Learning to Swim: A Neurodivergent Journey

My name is Stephenie, and I am a 34-year-old AUDHD adult.

You’d think this would be easy for me to say by now, but you’d be sorely mistaken. It’s a weird feeling—to be so completely myself while also feeling like I’ve been dropped onto the wrong planet. I spent 20 years of my life being the "quirky" girl—but not in the Zooey Deschanel kind of way. More like Luna Lovegood meets feral goblin. And let’s be real—Luna Lovegood still had more social grace than I did.

For 30 years, I was labeled as dramatic and difficult. Once again, not Zooey Deschanel quirky difficult, but full-blown Aggretsuko meltdown levels of difficult.

What in the neurodivergent is AUDHD?

If you haven’t heard of AUDHD, it’s the lovely combo of Autism and ADHD—the double whammy of neurodivergence. Pow, pow! I was diagnosed with ADHD at 19, but I didn’t actually understand what that meant until my late 20s. I tried meds on and off, but I didn’t get what they were supposed to do. I think I thought I’d just take the pill and magically become the daughter my egg donor wanted me to be. (Spoiler alert: That’s not how any of this works.)

So instead, I spent my 20s raw-dogging life, convinced I was broken beyond repair—just desperately trying to hold everything together with popsicle sticks and chewing gum.

The Husband Plot Twist

Somewhere in that chaos, I found one of those husbands people always talk about like it's a bad thing. But joke’s on them, because turns out, not all husbands are lazy and useless like they are on TV. This one?

Smart. Supportive. Actually thinks I’m not broken.

Unfortunately for those of you asking—he does not have a twin. And cloning is probably not the solution (trust me, I’ve done the research).

But as amazing as he is, I still had that nagging thought in the back of my mind: He can’t hold me above water forever. I’ve gotta figure this out.

And then, the universe decided to force me to figure it out.

Enter: The Great Lockdown of 2020

One day, we were saying, “Hey, have you heard about that weird virus in China?” and the next thing you know, it was:

• “We might need to go into lockdown.” (Oh no.)

• “Can’t complain about a two-week break though.” (Sweet.)

• “That btch Carol Baskin definitely did it.”* (Yes, we all had a Tiger King phase.)

• “I’ve been inside my house for six weeks and I just painted my light switches.” (Maybe I’m losing it.)

Six Weeks Without Masking

For the first time in my entire life, I spent six straight weeks away from social expectations. No masking. No exhausting “pretend to be a person” work. Just me, my husband, and a weird amount of home improvement projects.

And something amazing happened:

I stopped treading water.

For the first time, I wasn’t struggling to keep up. I was floating.

I went full swamp witch—turning my old house into a safe space and finally seeing what being me actually looked like.

And Then My Body Fell Apart.

When lockdown ended and I went back to my full work schedule, I found out the hard way that my body had been holding itself together with pure stress and willpower.

Turns out, my muscles had been overcompensating for years, keeping my joints in place like a rubber band that had been left outside in the sun for too long. And once I actually relaxed for six weeks?

SNAP.

Everything fell apart.

Now, my doctors and I believe I have Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (hEDS), which basically means my connective tissue is garbage and my joints subluxate (partially dislocate) whenever they feel like it.

Ever subluxate your hip, knee, and ankle at the same time? I don’t recommend it.

The Health & Trauma Connection

And surprise, surprise—turns out years of masking and childhood trauma don’t just disappear. They bottle up in your body until one day, stress hits and BAM—you're using a cane for a week because you stood up wrong.

The worst part? Doctors were useless.

I kept getting dismissed, brushed off, told it was in my head—because no one wanted to actually dig deeper into why my body was falling apart in my early 30s. But I kept pushing, kept learning, and finally started to connect the dots.

So, Where Am I Now?

Let’s be real—I don’t have all the answers. I’m still raw-dogging it through life, but I’ve got a better strategy now.

• I’m pacing myself—both physically and mentally—because I’ve learned the hard way that pushing through always backfires.

• I’ve built a real support system—my husband, and now a solid group of friends, thanks to my emotional support person, Meg (aka my business partner and unofficial life coach). Having more people around means it’s not the end of the world if I have to cancel last-minute—no one’s left stranded.

• I use my Visible monitor to track my heart rate and energy levels. It helps me catch when I’m overexerting myself before I fully crash.

• I’m learning how to swim instead of just treading water.

I’m not going to pretend like I have my shit together. But I’m a hell of a lot further than I was a few years ago.

Why This Blog?

Because I found my way by reading about other people’s experiences and realizing I wasn’t alone. That’s what helped me see that maybe I didn’t have to struggle forever.

So now? I’m sharing my journey—the good, the bad, the ridiculous, and the hilariously bad metaphors—to help anyone else out there who might be feeling just as lost as I was.

And also to torture my editor with my reckless grammar, chaotic paragraph structure, and questionable use of metaphors.

So, whether you read this or not, I appreciate you being here.

Have the day you deserve, and thanks for existing.