Everyone’s a "bit ADHD" and a "bit Autistic"... aren’t they?
If you’ve ever wondered, even quietly, whether you might be ADHD or autistic, and then talked yourself out of it, this is for you.
Maybe you’ve always felt a bit out of sync. Maybe you’ve quietly struggled with things others seem to manage easily - knowing when to speak in meetings, remembering appointments, finding the energy for life admin, or keeping up friendships when you’re overwhelmed. Maybe you’ve become so good at coping that even you stopped noticing how hard it was.
This article explores how self-doubt and imposter syndrome can be early signs of unrecognised neurodivergence. If you’ve spent years wondering why life feels harder than it should, that questioning might be the very thing that deserves your attention.
Imposter syndrome has driven me all my life. Even now, after diagnosis, I still catch myself double-checking things I already know, second-guessing decisions I’ve already made. It didn’t matter that I was doing well at work. That I had a good reputation. That people looked to me for leadership. The voice in my head was persistent, and cruel. You’re just good at looking like you have it together. You’re not worthy. You'll be caught out soon.
That belief ran deep. I thought everyone forgets things, everyone gets overwhelmed. I told myself the fact I was getting by, working, functioning, meant I was fine, just not as good as everyone else.
Imposter syndrome is often defined as a persistent belief that your success is undeserved. But before diagnosis, it often shows up more subtly. You don’t just question your ability, you question your right to struggle. You wonder whether what you experience is real, or whether you’re just being dramatic. This version of imposter syndrome is often what delays diagnosis in the first place.
Many of us grew up absorbing rules that never quite made sense. We miss social cues, don’t know when to speak in meetings, feel our words land differently than intended. I felt that I needed a translator at work. A close colleague used to repeat what I’d said in meetings, almost word for word (in my mind). "What Graham just said was......" When he said the same words I thought I had said, people would understand. That kind of thing chips away at your confidence.
I also struggle with knowing when to speak. Other people seem able to jump in effortlessly. I have to calculate the right moment, then leap in and hope I isn’t too late or off-topic. Even when I do speak, what I say often doesn’t land. That kind of friction builds self-doubt. You start to believe you’re not a good communicator, even when your ideas are sound.
I learned to mirror others, became sociable and likeable, but it was all surface level. I was scanning and scripting constantly. Flitting from person to person to avoid off-piste conversations. Alcohol helped to lower the anxiety in social situations. Not drunkenly, but helping me think less. It helped me blend in. I thought that meant I was fine, but what I was really doing was camouflaging my real self.
The ability to put on a performance made it hard for me to believe I was neurodivergent. Imposter syndrome made me question whether I could really be struggling, and made it harder to ask for help.
I never thought of myself as a perfectionist. I didn’t care about things being flawless.I just needed to know what was expected. If the rules felt vague or unspoken, I’d be stuck. I’d delay. I wouldn’t start unless I was sure I could get it right. That wasn’t laziness. It was fear. It was autistic patterning, a need for clarity and structure that was rarely met.
Over time, I began to realise that success wasn’t proof I wasn’t struggling. It was proof of how hard I had been working just to keep up. I had become skilled at overfunctioning, staying late, over-preparing, self-correcting, just to keep things from falling apart. These behaviours were rewarded, but they fed the belief that I was only just holding it together.
In my last article, I talked about when I realised I might be ADHD. During that conversation with a friend, who had just been diagnosed with ADHD, he talked through his symptoms and experiences and something clicked. It wasn’t just familiar, it explained things I had never been able to articulate. There was a name for this. And someone I knew and respected had it too. That was the moment the foundations of my imposter syndrome began to crack.
I wasn’t just struggling. There was a reason. I wasn’t broken or dramatic or weak. I was part of something. Others felt it too. And that changed everything.
This is something I hear often. People say, “I can’t be ADHD, I’m doing okay.” Or, “I’m not autistic, I’ve never needed help.” The imposter syndrome doesn’t just show up in the workplace, it shows up in the diagnostic process. You start to wonder if you’re exaggerating. If you’re wasting someone’s time. If maybe you really are just bad at life. It must be that... it cant be Autism/ADHD.
And that is perhaps the cruelest part. The very thing that’s driving your burnout convinces you that you don’t deserve support.
