Hidden in Plain Sight: Discovering Myself

I always thought I knew who I was. I thought I understood how my brain worked, how I approached the world.

And then I watched my son.

Not in passing, truly watched him. Watched him navigate school, friendships, the invisible rules no one ever taught him, the expectations everyone (including me) assumed he would just “get.” Watched him struggle, watched him melt down, watched him fight to keep his world in order while the world demanded more than he could handle. Even when that world included me, his mom, with the control I put on him.

I’ve felt that before… haven’t I?

It hit me slowly, like a quiet tap on my shoulder. The same patterns I’d spent my life explaining away, the same challenges I’d assumed were quirks or failures in myself , they weren’t quirks. They were me. There is so much literature and experts saying that if you have a child with a neurodivergent diagnosis, you don't need to look to far from where it came from, the parents. I began to explore all my patterns, and got my own diagnosis.

The Shadow I Carried

I realized I had been living under a constant pressure I didn’t understand. Especially the crippling RSD - Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria that had silently controlled me for decades.

Every interaction, every task, every expectation came with an invisible weight. I was desperate to please, terrified of letting anyone down, absolutely scared people would leave me, hate me. I overachieved constantly, burned out repeatedly, and never stopped to notice that the exhaustion, the anxiety, the mood swings, the confusion over who I really was - these weren’t just “me being dramatic.” They were my brain reacting to a world that never fit.

I envied other families, other moms who seemed effortlessly put together. Their homes, their schedules, their calm energy at the school gates, I watched from the sidelines, convinced I was failing, convinced I was a mess. And fair enough on some days, I was a complete stressed and crying mess waiting for the school bell to go.

• Massive mood swings that left me bewildered by my own reactions, then guilty and ashamed

• Anxiety that made every social interaction feel like walking on glass, even grocery shopping left me painfully exhausted.

• Exhaustion that wasn’t just physical, but mental and emotional to the point of shutting down

• Confusion over who I really was beneath all the survival strategies I tried to implement

• Convinced I was not doing enough, and was not good enough

I hid behind my smile, productivity, and perfectionism, thinking it was my personality. But really, it was survival. In fact, I was trained early on to put on a smile, not to discuss 'feelings' or make a scene, be a good quiet little girl, which added C-PTSD to the mix...

When Your Child Becomes the Mirror

Watching my son, I started to see it his challenges reflected back. The same anxiety, the same intensity, the same struggle to navigate expectations without losing yourself. His world made mine visible. The ways I’ve tried to control chaos in my brain. The social missteps, the fatigue, the quiet despair when things feel impossible.

I hadn’t seen it because I was too busy surviving. Because I didn’t have a name for it. Because no one had taught me to notice.

I saw how my own brain had always worked: overachieving, people-pleasing, anxious, overwhelmed, but also brilliant, creative, and capable. To understand the patterns, the overwhelm, the moments of brilliance mixed with difficulty.

Watching him gave me permission to finally name it: I am neurodivergent. I am autistic. I have ADHD. I am ok.

Everything suddenly made sense.

The Hidden in Plain Sight Part

The incredible thing is, this has been with me all along.

• The endless lists and sticky notes I relied on to survive.

• The anxiety and fear of rejection that dictated how I interacted with others.

• The constant exhaustion and massive mood swings.

• The envy of other families, the feeling that everyone else had it together and I was falling apart.

And only seeing my son, truly seeing him, made me realize it wasn’t me failing. It was me navigating the world differently, just like him.

I was not broken. I was hidden in plain sight.

I began to see myself differently: my energy, my social navigation, my executive functioning challenges, my mood swings, my anxiety. It all made sense. And I could finally give myself the compassion I had withheld for so long.

Parenting him taught me to see clearly. Not just to see him, but to see me. To recognize that differences are not deficits, that struggle is not failure, that what the world calls “wrong” is often simply a mismatch between a brain and its environment.

Reflections from that Mirror

Discovering my own neurodivergence didn’t erase the years of struggle. But it gave me clarity, compassion, and tools to navigate life differently.

It took my child to show me who I really am.

After spending the last 17 years on a quest for self-help to 'fix myself', with the mountains of books, courses, modalities I have learnt along the way, all to find answers to why I thought the way I did, or why things happened the way they did, I am taking a break, I am not broken, I do not need fixing. I have been told that probably thousands of times, but the truth is now I actually believe it.

So now, for the first time, I feel seen, understood, no longer living under the invisible 'masked' weight of anxiety, overachievement, people-pleasing, or even envy. I can finally, slowly, feel the acceptance to sit with me. As I am.