Wait….. Am I neurospicy?

A reflection guide for late discovery.
for people who’ve spent years feeling different without a word for it.

There’s a question a lot of people carry around for years before they ever say it out loud.

It usually shows up after a long day. Or after reading something online. Or after a friend mentions their own diagnosis and a quiet part of you that says, “Hang on, that kinda sounds like me.”

The question is simple, and it can feel scary for some: Wait — do I have ADHD or am I Neurospicy?

If you’ve found yourself asking it, you’re in good company. And you’re not late.

Late discovery is more common than you think

For a long time, ADHD, autism and other forms of neurodivergence were seen as something you picked up in childhood.

And usually, let’s be honest, the picture people had in their head was a young boy in a classroom who could not sit still.

I know, I know… it is a bit wild when you think about it.

But if you did not fit that picture, there was a good chance the world missed you.

Especially if you were a girl. Or the quiet kid. Or the daydreamer. Or the high achiever who looked like they were coping on the outside but were quietly burning out underneath. Or someone who learned really early how to mask, people-please, and just get through the day.

What we now know is that late diagnosis is becoming more common. We are getting better and better at diagnosing adults. There is still a bit of work to do in getting better at diagnosing women. 

But that does not mean more people are suddenly “becoming” neurodivergent.

It means the systems we built to recognise neurodivergence were never really built with everyone in mind.

So, if you were diagnosed later in life, or you are only just starting to wonder about it now, please know this:

You were not missed because you failed.

You were missed because the system did not know how to see you.

My own lightbulb moment

I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was around four years old. I took medication for a year or two and then a doctor told my mum I didn’t need it anymore. Read that again (just in case you missed it) the medication was working, I was managing in school, I was within the typical range for attention and movement… and the conclusion was that I was “fine”. So I came off it.

What followed was nearly three decades of figuring it out on my own. I worked as a Services and Programs Officer and Correctional Officer in a jail. High-stakes, high-stimulation, lots of structure imposed from the outside which, funny enough, suited my brain in ways I didn’t understand at the time.

It wasn’t until I had a slight career move to working with the NSW Police Force as a case manager on the Career Transition team. Within this role I was supporting people who were going to be medically retired. There was so much report writing, emails, meetings and all that comes with a corporate role.   that’s when the cracks started to show in a way I couldn’t ignore. Different environment, different demands, different kind of focus required. And suddenly the strategies I’d quietly built over a lifetime weren’t enough.

That’s when the question came back.

A reflection guide: four areas worth a closer look

If you’re sitting with the “wait… am I?” feeling, you don’t have to leap straight to a diagnosis. You can start gently…. by noticing. ( I know such a psychologist thing to say lol)

Below are four areas of life where neurodivergence often shows up differently. Read through the question starters. Notice which ones land. There are no right or wrong answers, and one or two         “ yesss’ ” doesn’t mean anything on its own. What matters is the pattern — the things you’ve been carrying for a long time, often without language for them.

Many people live for years knowing something feels different about how they experience life, without ever having the words to describe it. This is for those people.

1. Communication and connection

•      Have I often felt different in friendships, groups, workplaces, or social settings?

•      Do I sometimes take things literally, or find sarcasm, idioms, or figures of speech confusing?

•      Do I struggle to read other people’s facial expressions — or find that mine don’t always match what I’m feeling?

•      Do back-and-forth conversations sometimes feel tiring, confusing, or hard to keep going?

•      Do I rehearse or script what I want to say before social situations?

•      Is eye contact uncomfortable, intense, or hard to maintain?

2. Sensory experiences

•      Do certain sounds, lights, smells, textures, or environments feel overwhelming to me?

•      Do I notice sensory details that other people seem to miss entirely?

•      Do I feel drained or unsettled after being in busy, loud, bright, or unpredictable spaces?

•      Do I have strong preferences around clothing, food textures, noise levels, lighting, or personal space?

•      Do I sometimes seek certain sensory experiences — movement, pressure, repetition, specific textures?

•      Do I need time alone or in a low-stimulation environment to recover after overload?

3. Thinking patterns, routines and interests

•      Do routines, plans, or predictable structures help me feel calmer and more in control?

•      Do sudden changes, interruptions, or transitions feel stressful, frustrating, or disorienting?

•      Do I have interests I think about deeply, research intensely, or come back to again and again?

•      Do I prefer clear expectations, direct communication, and knowing what’s coming next?

•      Do I notice patterns, systems, or inconsistencies that other people overlook?

•      Do I sometimes repeat actions, phrases, movements, or routines because they feel regulating?