I began to notice the pattern. The exhaustion. The constant self-monitoring. The fact that everything felt harder than it should. And when I finally allowed myself to believe that those patterns were real, and not just because I wasn't good enough, I could start to imagine that maybe there was help to be had.
When my autism assessment was finally booked, I panicked. Not because I feared the result, but because I didn’t know what to expect. I wanted the questions in advance. I needed to prepare. I knew I’d probably answer too fast, then remember what I actually meant to say hours later.
I emailed the clinic asking if I could see the questions ahead of time. They told me it would be a conversation, not a test. There were no right or wrong answers. But that didn’t help. I didn’t want reassurance. I wanted to get it right. I wanted to be believed, even though I didn’t even believe I could be autistic.
Imposter syndrome in neurodivergent adults is not a pathology. It’s a logical response to years of being told, directly or indirectly, that your way of being in the world is incorrect. This is especially true for those who present with more internalised or masked traits. Autistic traits are often overlooked in people who camouflage, especially women and marginalised genders (Hull, Petrides, and Mandy, 2020). Camouflaging can delay diagnosis and reinforce the belief that you’re just not trying hard enough.
Comments like “everyone’s a little bit ADHD” or “we’re all on the spectrum somewhere” seem harmless, but they erode self-belief. They suggest that your experience is ordinary. That your struggle isn’t real. That you must be imagining it.
Over time, these messages become internalised. You start to doubt your own perception. You wonder if you’re exaggerating. If you’re just not trying hard enough. This is internalised ableism -the belief that needing support means you’ve failed, or that success disqualifies you from struggle. It convinces us that unless we are visibly falling apart, we don’t deserve help.
Rachel Morgan-Trimmer describes this clearly in “How to Be Autistic”. The labels we absorb - lazy, too much, not enough, stick for decades. She writes about perfectionism, shame, and internalised ableism, and how many of us grow up blaming ourselves for things we don’t yet understand.
Reading her words helped me see my past differently. It gave weight to my doubts, not as imagined failings, but as signs of something real.
She also speaks to the confusion around identity that often follows a diagnosis. But for many, that identity crisis begins long before. If you’ve spent your life masking without even realising it, how can you trust what’s underneath? You end up with two versions of yourself: the one others see, and the one you’re not sure exists. That uncertainty makes it even harder to believe you might be autistic or ADHD, even when all the signs are there.
When I was actually diagnosed autistic, I didn’t believe it. I thought maybe they had made a mistake. I hadn’t failed dramatically. I had a career. A family. The clinicians sent me a link to the Embrace Autism article on autistic imposter syndrome and said it was very common — especially in late-diagnosed adults.
That article helped me understand what was happening. Autistic imposter syndrome isn’t just about doubting your skills. It’s doubting the validity of your identity. You start to feel like you don’t match the stereotype well enough to count, even when you meet all the criteria. If you’ve been good at hiding it, it can feel like maybe it isn’t real.
If you’re still unsure, if you’re quietly wondering whether your struggles are real or if you’re just making excuses, please know that even that doubt is part of the story.Many of us worry we’ll waste someone’s time. That we’ll seek support and be told we’re fine. That we’re not “neurodivergent enough” to count.
But questioning isn’t a sign of fraudulence. It’s often the first step on the journey to self-understanding and forgiveness.
If I’ve missed anything, or you have questions, please leave a comment. It might help you, or others, on the journey.
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Feenstra, S., Begeny, C. T., Ryan, M. K., Rink, F., & Stoker, J. I. (2020). Contextualizing the Impostor 'Syndrome': A literature review and developmental framework. Frontiers in Psychology, 11, 575024. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2020.575024
Hull, L., Petrides, K. V., & Mandy, W. (2020). The female autism phenotype and camouflaging: a narrative review. Review Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 7(4), 306–317. https://doi.org/10.1007/s40489-020-00197-9
Morgan-Trimmer, R. (2024). How to Be Autistic: A guide for the newly diagnosed. Firebird. https://www.askfirebird.com
Embrace Autism. (n.d.). Introducing Autistic Impostor Syndrome. https://embrace-autism.com/introducing-autistic-impostor-syndrome/
