The Burnout That Finally Made Me Listen
What Happens When You Spend a Decade Pretending Your Brain Works Like Everyone Else's
I collapsed at 35.
As a single parent and owner and operator of a wedding dress design company, I kept showing up to work, tried to keep smiling at social gatherings, and fooled myself into appearing to have it together. But internally? I was gone. Depleted. Running on fumes of fumes. The standards I’d set for myself were outrageous, but I didn’t know any other way.
I tried to keep a perfectly maintained home while working full-time and being present for my son because that's what everyone else seemed capable of doing effortlessly.
So when I finally did collapse, I thought it was depression. After a trip to the ER for suicidal ideation, I signed up with a new therapist, a psychiatrist, extra childcare help, and 2 weeks of constant supervision for myself, mostly with friends. I didn’t do this alone - my parents made phone calls for me, drove me to those initial appointments, and paid for most of the extra care I needed for myself and my son at that time.
The exhaustion was bone-deep and relentless. The irritability simmered constantly beneath my careful exterior. I needed hours of solitude to recover. I required silence, darkness, and complete withdrawal just to function the next day.
For years, before and after that episode, I thought something was fundamentally wrong with me.
It would be another full decade before I received my ADHD diagnosis and understood what was actually happening. But at 35, all I knew was that I was failing at being a normal person—and I had no idea why.
The Invisible Standard We're Measuring Ourselves Against
Here's the thing nobody tells you when you're neurodivergent: you're comparing yourself to a neurotypical baseline that was never designed for your brain.
The 40-hour workweek? Designed for neurotypical energy patterns and sensory processing.
The expectation of constant social availability? Built for brains that find group interaction energizing rather than depleting.
The idea that you should be able to work all day, socialize in the evening, and still have energy for household tasks? That's neurotypical functioning, not universal human capacity.
We've internalized capitalistic productivity standards as moral imperatives. If you can't keep up, you must be lazy. If you need more rest, you must be weak. If you require quiet and solitude, you must be antisocial.
But what if the problem isn't you? What if the problem is trying to force a neurodivergent system to function according to neurotypical specifications?
What Burnout Actually Is
Neurodivergent burnout isn't like regular exhaustion. It's what happens when you spend years overriding your nervous system's signals, pushing past your body's wisdom, forcing yourself to function in ways that deplete rather than sustain you.
It often gets misdiagnosed as depression or anxiety. And sure, those might be present too. But underneath? It's your entire system saying: "I cannot continue operating this way."
For me, the burnout manifested as:
Needing 12+ hours of sleep and still waking exhausted
Unable to tolerate sounds, textures, or social interaction that used to be manageable
Constant comparison of myself to my mom friends, business colleagues, and past versions of myself
Suicidal ideation and an extremely loud and judgmental inner critic
Unmanageable, self-imposed standards
Knowing that one more demand would shatter me completely
This wasn't weakness. This was my body's fierce protection of my authentic wiring after a decade of trying to be someone I wasn't.
The Chrysalis Time I Didn't Understand Yet
Looking back now, I can see that burnout forced me into my first real chrysalis time—that dark, quiet space where transformation becomes necessary because the old way of being has become impossible.
The caterpillar doesn't choose to dissolve. The old form simply cannot continue, so metamorphosis becomes the only option.
My burnout was the beginning of dissolution. Everything I thought I should be able to do, every standard I'd measured myself against, every way I'd forced myself to function—it all broke down. I became formless, unrecognizable to myself.
At the time, it felt like failure. Now I understand it as the beginning of my authentic emergence.
The Reframe That Saves Lives
What if your need for downtime isn't a flaw—it's wisdom?
What if your sensitivity isn't excessive—it's perceptive?
What if your requirement for quiet and solitude isn't antisocial—it's how your nervous system maintains clarity?
Your "symptoms" are actually your system's intelligent response to conditions that don't support your neurodivergent wiring.
The exhaustion is information: you're operating outside your sustainable capacity.
