The AuDHD Experience: When Your Brain's Gas Pedal and Brake Pedal are Both Pushed to the Floor.

By Liz Wooten, LPC

About the Author: Liz Wooten, LPC, is the founder of Enlitens and a rebellious academic dedicated to dismantling the broken mental health system. As an AuDHD therapist with years of front-line crisis experience, she brings a deep, lived understanding to her work. Read Liz’s Full Story Here

You are not flaky. Your last-minute cancellation was not a moral failing. It was a brilliant, unconscious act of self-preservation, and it’s time to stop apologizing for it.

It’s Tuesday, and the group chat is buzzing about a big night out. The dopamine-seeking, novelty-craving part of your brain lights up. Yes! You’re the first to reply. You suggest a place, you look up the menu, you feel the familiar thrill of anticipation. Then Saturday afternoon arrives. Your social battery isn’t just low; it’s gone. The thought of the noise, the small talk, the unpredictable sensory input, is physically painful. The dreaded “I’m so sorry, I’m not feeling well” text is sent. The wave of guilt is immense.

The AuDHD experience is a neurological tug-of-war. The ADHD brain’s dopamine-seeking reward system (the gas pedal) is in constant conflict with the autistic brain’s threat-detection system (the brake pedal), which prioritizes routine and predictable sensory environments. This isn’t a personality clash; it’s a hardware conflict.

You believe you are one, inconsistent person. This is incorrect. You have two co-pilots in your brain, each with a different job. Your ADHD pilot is a brilliant, novelty-seeking adventurer who loves booking exciting trips. Your autistic pilot is the meticulous, detail-oriented flight engineer who knows exactly how much fuel is in the tank, the exact weight of the luggage, and the precise weather conditions at the destination. You’re not flaky. You’re just listening to your engineer.

Your ADHD pilot books a non-refundable 8:00 PM table at that new, loud restaurant in The Grove. But your autistic flight engineer knows that after a week of masking at work, your sensory reserves will be depleted by 6:00 PM. The cancellation text isn’t you being a bad friend; it’s your engineer wisely grounding the plane to prevent a catastrophic system failure in the form of a public shutdown or meltdown.

The job of the captain (you) is to make the co-pilots talk to each other before takeoff. Use this pre-flight check before committing:

Consult the Engineer: Ask your autistic brain, “On a scale of 1-10, what is my current sensory battery level?”
Scan the Terrain: Ask, “What will the sensory environment of this event be like (noise, lights, crowds, smells)?”
Calculate the Fuel Cost: Ask, “How much masking and social energy will this really require?”
Plan the Landing: Ask, “What is my recovery plan for after the event to recharge my battery?”

Your job is not to fire one of your pilots. Your job is to become the captain who listens to both. Honor the adventurer’s desire for connection and the engineer’s non-negotiable need for safety. Stop apologizing for your neurology and start respecting its wisdom. The people who belong in your life will understand the flight plan. If you need help learning how to read the instrument panel and understand the neuroscience of executive function, that’s what we’re here for.

Go Deeper Down the Rabbit Hole

An Unpaid, Second Job.

The reason you’re so exhausted before you even go out? A deep dive into the invisible labor of neurodivergent masking.

The Neuroscience of "Aha!"

That feeling of “it all makes sense now”? We explain the brain science behind the insight you’re having right now.

The 15-Minute Vibe Check.

A low-stakes, no-pressure consultation is the perfect first step for a brain that needs to conserve its social energy.

*The information here is meant to guide and inform, not replace the care of a qualified healthcare professional. If you have questions or concerns about a medical or mental-health condition, please reach out to a trusted provider. The examples shared are based on general personas—no personal health details are used. At Enlitens, your privacy is a top priority, and we fully comply with HIPAA regulations to keep your information safe and confidential.

This is a Conversation,
Not a Debate.

This is not a space for debate or unsolicited advice. It is a space for sharing stories. We read every submission, and we will periodically feature the most resonant and validating stories here with the author’s explicit permission. Submit your’s below!

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Take one second. That’s all I’m asking.

Do not try to “calm down.” Do not try to “fix it.” Do not listen to the voice screaming that you need to do something right now.

Just be here, with me, for one single breath.

My name is Liz. I’ve spent years working overnight in the ER, sitting with people on what was often the worst night of their entire lives. I have sat in the eye of the hurricane, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that the chaos you feel right now is not the truth.

It is a storm in your nervous system. And a storm is just a weather pattern. It is not you. It is not permanent. And you do not have to navigate it alone.

Right now, your brain’s alarm system is screaming. The logical part of your brain has been taken offline. That is a normal, brilliant, biological survival response. But you and I are going to bring it back online, together.

We are going to do one, simple, physical thing. This is not a bulls*hit mindfulness exercise. This is a direct, manual override for your nervous system.

Place your hand on your chest.

Can you feel that? The rise and fall. The rhythm. That is the anchor. That is the proof that you are here, in this moment, and you are alive.

Keep your hand there.

Now, we are going to make one choice. The storm is telling you there are a million overwhelming things you have to do. That is a lie. There are only three choices right now, and you only need to pick one.

If you or someone else is in immediate, physical danger and you need help on site, right now:

This is the button you push when you need the paramedics or the police to show up. This is the “bring the fire truck” button.

If you are having thoughts of suicide and you need to talk or text with a human, right now:

This is the national, 24/7 lifeline. It is free, it is confidential, and it is staffed by trained counselors who are ready to listen without judgment. This is the “I need a lifeline” button.

If you are in St. Louis, you are not in crisis but you are in deep distress and need to talk to someone local:

Behavioral Health Response (BHR) is our community’s lifeline. They provide free, confidential telephone counseling and can connect you with local resources. This is the “I need a local guide” button.