Fifty & Unfiltered: Embracing My Neurodivergent Journey

I turned 50 this year, and it's been quite the adventure—like knitting a sweater while riding a roller coaster. Yes, I'm that woman who knits everywhere: on the bus, in waiting rooms, even in the cinema. If you've ever been distracted by someone clicking needles during a movie, that was probably me. And if I wasn't knitting, I was likely munching on popcorn—nonstop. Ran out of mine? Oops, I might have dipped into yours without noticing. Sorry about that! Just stimming again - nothing to see here!

Becoming a mother is the highlight of my life. It's one decision that feels entirely mine, separate from my Autism and ADHD traits (AuDHD, as I like to call it). My two adult neurodivergent children inspire me every day—they're my greatest pride and joy.

Most of my life choices have been a blend of impulsivity and a desperate attempt to fit in. I left home young after too many meltdowns that my (possibly neurodivergent) mother couldn't handle. Moved in with my boyfriend, bought property, got married—all in an effort to tick the "normal" boxes and make my family happy.

Jobs were a challenge. I couldn't stick with them—they felt pointless, socially draining, or I just couldn't focus. Yet, paradoxically, I excelled in them, quickly climbing the ranks thanks to my over-the-top customer service—a result of massive masking and overcompensation. The only jobs I truly loved were in a record shop and a bookshop, places that catered to my special interests.

It wasn't until my 30s and 40s, after a messy divorce, that I began unmasking. Free from the need to perform for a partner, I focused on myself and my children's neurodivergent journeys. My career in psychotherapy pushed me into deep self-reflection. I started connecting the dots—the "alien" feeling I'd always had began to make sense. When I tentatively shared my self-discovery with friends, their amused "Well, duh!" reactions confirmed what I was just coming to accept.

Embracing my AuDHD identity was liberating but stirred up old fears. I haven't "come out" to my parents or siblings yet. Maybe it's the fear of reinforcing those childhood labels—"weird," "spoiled," "annoying." My attachment style leans towards anxious-avoidant, a byproduct of trying to be fiercely independent while secretly craving understanding.

Now, about that internal jukebox of mine. Words aren't just words; they're cues for songs. Say something that remotely resembles a lyric, and my brain instantly starts playing it. Before I know it, I'm singing out loud—sometimes without realizing it. My partner finds it both endearing and exasperating, especially when it's a cheesy '80s tune instead of the "good" music I claim to love.

Turning 50 brings mixed emotions. There's sadness in realizing how much of my life was spent not understanding myself, being misdiagnosed with things like bipolar disorder. I wish there had been more awareness when I was younger—for me and for my peers who silently struggled.

But there's also joy. My impulsivity, while sometimes leading to questionable decisions, has filled my life with rich experiences. Like proposing to my boyfriend on a dare during a leap year, leading to a marriage that, while it didn't last, gave me my wonderful children. Or meeting my current partner because I overlooked a flat tire and got stranded—a happy accident stemming from my forgetfulness.

As for the future, I hope for an easier path for my kids, even though life isn't always kind. For myself, I aim for better physical health and to be gentler when I get frustrated with myself or the world not being "right."

I don't have grand advice or profound wisdom—I'm still figuring things out, and that's okay. Embracing who I am—quirks, flaws, and all—has been the most freeing experience. Life is messy and unpredictable, much like my knitting projects that often start as one thing and become something entirely different. And that's the beauty of it.

So here's to the next chapter. I'll be the one knitting in the cinema, singing random songs, and navigating this wonderfully chaotic world one stitch at a time.

Author's Note:

Thank you for joining me on this journey. If any of this resonates with you, know that you're not alone. Embrace your quirks—they're what make you uniquely you. I have designed a set of cards celebrating and acknowledging neurodivergent behaviours. Maybe it would help you to understand yourself a bit better too? And if you ever need someone to knit with or share a popcorn tub (I promise I won't eat all of it... well, maybe), you know where to find me.