Hi Reader,

Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night (not a rare occurrence for me lately). I had one of those dreams where you've done something terrible, and in that moment between sleep and wakefulness, you're trying to figure out if it was real. Did I actually do that terrible thing? It felt like 20 minutes of dread, though knowing how sleep works, it was probably only 30 seconds.

What was strange about last night was that I felt stuck in a loop — realizing it was a dream, then doubting it again, and believing I had, in fact, done the terrible thing. Rinse and repeat. The doubting of my own experience felt all too familiar. This kind of second-guessing is something I’ve encountered countless times, not just in dreams but in everyday life — wondering, “Did I do something wrong? Are people upset with me?”

Once I was fully awake, my mind started zig-zagging with associations. I began thinking about all the times in my life I've felt that sinking feeling in my stomach — the “Did I do something bad? Are people mad at me?” mantra. It’s a deep-seated fear, one I see not only in myself but also in my children and in many of the Autistic and ADHD people I know.

Sure, this fear can sometimes evolve into anxiety or even moral OCD, but I’m less interested in the diagnostic labels and more focused on the subjective experience — what it feels like, and why it’s so common for so many of us.

One of the key reasons I see this happening is the accumulation of micro-misattunements — small moments of disconnect that happen over and over again.

Many Autistic and ADHD individuals are hyper-attuned to the emotional tone of their environment, yet we often doubt what we’re sensing. For example, we might quickly pick up on tension or a shift in energy but struggle to understand its cause, due in part to alexithymia (difficulty identifying and describing emotions) and challenges with intuiting social context.

This confusion can lead us to question whether what we’re feeling is accurate. The amygdala, our brain's emotional center, senses something is off, but without clarity, the uncertainty creates a loop of anxiety. We know something is wrong, but we doubt whether it’s real or if we’re just imagining it.

Let’s make this more concrete. Imagine being in a conversation and sensing that the other person’s tone shifts or that they’ve suddenly lost interest. You can feel the disconnect, but you don’t know why. You begin to wonder: “Did I do something wrong?” or “Am I overthinking it?” You may even ask for feedback, but when the response doesn’t fully align with what you’re sensing and surface level reassurance is provided, the self-doubt only deepens. This doubt becomes a cycle of second-guessing your own perception of reality, leaving you unsure of whether your feelings are valid.

Whether it's reading emotional tone or navigating neurodiverse communication, these micro-misattunements add up. Without a framework for understanding neurodiverse communication, the temptation is to internalize it: "It’s me. I’m bad. They’re mad." This is one of the reasons I’m so passionate about increasing awareness around neurodiverse communication. Children and adults alike need frameworks to understand these disconnects, rather than turning them inward and blaming themselves — or outward and blaming the world.

These repeated micro-misattunements — when our inner experience doesn’t match the social cues we’re receiving — can chip away at our self-trust. We begin to assume, “It must be me. I’m the problem.” Without a framework to understand neurodiverse communication, it’s easy to internalize these moments as personal failings. The result? We doubt our own experiences, often jumping to the conclusion that we’ve done something wrong, even when we haven’t.

This is also why I often talk about the importance of authenticity and congruence for psychological safety, particularly for Autistic individuals.

Congruence, in this context, means that a person's inner feelings and outward expressions are aligned — what they say or show matches what they truly feel inside.

We often sense incongruence or misattunement. So when someone tells us everything is fine (following the neurotypical norm of reassurance), we start to question our own instincts — or worse, fill in the blanks ourselves, often assuming we’ve done something wrong.

I believe in the power of radical authenticity (which isn’t about being unkind, but about being real). When there’s a disconnect, calling it out can help the other person trust their intuition. Framing the breakdown through a lens of neurodiverse communication can prevent them from internalizing it as their own fault.

Of course, this dynamic also plays out in other ways. For ADHDers, this feeling often comes from punishment or consequences we didn’t fully understand. I remember as a child being punished for cleaning my room by stuffing everything in the closet. To my ADHD brain, “out of sight, out of mind” felt like a valid cleaning method. I didn’t understand why it was wrong, and the shame was intense. Or the countless times I misunderstood assignments or directions, only to be corrected without understanding why.

As an AuDHDer (Autistic/ADHDer), the experience of being wrong played out on multiple levels — socially, in following instructions, and in completing tasks. Often, there was deep confusion behind it all. That imprint is hard to escape. Even today, when I post on social media, send a newsletter, or publish a workbook, there’s a lingering sense: “I've done something wrong. I am in trouble.” Thankfully, mindfulness and metacognition help me distance myself from these feelings, but they are still mapped onto my body in complex ways.

I see this so often in Autistic and ADHD people. And despite my best efforts as a parent, I see that shadow beginning to loom over my children too.

So, if you often find yourself asking, “What have I done wrong? Am I bad? Are people mad?” — know that you’re not alone. You’ve likely come by this experience honestly. If you're a therapist, provider, or parent to a neurodivergent person, consider the power of authenticity and congruence in your conversations. If a child senses tension, denying it might feel easier, but acknowledging it helps them trust their own instincts. For many of us, congruence is foundational for psychological safety.

P.S. If you’ve been following along for a while, you’ve probably noticed a shift in my Sunday Newsletters — from educational tone to more personal essays. If you have any clever name ideas for this new format (beyond “title + weekly roundup”), I’d love to hear them! Naming things isn’t my strong suit, so I’m all ears.

★彡 Neurodivergent Insights Weekly Roundup ★彡

This week, I’ve been deep in final revisions for the Autistic Burnout Workbook! So, aside from our podcast, my roundup is a bit lighter than usual.

New on the Podcast

Patrick and I are shaking things up with a more experimental, personal approach. We’re turning ourselves into our own guinea pigs, swapping consults to examine our health issues through a bio-psycho-social framework and setting concrete goals. This week, we dive into Patrick’s sleep challenges, using this framework to co-create actionable goals and experiments.

Listen Here

Website

No new article this week, but if you missed it, you can catch up on all the recent neurodiverse communication articles I’ve published here.

Read Here

Guest Appearance

I was honored to be featured on Dr. Michael Lenz’s podcast, Conquering Your Fibromyalgia. In these two episodes, we discuss Autistic burnout and in the follow up episode discuss self-care for Autistic people. Dr. Lenz is a leading figure in the fibromyalgia community, and through his work, he began recognizing a significant overlap with the neurodivergent population (I love when medical providers start making these connections!).

Monotropic Tip: Set Guardrails

As I’ve been reviewing your responses about the shared struggles of Defensive Monotropic Mode—the tendency to put life on pause while disappearing into a singular focus—I've noticed that people who have learned to lean into the joy of monotropism while maintaining balance in their life are thoughtful about establishing guardrails.

These guardrails might involve disrupting the monotropic event with a pleasant activity, scheduling specific monotropic tasks for a set day, or using a timer—not to end the task, but to mindfully check in on how their body is feeling and what they need. I call these strategies "guardrails" and have noticed myself thinking more about the ones I create in my own life.

📩 Pass It On

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