In my last post I described how earlier this year my GP opened my eyes to how I have been going through autistic burnout for the last year.

So now I know I’m burned to a crisp (and have been regularly burning myself out every other year it appears, a truly rubbish biennial event that no one looks forward to).

Naturally, being a type-A personality (and the A in this case stands for AuDHD), I wanted to find out every last thing about autistic burnout and crucially, how do I fix it?

That’s how I approach my entire life. Looking for sympathy? I mean, I do truly feel for you. If anything I am overspilling with empathy, but I don’t have the words, and I certainly do not have the non-verbal expressions you are after. Instead, I will rack my brain for a solution to your problem. When neurotypical people are looking for a “That must be so difficult for you”, I give them a “Have you tried [logical suggestion here]?” Here lies Damian Milton’s famous ‘double empathy problem’ between us autistic people and everyone else.

The irony is that autistic burnout must be neurotypical, because why can’t I bloody fix it?

The more I read about autistic burnout, the more cheesed off I became. So you’re telling me that this is going to be a really long process, taking lots of time and patience? Honey I have ADHD, I once tried to listen to an album of music on 2x speed because although I loved the artist, I wanted to get onto the next thing (missing the point of music completely).

Learning that this will take time has been a bitter pill to swallow. But not quite as bitter as learning that I need to slow down.

Excusez-moi?

Thinking about it, I don’t think I have slowed down the pace since I was about 14 and I started studying for my GCSEs. It was around this time that my attitude to life crystallised, the combination of the pressure to succeed so I went to a good sixth form college, coupled with the drive to be-the-best-ever-or-else-what-is-the-fucking-point, squeezed my brain into what it is today. Squashed. This attitude, which is probably catnip for a therapist, paired with my undiscovered neurodivergence, made for a toxic concoction. I stepped on the treadmill of life, selected the full tilt pedal to the metal setting for a laugh, and forgot to step off or even, you know, walk a little.

Add in the sensory overwhelm of day to day life, plus communication issues that I thought everyone experienced to a degree until a clinician told me a few years ago that ‘actually no babes that’s autism’, and well, here we are.

So how do I slow down? I’ve been experimenting with this foreign concept for the past few weeks. Firstly, let’s acknowledge once again that I have privilege in abundance compared to many. I’m white, fairly middle class, I’ve pushed through my career to the detriment of my mental health but the push led to a position of relative seniority. These are all major advantages in the game of life and I’m under no illusions otherwise.

It is clear that walking helps me, a lot. Getting out into nature also soothes my brain. Writing in a journal helps when I have the energy. Energy management is critical.

I have made a start at attempting to manage my energy by trying to catch myself when I ramped up whilst at work. I’d set a reminder on my computer every hour to look away and take a second to reflect, was I taking on too much? Was I overloading myself for no reason? This works sometimes, but other times my stubbornness kicks in and I feel my internal monologue yell back “But we’re getting shit done!” I love getting shit done, I have executive function issues that lead me to be sofa bound for days, so I grab the getting shit done days with fervour.

I started wearing my Loops full time. They are a little uncomfortable, but the peace I feel from no longer hearing a conversation happening elsewhere in a room is nothing short of blissful. There’s also a lot to be said for feeling safe to unmask the ol’ autism. Again, I am privileged in this respect. Not everyone has a safe place they can unmask. One day I’ll write more on that topic. I have only begun to scratch the surface of my own unmasking journey

I’m not recovered yet by any means, and I fully expect to take another rollercoaster ride on the burnout train next year, because I am blind to it. I experience alexithymia, common amongst autistic folks, in that I find it challenging to know how I am feeling. I can feel neutral right up to the point of absolute burnout. The rollercoaster ride for me is literally Alton Towers’ Oblivion. For non-UK folks, this is a rollercoaster ride that slowly drags you to an edge with a drop of 60 metres, hangs you over the side whilst you stare into the abyss, and then drops you at speed without warning. This is how I experience burnout. It is the worst surprise ever and I am never prepared.

Until then, I will try my best to slow down. It isn’t easy, but then again existing in a neurotypical world isn’t easy and I’m still here.

Until next time,

Ren