The need for silence is data: your sensory processing requires recovery time.
The requirement for solitude is guidance: your brain needs space to integrate and reorganize.
These aren't limitations to overcome. They're specifications to honor.
What Changes When You Stop Fighting Your Wiring
Once I began understanding my neurodivergent needs—years before I had language for them—everything shifted.
I stopped trying to maintain a social calendar that matched my friends' capacity. I started building in mandatory recovery time after any interaction. I created environments that supported my sensory processing rather than constantly taxing it.
I stopped measuring my worth by how well I could imitate neurotypical functioning.
And here's what surprised me: when I honored my actual needs instead of forcing myself past them, I had more to offer—not less.
More presence with my son because I wasn't depleted. More depth in friendships because I chose quality over quantity. More creative capacity because I wasn't spending all my energy on masking. More clarity in my work because I stopped pushing past my concentration limits.
The rest wasn't laziness. It was the chrysalis conditions necessary for my authentic self to emerge.
The Revolutionary Act of Rest
In a culture that equates productivity with worthiness, rest becomes rebellion.
In a patriarchal system that demands women be endlessly available, setting boundaries becomes radical.
In a capitalistic structure that treats humans as production units, honoring your limitations becomes revolutionary.
When you stop overriding your neurodivergent needs, you're not just caring for yourself—you're refusing to participate in a system that was never designed for your thriving.
This isn't self-indulgence. It's resistance.
A Practice for Right Now
Take out your journal and write about a time when your sensitivity gave you information others missed.
Maybe you sensed something was wrong before anyone else articulated it. Maybe you picked up on emotional undercurrents in a conversation. Maybe you noticed environmental details that became important later.
Now ask yourself: What is the wisdom in this sensitivity?
Your heightened awareness isn't a bug—it's a feature. But features need the right conditions to function optimally. A butterfly's wings are magnificent, but only after the chrysalis time that made them possible.
What chrysalis conditions does your nervous system require?
Ten Years Later
It took another decade after my burnout for me to receive my ADHD diagnosis at 44, during perimenopause when hormonal changes intensified symptoms I'd been managing unconsciously for years.
Finally having language for my experience changed everything. Understanding that my brain processes information holistically rather than linearly. That my nervous system is genuinely more sensitive to stimuli. That my need for meaning-making is neurological, not philosophical indulgence.
My needs weren't character flaws—they were my brain's actual specifications.
The burnout at 35 was my system's desperate attempt to get my attention. The diagnosis at 44 gave me permission to finally listen.
If You're Where I Was
If you're exhausted from trying to function like everyone else, if you're burning out from pushing past your limits, if you suspect something is different about how you experience the world—trust that knowing.
Your nervous system is trying to tell you something. Your sensitivity is offering guidance. Your need for different conditions isn't failure—it's your authentic wiring asking to be honored.
You don't need to push through for another decade like I did. You can start creating chrysalis conditions for your own emergence right now.
Not by forcing yourself to fit neurotypical standards, but by discovering what structures actually support your neurodivergent thriving.
Your worth isn't measured by how well you can imitate neurotypical functioning. It's inherent in your unique way of experiencing and processing reality.
The world needs your sensitivity, your depth, your different way of seeing. But you need rest, space, and conditions that honor your wiring to offer those gifts sustainably.
Ready to Honor Your Neurodivergent Needs?
If you're tired of pushing past your limits and ready to create life conditions that actually support your nervous system, my 12-week program creates the chrysalis space you need.
Together we'll:
Identify your actual capacity instead of neurotypical expectations
Develop structures that honor your sensory processing needs
Reframe your "limitations" as specifications to be honored
Build sustainable rhythms that prevent burnout
Trust your sensitivity as wisdom, not weakness
[Schedule Your Free Connection Call]
You're not failing at being neurotypical. You're succeeding at being authentically, beautifully neurodivergent.
You don't need fixing. You need conditions that support your metamorphosis.
You can read more about me here!