4. Emotional and internal experience

•      Do I often feel like I’m working hard to “mask”, fit in, or appear okay around others?

•      Do I sometimes struggle to identify, name, or explain what I’m feeling?

•      Do I sometimes shut down, withdraw, or become overwhelmed when too much is happening?

•      Have I spent much of my life feeling “different”, misunderstood, or unsure why certain things feel harder for me?

•      Do my emotions feel bigger, faster, or more intense than other people seem to expect?

•      Do I sometimes blame myself for things that, looking back, were maybe never my fault?

What to do with the answers

Let’s be honest, reading a list and recognising yourself in it can be a strange experience. There’s often relief. Sometimes grief. Sometimes a flood of memories that suddenly make sense. Sometimes a bit of resistance: “yeah, nah, surely not me.”

All of that is normal. Researchers who’ve interviewed adults diagnosed later in life describe these reactions over and over again: relief at finally having a name for it, grief for the years spent blaming yourself, and a slow reframing of your own life story with more compassion and less self-criticism.

So if a lot of those questions landed. The following are some honest, practical next steps.

Sit with it. Don’t rush.

You don’t have to decide anything today. Notice the patterns. Notice when things feel harder than they “should”. Notice the strategies you’ve quietly built over the years to get by because those strategies are evidence of something real. At the end of the day collect as much data as possible so that you can present it to a mental health professional once you decide to seek support.

Talk to someone who gets it.

A friend, a partner, a colleague, or a clinician with lived experience or a mental health professional. The right conversation can be the difference between spiralling and getting clarity. The wrong one can set you back ( we’ve all been there so choose carefully).

Consider a professional assessment.

A diagnosis isn’t the goal for everyone, and it isn’t the only path forward. But for some people it opens doors, to language, to accommodations, to treatment, to self-understanding. It’s a tool, not a verdict. Remember at the end of the day a diagnosis is just a collection of patterns to describe someone. If you don’t need the assessment let’s start with the presenting problems and let’s work through that!

Be kind to the version of you who didn’t know yet.

That kid who got told they were lazy, too much, not enough, distracted, dramatic, overly sensitive? They were doing their best with the information they had. So were the adults around them, usually. You can hold both of those truths at once.

My journey back to medication and therapy

When I got rediagnosed at 32, I assumed the hard part was over. It wasn’t. The hard part was just starting.

I went on Ritalin first, a short-acting medication, twice a day. It was okay at the beginning but it wasn’t the one for me. I stayed on it for around fourteen months because I thought maybe I just hadn’t given it enough time, or maybe I was the problem. Spoiler: I wasn’t.

Eventually, with amazing support from my psychiatrist, I trialled Vyvanse. That was the game changer. For the first time in my adult life, not only did I feel myself again but I could stay focused, have fun and was motivated to get things done. Honestly, it was like someone had finally turned on the light and handed me a pair of glasses! I could see the room and the furniture I’d been bumping into for years.

All up, it took me about 24 months of therapy and medication trials to find what actually worked. Almost three years of trying, failing, adjusting, second-guessing, and trying again.

The path of therapy and medication is probably why a lot of people don’t go through the process to seek help. Because it’s bloody hard. It’s not for the faint-hearted. But on the other side of it — it’s so worth it.

Therapy and the right medication didn’t change who I was. They gave me access to who I’d always been underneath the noise. They gave me the stability to actually use my strengths instead of constantly compensating for what I couldn’t hold together.

A few things I wish someone had told me sooner

•      Being neurodivergent isn’t a problem to be solved. It’s a way of being human. There are challenges, yes — and there are real strengths that come with the wiring too.

•      The first medication, the first therapist, or the first strategy you try might not be the right one. That doesn’t mean nothing works. It means you’re still gathering information about your own brain.

•      A late diagnosis isn’t “too late.” It’s information you now get to act on. Some of the most powerful self-understanding I’ve ever had came after thirty.

•      The people who finally feel seen by a diagnosis aren’t “jumping on a trend.” They’re catching up on language they were never given.

•      You don’t have to figure any of this out alone.

If you’re still here…

If you read the question starters and a quiet part of you went “yes… yes… oh… yes”, take that seriously. Don’t dismiss it. Don’t panic either. Just keep noticing.

You might be at the very start of something that ends up changing how you understand your whole life. That’s a big, tender thing. Treat yourself like someone you love while you work it out.

And whenever you’re ready to talk, to explore, to be heard by someone who genuinely gets it! NeuroNavigators is here. Lived experience, professional support, no judgement, no rush.

Where every mind finds its way!

Max Hearn-Sarchfield

Founder & Mental fitness coach, NeuroNavigators