Discovering neurodivergence in adulthood: Why it feels hard

Many adults who receive a diagnosis – or come to a self-understanding – of ADHD, autism, or neurodivergence later in life are often surprised by what happens next. Rather than feeling relief, things can begin to feel worse. Social situations may feel harder to navigate, everyday tasks take more effort, and emotional regulation can feel shakier.

This can be deeply confusing. After all, nothing about you has changed – and in fact, you’ve learned something important about yourself – so why does life suddenly feel more difficult?

As a person-centred counsellor, I often hear people describe this phase as feeling like they are “going backwards”. I’d like to offer a metaphor I sometimes share with clients to help make sense of this experience.

The boulder you didn’t know you were dragging

Imagine that you’ve been dragging a large boulder behind you on a rope your whole life.

When you’re young, for many reasons, you may have the energy to walk with it. There may be more structure and external support, fewer competing demands, or expectations that are clearer and more contained. Some neurodivergent people are also able to compensate for difficulties through intellectual ability, sustained effort, or last-minute surges of focus, allowing them to move through school or early adulthood without their struggles being fully seen.

The boulder is there – but you barely notice it.

Over time, though, the boulder begins to dig into the ground. It drags. It sinks. As adult responsibilities increase and the margin for recovery shrinks, you have to pull harder and harder just to keep moving. Eventually, it forces you to stop and notice it.

For many people, discovering their neurodivergence as an adult is that moment of stopping. It can feel frightening, frustrating, sad, confusing, or deeply disorienting. You’ve been moving your whole life – often by pushing yourself, masking differences, or overriding your own needs – and now it can feel like you’re stuck.

The hidden energy cost of making sense of yourself

There is another layer to this process that is less often named.

When someone begins to accept labels such as ADHD, autistic, or neurodivergent, the mind may start a large and complex internal task: re-examining past experiences and re-categorising the self through this new lens.

People may find themselves asking questions like:

• Was that difficulty at work my ADHD?
• When I said that in that conversation, was that my autism – or just me?
• What parts of me are me, and which parts are more neurodivergent traits?
• What will happen when I take the medication?

This process can be absorbing and emotionally demanding. It often involves revisiting memories, reinterpreting past experiences, and renegotiating identity. A great deal of mental and emotional energy may be directed towards making sense of oneself more honestly. It makes sense, then, that there may be less energy available for everyday functioning.

“Skill regression” and the fear of going backwards

Seen in this context, what often follows becomes easier to understand.

Many people notice a drop in functioning during this phase. Skills they once relied on feel less accessible. Executive functioning becomes harder. Social confidence dips. This experience is sometimes described as skill regression.

It’s important to say gently and clearly: this does not necessarily mean you are getting worse.

For many neurodivergent adults, particularly those identified later in life, coping has required a significant amount of unseen effort. Masking, self-monitoring, and constant adjustment take energy. Over time, that energy can become depleted.

When someone begins to understand their neurodivergence, they may, consciously or unconsciously, loosen their grip on strategies that were never sustainable. So, what looks like regression can instead be exhaustion finally being allowed to surface.

The boulder hasn’t suddenly become heavier. You’ve simply reached a point where dragging it in the same way is no longer possible.

“Walking backwards” in order to move forward

In therapy, there is often a further realisation. To do anything about the boulder – to lift it, add wheels, or explore whether the rope can be loosened – you may need to walk backwards for a while.

This can feel deeply uncomfortable. Walking backwards might involve slowing down, reassessing expectations of yourself, or noticing needs that were previously ignored. For many adults who value independence and resilience, this can feel like the opposite of progress.

From a person-centred perspective, however, this slowing is not a problem to be fixed. It is a natural response to being better understood – one that can be met with curiosity rather than judgement.

Walking backwards might involve grief for what was missed, anger at unmet needs, or relief at finally having language for long-standing struggles. It may also involve experimenting with new ways of relating to yourself, with more compassion and less pressure to be how you were.

Noticing the boulder creates choice

Before, the boulder was being dragged without awareness. Now, it has been noticed. That noticing creates choice.

And person-centred therapy is not about reducing someone to a diagnosis or telling them which choices to make. Instead, it offers a therapeutic relationship in which your own personal experiences are met with curiosity, a wanting to understand, and a hope to create a space for you to find your own personal choices for your challenges

If you are discovering your neurodivergence as an adult and finding that life feels harder, what you may be experiencing is not regression, but a period of recalibration – a time when long-held strategies are being questioned and new, more sustainable ways of living are beginning to take shape.

Noticing the boulder is not the end of the journey. For many, it is the point where a different kind of movement becomes possible.