AuDHD Diagnosis, Part 1: My Story
This 3-part series is a deep dive into the increasingly relevant—and often contentious—topic of formal vs. self-diagnosis in adults with autism and/or ADHD.
Introduction
Formal Diagnosis vs. Self-Diagnosis
I remember the first time I heard that self-diagnosis was a valid option for the neurodivergent community; it was during a presentation on neurodivergent-affirming care in one of my social work classes. It kind of blew my mind. Until then, I’d only heard chastising narratives about consulting Dr. Google, heralding a medical professional’s opinion as the true verdict.
So, hearing someone validate self-diagnosis of autism was surprising to me. It also piqued my curiosity: Accepting self-diagnosis as valid goes strongly against the grain of society’s conventional beliefs about diagnosis—what about formal diagnosis led to this shift? This three-part series is my attempt at answering this question and breaking down the current realities of self- and formal diagnosis, while sharing perspectives from the neurodivergent community on both options.
Through this series, I hope to challenge stigma surrounding self-diagnosis of autism/ADHD and encourage more conversations on how we define and validate neurodivergent experiences. In Part 1, I begin by offering my lived experience with both diagnostic processes. I also share what self-diagnosis means to me and its value in my journey of self-discovery.
Disclaimer: Please note that there is no right or wrong option when seeking a diagnosis, as long as it feels like the right decision for you. I am just one neurodivergent voice in the community, and this series is intended to be informative and critical of the current realities of diagnosis, particularly formal diagnosis—not to dissuade from this option. Every neurodivergent journey, no matter the path, is worthy of recognition and validation. :)
My Experience with Formal Diagnosis: ADHD
I was formally diagnosed with ADHD at age 25 by my GP; I had brought this up to her after months of suspecting—knowing—I had ADHD. However, had I not done extensive research on my own, I may have not walked away with a diagnosis.
Before the doctor agreed to print off the Adult ADHD Self-Report Scale (Kessler et al., 2005), she asked me, “Do you get bad grades in school?”. I was honest: I’ve almost always been an honours student. She immediately expressed skepticism and voiced doubts that I had ADHD—before we even started the diagnostic process.
My heart sank. After a lifetime of daily struggle, ADHD seemed to be the only thing that fit.
I explained to her that despite my good grades, I always ended each semester in complete burnout. I told her that I had trouble paying attention in lectures and completing readings, that my good grades had always been a result of last-minute scrambling and a natural grasp of the material. In sheer desperation, I even told her that this was a lifelong struggle and that ADHD was the first thing to click for me, the only thing that’s been able to perfectly explain why I’ve always felt like I’m drowning.
Thankfully, she printed off the checklist.
I checked enough of the grey boxes to warrant a diagnosis, she wrote me a prescription for Vyvanse (the reason I sought the formal diagnosis), and I was on my way.
My Experience with Self-Diagnosis: Autism
Less than a year after being diagnosed with ADHD, I began to suspect autism. I still felt like a piece was missing, and the more I learned about autism in adult females, the more it resonated with me. After months of poring over research, completing self-tests such as the RAADS-R and the CAT-Q, and reflecting on my entire life, I was fairly certain I am also autistic.
It took a long time for me to believe it (the process of realizing one is autistic paints a great picture), but with time and integration of this knowledge into my entire story, embracing my autism filled a lifelong void. Eventually, I couldn’t imagine not being autistic — it explained so. much. I’m a few years into my self-diagnosis and I still have lightbulb moments where a memory reveals itself and I go, “ohhhh, that makes sense now”.
Once I had accepted my autistic reality, part of me felt pulled to obtain a formal diagnosis. I quickly learned that it would either cost me $1000 from a psychologist, or I would need to wait months to see a psychiatrist for free—a wait I’m very familiar with. I wasn’t eager to relive waiting months for a stranger tell me who I am (or who I am not) within a fifteen-minute window.
At a crossroads, I started to reflect on why I wanted a formal diagnosis.
Growing up unknowingly autistic, I developed a deep mistrust in myself from an early age. The world had shown me over and over again that the way I was was wrong: Not speaking in social settings means I’m boring, not understanding jokes means I’m dumb, being abysmal at sports means I’m uncool, etc. If I had such a poor grasp on being a worthy human, I figured I needed to trust others who were capable and who fit in to tell me what’s what.
Autism was one of those things that I didn’t need anybody to confirm for me—I just knew.
I was much more concerned, however, about whether the people who knew me would accept my self-diagnosis. This was pretty much the only reason I could muster as to why I wanted a formal diagnosis:
To show everyone that it’s real.
To show everyone that I’m not dumb, or flighty, or incapable, or odd, or an airhead, or any of the other labels I’d collected that I wanted to hurl back at everyone who’d ever misjudged me.
Yes, it would feel beyond satisfying to say, “You were wrong about me! I’m just autistic, and I can prove it!” But with the barriers to making it “official”, combined with the reinforced fear of being misunderstood by medical professionals, I figured that openly owning my self-diagnosis would be an awesome way to challenge that lifelong self-mistrust. It doesn’t matter if nobody believes me, I told myself, because I know who I am. Of course, this is easier said than done. While most people close to me were incredibly validating and could definitely, erm, see it, the rare instances of doubt were quite painful. Despite temporarily reigniting my self-doubt, this was not impossible to overcome, especially with the newfound confidence that comes with knowing who the heck you are.
Overcoming the pain of not being believed helped me learn how to trust myself.
As a side note, I don’t disclose my AuDHD to many people outside of my close circle—I take an “only if it comes up” approach, and only with people whom I feel safe disclosing to. An adjacent exercise in my self-confidence journey: Letting go of trying to control people’s perceptions of me. Not that disclosure always comes with those intentions, but in my case, it can.
I’d be lying if I said I never get self-conscious telling someone that my autism is self-diagnosed, but I’m also proud to represent this means of self-discovery. And at the end of the day, as a high masking, low support needs AuDHD-er, a formal diagnosis won’t make my life much different.
But that’s just me—there are a variety of completely valid reasons why someone might want a formal diagnosis, which will be discussed in Part 2!
Contributed by Riley, BSW practicum student.
Up Next…
AuDHD Diagnosis, Part 2: Formal Diagnosis
For AuDHD education, support, and resources, check out @riley.unscriptedco on Instagram
Resources
References
Craft, C. V. (2020, April 25). Orange and white medication pill [Photograph]. Unsplash. https://unsplash.com/photos/orange-and-white-medication-pill-ZHys6xN7sUE
Engelbrecht, N. (2025, February 28). The process of realizing one is autistic. Embrace Autism. https://embrace-autism.com/the-process-of-realizing-one-is-autistic/#Seeking_diagnosis_or_not_anxiety_self-doubt
Kessler, R. C., Adler, L., Ames, M., Demler, O., Faraone, S., Hiripi, E., Howes, M. J., Jin, R., Secnik, K., Spencer, T., Ustun, T. B., & Walters, E. E. (2005). The World Health Organization adult ADHD self-report scale (ASRS-v1.1) symptom checklist. World Health Organization. https://add.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/adhd-questionnaire-ASRS111.pdf
Toma, R. (2021). Snowy March in Canmore [Photograph].