulty focusing on tasks, sensory overload, social anxiety in group settings, time management struggles, and so much more. There are a hundred of these challenges in that eBook, and if you’re neurodivergent, you might be nodding your head at quite a few of them.
Today, one of the solutions came from my partner. He found me lying on the bed, talking to ChatGPT on my iPad, with Alfie (our dog) curled up beside me—Alfie’s quiet presence offering the kind of solace only a beloved pet can give. My partner gently reminded me to take it one step at a time. Go back to square one—have something to eat, start with the basics. He’s spot on; when you’re overwhelmed and every sense is on high alert, remembering to do the simplest things can feel like a monumental task. Sometimes, all we need is a gentle nudge from someone who can see clearly when we can’t.
Another tool I’m finding unexpectedly helpful is using ChatGPT’s voice function to journal my thoughts in real time. Just speaking everything out loud can be a lifeline, giving me space to process the chaos in my head. It’s not a replacement for therapy, but in these moments of peak overwhelm, it’s a form of self-care that’s accessible and grounding.
So yes, even therapists have meltdowns. Even therapists grapple with autoimmune flares, mental fog, guilt, and frustration. We might know all the theories, but putting them into practice when pain and anxiety collide can feel overwhelming. Still, we keep trying—and that’s what matters. If you’re feeling similarly lost, please know you’re not alone. Sometimes, simply voicing what’s in your mind can be the first step to regaining a sense of control. And if all else fails, go back to the basics. There’s no shame in returning to square one.
If you’re curious about the specific challenges neurodivergent people often face—and some practical tips—I invite you to check out my “100 Life Hacks for Neurodivergents” eBook. It’s a collection of insights and strategies that might come in handy on days like this. Until then, be kind to yourself, remember you’re not alone in these struggles, and lean on the people (and pets) who love you. Sometimes, the most powerful help comes from the simplest advice and the warmest companionship.
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