Here I share the reasons why I’ve started to realise it does matter, to me anyway, and I hope this experience might help you if you’ve asked yourself the same questions.
I want to open with a short caveat, that the subject of neurodivergence is complex, and spans so many different issues. Here I’m just sharing some of my recent personal experiences, that are a small part of a very big picture. That being said, please feel free to tell me if you feel I’ve got something wrong here, as I’m certainly no expert.
Over the past few weeks, I've been undertaking specialist training with Aspire Autism Consultancy to deepen my understanding of autism and how I can better support autistic clients in my counselling practice. This is the same training I did on ADHD this time last year. What I hadn't anticipated was how much this training would lead me to reflect on my own life, relationships and the ways I've learned to navigate the world.
I've worked with several autistic and ADHD clients already, and something I've noticed in those sessions is how often I resonate with the experiences they share. Of course, relating to someone's experience doesn't mean that we necessarily share the same neurotype, but I began to recognise certain patterns and difficulties that felt very familiar. As counsellors, we have an ethical responsibility to develop our self-awareness and recognise how our own experiences might influence our work. We talk a great deal about respecting difference and diversity, which is incredibly important, but I think we also need to be aware of the similarities we might share with our clients. When something resonates strongly, it's worth exploring what that might mean for us, rather than making assumptions about either ourselves or the person sitting opposite us.
Autism traits I wasn't aware of, that I resonated with
On the first day of training, we discussed how autistic communication styles can sometimes be perceived by others as ‘rude, blunt, cold or intimidating’, particularly when someone communicates very directly. This immediately struck a chord with me because throughout my life I've been described as too direct, abrupt or even intimidating, often by people who don't know me particularly well, but at times even close friends have sometimes commented on my delivery, despite knowing that my intentions come from a place of kindness and care.
It's something I've questioned about myself for years. Have I been too direct? Have I said the wrong thing, or expressed myself in a way that might upset someone? I've spent a considerable amount of time learning to soften what I say, anticipate how others might receive it and adapt my communication to make people more comfortable. Although I understand the importance of considering other people's feelings, I'm beginning to recognise just how much effort this has taken, both professionally and personally.
Another aspect of autism I hadn't previously understood was the strong sense of justice that some autistic people experience. I've always found it incredibly difficult to let go of situations that feel unfair, unclear or fundamentally wrong, whether they affect me personally or someone else. I've often been told that I'm too sensitive, that something doesn't affect me so I shouldn't worry about it, or asked why I can't simply move on. But when something feels unjust, I can find myself thinking about it long after other people have forgotten about it. This has sometimes made me a strong advocate for others, but it can also be exhausting. I remember being described as too sensitive from a very young age, and I think I've carried that perception of myself for a long time. What struck me about these discussions wasn't simply recognising traits that can be associated with autism, but realising how much of my life I've spent questioning or trying to change these parts of myself.
Of course, recognising these experiences doesn't necessarily mean I'm autistic, but it's given me another way of understanding things I've always found difficult. I'm not discovering entirely new things about myself; I'm beginning to find different explanations for things I've known about myself for years.
Autism, empathy and the misconceptions
One of the biggest misconceptions the training challenged for me was the idea that autistic people lack empathy or struggle to understand and care about other people's feelings. I think this assumption had influenced my own perception of autism more than I realised, because I've always considered myself highly sensitive to other people's emotions. When I'm in a group, I often notice subtle changes in how people seem to be feeling, even when nothing has been said, and I can find it quite overwhelming trying to process all of that information. What I find particularly difficult is when I sense that something isn't quite right but the person doesn't communicate it, because I'm left trying to make sense of what I'm picking up on without knowing whether my interpretation is accurate.
During the training, we explored how empathy and emotional awareness can vary enormously between autistic people, just as they do between non-autistic people. Some autistic people describe feeling other people's emotions very intensely, while others might find certain social or emotional cues more difficult to interpret. Understanding that there isn't one universal autistic experience has been important for me, both personally and in terms of how I approach my counselling work.
Around four or five years ago, I remember reading Sensitive: The Hidden Strength of Sensitivity & Empathy by Hannah Jane Walker, and I remember resonating so strongly with what I was reading that I began identifying as a highly sensitive person, or HSP. I mentioned this during my counselling training to a peer who was neurodivergent, and she suggested that some people might feel more comfortable identifying as highly sensitive than considering whether they could be autistic. I remember thinking about what she'd said and questioning whether I would feel comfortable being described as autistic, or what that might mean for how I understood myself. If I'm being honest, I did feel some resistance to the idea at the time, although I didn't explore it much further.
Looking back, I wonder how much of that resistance came from the misconceptions I held about autism, particularly around empathy and emotional sensitivity. I had always associated my sensitivity with being an HSP, without really understanding that some autistic people experience sensory and emotional sensitivity very intensely too. It's also made me realise how important it is, particularly as a counsellor, not to approach neurodivergence with a fixed idea of what an autistic person should look like or how they should experience the world.
Why I've decided to have a pre-screening assessment for autism and adhd
I've now booked a neurodivergence pre-screening assessment with Aspire Autism Consultancy, the organisation that provided my training, which will take place in a couple of weeks. So far, I've completed five questionnaires covering ADHD and autism, each containing approximately 20 to 50 questions exploring different aspects of my experiences, behaviours and ways of thinking. The next stage is a 90-minute consultation where we'll discuss my responses in more detail and explore what the results might suggest.
