Am I Neurodivergent Enough? Imposter Syndrome in the Neurodivergent Community
On the importance of getting all your diagnoses.
Like many neurodivergent people, I’ve long felt that insidious gap between what I knew deep down about myself and what my official diagnosis seemed to say. Autistic, yes, but... not quite “the way it’s supposed to be.” Too blurry, too changeable, too easily distracted to tick all the boxes. So, am I really “neurodivergent enough”? This question haunted me for a long time – and it’s this quest for clarity, recognition, and truth that led me to seek out all my diagnoses.
When I received my autism diagnosis, I, like many, felt an immense sense of relief. No, my struggles weren’t due to a lack of effort. No, they didn’t stem from a lack of willpower or intelligence. But while this diagnosis cleared the fog surrounding many questions about how I function, there still remained a lingering sense of incompleteness. A je-ne-sais-quoi of something more.
I didn’t fully recognise myself in the monolithic image that seemed to characterise the “pure” autistic profile. Something in my daily functioning contradicted certain classic markers of autism, notably the lifelong persistence of specific interests—mine changed and renewed every two or three years, sometimes even faster. The attentional patterns, especially the well-known intense hyperfocus typical of autistic people, were certainly present but seemed torn between extreme hyperfocus and hypersensitive distractibility, as if I were balancing precariously between a laser and a satellite dish. I felt deeply guilty for having received a diagnosis in which I didn’t fully recognise myself. I had found a tribe I could relate to, while also feeling that it wasn’t quite the right one. Did I really have the right to identify as autistic?
“I felt deeply guilty for having received a diagnosis in which I didn’t fully recognise myself. I had found a tribe I could relate to, while also feeling that it wasn’t quite the right one. Did I really have the right to identify as autistic?”
Barely two years after my diagnosis, I fell into severe burnout, triggered by the first year of my doctoral studies. It took me three long years to recover, to regain my ability to read, to concentrate, and to reclaim my autonomy, all while grappling with the irreversible transformations that followed. This burnout, which quite literally ravaged my entire life—my body, my mind, my spirit—made this internal tension central. It had destroyed all my compensatory abilities (for the worse…), but it also revealed the final missing piece of the puzzle (…and for the better).
It was during my participation in a study on autism in adults, in January 2025, that pronounced ADHD traits emerged. The researcher conducting the study asked me, “Are you really sure you don’t have ADHD?” She was wonderful—after the interview, she took the time to explain what ADHD is and how it manifests when combined with autism. And suddenly, everything made sense. Completely. Spectacularly.
Meanwhile, my sister-in-law, the mother of an AuDHD child and a recent researcher on the subject, also nudged me toward exploring the AuDHD profile. My psychotherapist confirmed that it would be worth pursuing an ADHD evaluation.
A few months later, in May 2025, after a neuropsychological assessment and a battery of psychometric tests, the hypothesis of a combined autism-ADHD profile (also known as AuDHD) was confirmed. These traits were added to dyslexia, dyscalculia, and hyperacusis, which had already been formally identified alongside my autism diagnosis in 2019. Immense relief. At last, I not only had all the keys to understanding how my mind works, but I also now have the complete manual. All that silent, long-ignored suffering (after all, who cares about the well-being of a child who always gets top grades, or an adult who excels academically?) was finally acknowledged, validated, and legitimised by those who understand the nuances of a multiply neurodivergent profile.
Before this, I lived with the persistent feeling of being a pink elephant in a flock of equally pink flamingos (the autistics). I felt deeply connected to my elegant peers, recognising myself in each autistic trait, but there remained a subtle, elusive layer that added a slightly different reality. I now understand where this impostor syndrome came from: a crucial piece of my neurotype was missing—an ADHD that had gone undetected all these years—the little trickster.
“I now understand where this impostor syndrome came from: a crucial piece of my neurotype was missing—an ADHD that had gone undetected all these years”
Like many high-potential adult women, I received these diagnoses in stages. It took nearly four decades and two burnouts for them to finally be formally recognised.
Getting all my diagnoses is like finally finding the last piece of a puzzle. It’s not just a validation on paper—it’s the chance to fully belong to myself, to embrace the complexity of my neurotype, and to make my voice heard in a world where the boxes remain too small. This journey isn’t over. But today, I feel a little less alone, a little better equipped. And above all, legitimate.