From Undiagnosed to Diagnosed: The Journey of Finally Understanding Myself

Hi, I’m the creator of Silent Waves.

I wanted to start this blog with something a little more personal, because Silent Waves isn’t just a store to me. It comes from lived experience, learning, and finally understanding my own brain after years of feeling different.

I’ll be using these blog posts to keep people in touch, share my journey, and hopefully help educate others about neurodivergence in a real and relatable way. I’m not here to act like I know everything, but I do want to talk honestly about the things a lot of us go through, especially the parts that people don’t always see.

I’m neurodivergent, and I was diagnosed later in life with autism, ADHD and dyslexia. Before that, I honestly spent most of my life thinking there was something wrong with me.

Not in a dramatic way, but in that quiet way where you grow up constantly wondering why things seem easier for everyone else. Why other people could just do things, remember things, handle things, focus, make decisions, keep routines, stay calm, and not feel completely drained by normal everyday life.

Meanwhile, I felt like I was always trying so hard just to keep up.

Before I was assessed, I didn’t have the words for what I was experiencing. I didn’t know I was neurodivergent. I just knew that I felt different, and for a long time I blamed myself for that.

I thought I was too emotional. Too sensitive. Too messy. Too forgetful. Too dramatic. Too anxious. Too much.

I thought I just needed to try harder.

Looking back now, I can see how much I was masking. I was copying what other people did, trying to act “normal”, trying to hide when I was confused, overwhelmed, anxious, or completely burnt out.

And the hard part is, when you are undiagnosed, you don’t always know you are masking. You just think everyone is struggling the same way and you are the only one failing at it.

But not everyone is using every bit of energy they have just to get through a normal day.

Not everyone is rehearsing conversations in their head. Not everyone is overwhelmed by lights, noise, tone of voice, changes in plans, too many choices, confusing instructions, busy places, or just the pressure of trying to exist in a way that feels acceptable to everyone else.

For years, I didn’t understand why small things could feel so big.

Something as simple as a confusing menu, a loud room, someone speaking to me harshly, having too many tasks at once, or a plan changing last minute could make me feel like my brain had completely tapped out.

To other people, it might have looked like I was overreacting.

But inside, I was trying so hard to process everything.

That is something I wish more people understood about neurodivergent people. A reaction that looks “too much” from the outside usually has a whole build-up behind it. It is not always just about that one moment. It can be the noise, the pressure, the confusion, the emotions, the sensory overload, the anxiety, and the fact that we have already been holding it together for hours.

Being undiagnosed also made me question myself a lot.

I would look at other people and wonder why I couldn’t just function the same way. Why cleaning felt overwhelming. Why messages felt hard to reply to. Why appointments took so much mental energy. Why I could be so motivated one day and completely stuck the next. Why I could care so deeply about something but still struggle to start it.

I used to think that meant I was lazy or inconsistent.

Now I know it is more complicated than that.

Neurodivergent brains don’t always work in a straight line. Sometimes we need interest, urgency, pressure, body doubling, routine, reminders, rest, sensory support, or a completely different way of doing things.

And that doesn’t make us broken.

It means our brain works differently.

Getting diagnosed did not magically fix my life. I still struggle. I still get overwhelmed. I still have days where basic things feel way harder than they should. I still have moments where I wish my brain had an off switch.

But getting diagnosed did give me something I really needed.

It gave me understanding.

It gave me language.

It gave me the ability to look back at my life with more kindness instead of shame.

I can look back at younger me and realise she wasn’t failing. She was trying to survive without the right support, without the right information, and without anyone fully understanding what was going on underneath.

That part makes me sad sometimes, because I wonder how different things could have been if I knew earlier. If someone noticed earlier. If I had support earlier. If I didn’t spend so many years thinking I was the problem.

But I also feel proud.

Because even without knowing, I still kept going. I still found ways to cope. I still learnt about myself. I still built a life. I still became creative, caring, determined, and passionate.

Being neurodivergent is not just struggle. That is another thing I want people to know.

Yes, it can be exhausting. Yes, the world is not always made for us. Yes, masking can be draining. Yes, burnout is real. Yes, sensory overload is real. Yes, rejection sensitivity, executive dysfunction, anxiety, and emotional overwhelm can be so hard.

But there are beautiful parts too.

Neurodivergent people can be deeply creative. We can notice tiny details others miss. We can think outside the box. We can feel things deeply. We can be passionate, loyal, curious, funny, imaginative, and full of ideas. We can connect with people in really genuine ways.

We are not less than anyone else.

We are just different.

And different does not mean wrong.

Since my diagnosis, I have been trying to unlearn a lot. I am trying to stop forcing myself to do everything the “normal” way. I am trying to listen to my body more. I am trying to notice when I am overwhelmed instead of pushing through until I crash. I am trying to be kinder to myself when I need extra support.

Some days I am good at that.

Some days I am absolutely not.

And that is okay too.

The journey from undiagnosed to diagnosed is not just getting a label. It is grieving, learning, accepting, and slowly coming home to yourself.

It is realising that the things you struggled with had reasons.

It is realising that you were never broken.

It is realising that support is not weakness.

It is realising that you do not have to keep pretending everything is fine when it is not.

And for anyone reading this who is undiagnosed, newly diagnosed, questioning, or just starting to understand their brain, I want you to know that you are not alone.

You are not lazy for struggling to start.

You are not dramatic for feeling deeply.

You are not rude for needing space.

You are not childish for needing comfort.

You are not broken for needing things explained differently.

You are not too much.

You are a person who has probably spent a long time trying to survive in a world that did not fully understand you.

And I hope you start giving yourself the kindness you deserved all along.