It's important to explain that this is a pre-screening process rather than a formal diagnosis. My understanding is that it can help identify whether someone may be autistic or have ADHD, and whether pursuing a formal diagnostic assessment might be beneficial. What I've appreciated about Aspire's approach throughout the training is the recognition that neurodivergence isn't always straightforward to identify or understand, and that two people with the same diagnosis can have very different experiences of the world.
At this stage, I don't know whether I'll want to pursue a formal diagnosis afterwards, because my main motivation is to understand myself better and consider how I might use that understanding in my everyday life. This might involve recognising when I'm becoming overstimulated, giving myself more time to process information, communicating my needs more openly or questioning whether some of the expectations I've placed on myself are actually necessary. I'm also interested in understanding the assessment process from a professional perspective, particularly the uncertainty and emotions that can accompany it, as this is something many of the clients I work with are navigating themselves.
So the question again, does having a diagnosis really matter?
This is a question I've been thinking about throughout the training, particularly as my understanding of autism and ADHD has developed. There are understandably different perspectives on self-identification and formal diagnosis, and I can appreciate why receiving a diagnosis is so important for many people. It can provide validation, help someone make sense of lifelong experiences and, in some circumstances, open up access to support and adjustments that might otherwise be difficult to obtain. However, with NHS waiting lists for neurodevelopmental assessments being so long, and private assessments often being expensive, many adults are left trying to understand their experiences without knowing when, or whether, they'll be able to access a formal diagnosis.
My own perspective on self-identification has changed considerably as I've learned more. I now feel that people should be encouraged to explore the possibility that they might be neurodivergent, rather than feeling they need to wait for a professional to confirm it before they can begin understanding themselves. Of course, personal exploration isn't the same as a clinical diagnosis, but I don't think someone should have to put their self-understanding on hold while waiting for an assessment, particularly when the process can take years.
For me personally, I've realised that finding out does matter, although not necessarily because I feel I need a particular label. It's more about understanding why I've experienced certain things differently throughout my life and whether that understanding might help me change the way I relate to myself. This process has already opened up conversations with my partner, family and friends that I might not otherwise have known how to have, because I'm beginning to find language for experiences I've previously ignored, explained away or simply assumed everyone else experienced in the same way.
There's something quite significant about reaching your forties and beginning to question how much of your personality is simply who you are, and how much has been shaped by years of adapting yourself to fit other people's expectations. I think that's what has surprised me most about this experience, because although I originally began the training to develop my professional knowledge, it's given me an opportunity to reflect on parts of myself that I've spent decades trying to understand or change.
Understanding yourself doesn't have to begin with a diagnosis
Something I've become increasingly aware of through my counselling work is that receiving a diagnosis doesn't necessarily mean someone receives the emotional support they need afterwards. I've worked with clients who have spent years questioning whether they might be autistic or have ADHD, only to finally receive a diagnosis and find that there is very little follow-up support available to help them understand what it means for them personally. Although a diagnosis can provide important information and validation, it doesn't automatically resolve the feelings that can arise when someone begins looking back over their life with a different understanding of themselves. There can be relief in finally having an explanation, but also sadness, anger or grief about the difficulties they've experienced, the opportunities they might have missed or the amount of energy they've spent trying to fit in. These feelings can also arise for people who are still exploring the possibility of being neurodivergent, long before they receive any formal assessment.
This is one of the reasons I feel counselling can be particularly valuable, whether someone has a diagnosis or not. Person-centred counselling isn't about deciding whether someone is autistic or has ADHD, and it isn't a substitute for a diagnostic assessment, but it can provide a supportive space to explore experiences that might have been difficult to understand or communicate throughout someone's life.
For some people, this might involve recognising the impact of masking and the exhaustion that can come from constantly monitoring how they communicate or behave around others. For others, it might mean exploring sensory overwhelm, relationships, burnout or the emotional impact of discovering neurodivergence later in life. I think having the opportunity to reflect on these experiences with someone who understands neurodivergence can be incredibly valuable, particularly when someone has spent years feeling that the way they experience the world is somehow wrong or needs to be changed.
What I've been reminded of through my own experience is that developing greater self-awareness can be valuable in itself, regardless of whether it eventually leads to a diagnosis. Sometimes understanding why certain situations feel difficult, recognising what we need and beginning to communicate those needs more openly can make a meaningful difference to how we experience our everyday lives.
There have been many other moments during this training when I've recognised aspects of my own experience, particularly around sensory sensitivity, processing information and the effort involved in navigating social situations. I haven't covered everything here, and I imagine I'll share more as I continue exploring what this might mean for me, particularly once I've had my pre-screening consultation.
Although I don't yet know what the outcome will be, I feel that the training has already changed how I understand autism, how I reflect on my own experiences and how I want to work with neurodivergent clients. It's also made me think about how many people might have spent years adapting themselves to a world that doesn't always recognise or accommodate different ways of thinking, communicating and experiencing things, and how exhausting that process can become over time.
I wonder how much energy we might save, and how much more connected to ourselves we might feel, if we were encouraged to explore these differences with curiosity rather than judgement, particularly from a younger age. Whatever I discover through my assessment, I feel that the understanding I've gained through this experience will be valuable both personally and professionally, and I'm interested to see where that exploration takes me.
Exploring ADHD, autism or neurodivergence?
I support young people, adults and families exploring ADHD, autism, AuDHD, late discovery, masking, burnout and identity, whether they have a formal diagnosis or are still trying to understand their experiences.
My approach is grounded in person-centred talking therapy, with the option to explore things creatively if that feels helpful to you. You don't need a diagnosis to begin counselling, and we can work together to explore your experiences, understand your needs and consider what might help you feel more comfortable being yourself. I offer counselling online across the UK and in person in Manchester and Sandbach, Cheshire.