Unmasking at 46: My AuDHD Wake-Up Call (Thanks, Perimenopause)

🚨 Plot Twist: Perimenopause Was My Diagnosis Catalyst

It all started when my brain broke up with me.

That’s what it felt like, anyway. I was deep in the throes of perimenopause—hormones crashing like waves, brain fog turning every day into a game of “Where Did I Put That Thing?” (Spoiler: it was in the freezer), and my focus? Gone. Like, aggressively gone.

Tasks that used to be mildly annoying became Mount Doom. Executive function? Missing. Everything overwhelmed me. My thoughts felt like static. I couldn’t keep up with conversations, remember names, or make basic decisions.

For a while, I just blamed hormones. But deep down, something else felt off—something that had always been off, but I’d become an expert at hiding.

🧠 The Invisible Years: Living Undiagnosed with AuDHD

Looking back, the signs were always there. I just didn’t know what they meant.

• I was the “spacey kid,” lost in thought or daydreaming (or in my case, aphantasia-induced abstract concepts).
• The “quiet one,” shy, awkward, and overly cautious.
• Sensitive to tone, always watching, listening, trying to fit in without drawing attention. I flew under the radar—never disruptive, never loud—just… fading into the background, while quietly feeling like I was on a different wavelength than everyone else
• Someone who internally overanalyzed every interaction (hello social anxiety). 
• I was great at hyperfocusing on things I loved (anything creative), but forgetful and overwhelmed by things I didn’t (like homework).
• I hated silence—because in the stillness, I could hear everything, especially my own racing thoughts. The quiet was never peaceful for me; it was loud with overthinking, spirals, and mental noise. I crave sound—music, podcasts, the hum of a fan, even a TV show I wasn’t watching—just to anchor me, to fill the void, to give my brain something to latch onto. Background noise wasn’t a distraction; it was a lifeline.

Time blindness. Aversion to silence. Constant inner monologues. Difficulty following multi-step instructions. Meltdowns masked as “overreactions.”

But because I was Assigned Female at Birth (AFAB) and learned early how to mask—aka pretend to be “normal”—I flew under the radar.

I didn’t get into trouble in school. I wasn’t disruptive. I was just “shy,” “creative,” “moody,” and “a little tightly wound.” Nobody suspected inattentive ADHD or autism spectrum disorder (ASD), least of all me.

Until perimenopause removed my ability to mask.

🎭 What Is Masking (and Why Is It So Exhausting)?

Masking is when you learn to suppress your natural neurodivergent traits to blend in and avoid judgment. Think:

• Forcing eye contact when it’s uncomfortable
• Laughing at the “right” times in conversation
• Making small talk
• Practicing facial expressions in the mirror
• Copying how others dress or speak
• Hiding stimming or sensory needs
• Obsessing over “getting it right” in social situations
  

Masking is survival. But it’s also exhausting. It disconnects you from your authentic self—and eventually, it leads to burnout.

In 2024, when I finally got diagnosed with inattentive ADHD and autism—aka AuDHD—everything snapped into focus. This wasn’t just hormonal. This was decades of internalized shame, misunderstanding, and invisible struggle.

💔 Enter Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD)

Now let’s add Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria to the mix.

RSD means that even perceived criticism or rejection can feel unbearable. A neutral tone in someone’s voice? My brain interprets it as “they hate me.” A friend not texting back? Spiral time. A customer not loving my art? Cue the existential crisis.

I used to think I was just fragile. Overly emotional. Dramatic.

Now I know my nervous system was overreacting in real time to what felt like danger. That’s not weakness—it’s wiring.

🌈 Oh, and I Have Aphantasia Too

As if my brain wasn’t already a chaotic wonderland, I also have aphantasia—which means I can’t see images in my mind. When people say “picture a sunset,” I get… nothing. Just vibes.

Visualization techniques? Never worked for me. Memory recall? Weirdly abstract. Daydreaming? More like day-thinking.

I used to feel broken because I couldn’t “imagine” the way others could. Now I know this is just another variation in how human brains work.

And it’s also probably why I’m so obsessed with tactile, visual creativity—polymer clay, colors, beads, textures. It’s how I process the world. My art is my internal imagery, brought to life.

🧩 Unmasking: What It Looks Like (and Feels Like)

Unmasking is a messy, liberating, emotional & forever ongoing learning process. So far...for me, it’s looked like:

• Giving myself permission to stim (rock, hum, fidget)
• Saying no to social events without guilt
• Wearing what feels right to my sensory system, not what’s trendy
• Organizing my space in a way that works for my brain
• Making art that reflects my inner world—bright, weird, and wildly joyful
• Using tools like timers, visual lists, and supportive apps
• Accepting that I’m not “too much” or “not enough.” I’m just… me.

And honestly? The more I unmask, the more I reconnect with the creative, silly, sensitive soul I was before the world taught me to hide.

✨ The Bottom Line

Being late-diagnosed doesn’t mean you missed your chance. It means you finally get to meet yourself—the real you.

And if you, like me, are riding the neurodivergent-perimenopause-brain-fog rollercoaster, I want you to know:

You’re not broken. You’re not lazy. You’re not failing at being human.

You’re living in a world that wasn’t designed for brains like ours—but we’re still here. Making weird little things with big hearts. Building joy out of chaos. Dancing through sensory overload and RSD spirals with headphones, soft clothes, and 14 open tabs.

Just be colorful, weird, bold, quiet, loud, soft, sensitive, glittery, brilliant, neurodivergent you.

You are allowed to rest. To stim. To set boundaries. To be too much and still enough.
To unmask—and still be loved.