The Push and Pull: Living with Both Autism and ADHD
By Michelle Labine, PhD
September 2025
Sometimes it feels like there are two people inside me; one who craves structure, sameness, and predictability, and another who craves novelty, stimulation, and change. Both are me. Both are real. And both often clash in ways that leave me feeling torn apart.
Being Autistic means I find safety in routines, repetition, and familiar rhythms. My nervous system feels calmer when things are steady, when I know what’s coming next. But being ADHD means I can get restless, bored, or even resentful of too much sameness. I’ll set up a careful plan that my Autistic side finds soothing such as meal prepping for the week, a perfectly mapped-out schedule and then my ADHD brain rebels, desperate for spontaneity, adventure, or just something different.
Take food, for example. My Autistic self wants the same three things on repeat: crackers, eggs, maybe a smoothie. Predictable, low-stress and no surprises. But my ADHD self gets sick of the monotony, staring at the same lunch for the fourth day in a row and groaning, “I can’t do this again. Let’s go out. Let’s try something new.” And so, I’ll break the plan, but then I feel unsettled with too many options, too much unpredictability and I find myself longing again for the comfort of the routine I just abandoned.
Or take work. My Autistic self, sets up a perfectly color-coded calendar, every task lined up in neat little blocks. It feels safe. It feels doable. Until my ADHD self sees something shiny like a new idea or a project with energy and suddenly I’ve ditched the plan, chasing dopamine. I’ll stay up late, hyper focusing on something unrelated to my original goal, then wake up the next day feeling both accomplished and guilty, knowing I’ve left behind the very structure I need to feel grounded.
This push and pull shows up in relationships too. As an Autistic partner, I long for clarity, direct communication, and reliability. I want things to feel steady. As an ADHD partner, I can be impulsive, shifting gears quickly, blurting something out before I’ve thought it through, chasing new ideas before finishing the last one. I sometimes grieve the friction this creates: the missed cues, the sudden changes, the way my needs can feel contradictory even to myself.
The Effects of the Push and the Pull
The push and pull between my Autistic and ADHD selves ripples outward into my days and relationships. The constant tug-of-war can be exhausting. When my Autistic self builds a plan and my ADHD self breaks it, I’m left with a trail of unfinished projects and a nagging sense of failure. When my ADHD self craves novelty and my Autistic self longs for sameness, I can end up stuck in paralysis, unable to choose either direction.
That inner conflict often turns into self-criticism. I’ll wonder why I can’t just be consistent, why I sabotage my own structure, or why I resist the very things I thought I wanted. It can feel like I’m never fully living up to either set of needs, always disappointing one side of myself. And when that criticism piles up day after day, it sometimes deepens into something heavier. The energy it takes to fight with myself can tip me into depression a sense of hopelessness that I’ll never get it “right,” never be enough for myself or for others.
This is one of the hardest parts of the push and pull: it’s not just tiring, it can be brutal on my self-worth. My brain turns the friction inward, convincing me I’m not enough rather than simply wired differently. And the deeper I sink into that belief, the harder it is to see the strengths that come from living at the intersection of autism and ADHD.
Relationships absorb this impact too. The whiplash between craving stability and craving spontaneity can confuse a partner. Do you want me close or do you need space? Do you want predictability or do you want adventure? It can look inconsistent from the outside, when really it’s two authentic truths pulling me in different directions.
And then there’s the toll on my body. The adrenaline of ADHD-driven hyperfocus can leave me wired and sleepless. The Autistic need for sameness can become rigid, making it hard to adapt when life inevitably shifts. The cycle of swinging between overstimulation and withdrawal, between structure and disruption, leaves me drained.
Climbing Back Out
What helps me most when I slide into that darker place is remembering that the push and pull isn’t evidence of failure, it’s simply how I’m wired. When I can catch the self-criticism and replace it with self-compassion, the heaviness begins to lift. Sometimes that means reminding myself gently: You’re navigating two strong currents at once, and that takes strength.
I’ve also learned to reach for anchors. Small routines that comfort my Autistic self: a familiar breakfast, a tidy corner of my workspace, quiet time in the evening. And outlets that feed my ADHD self: a walk outside, a new playlist, a spontaneous conversation. Giving both parts of me something to hold onto steadies me.
Connection helps, too. Letting my partner know I’m struggling instead of hiding it, or talking with a trusted friend who understands, reminds me that I don’t have to carry the tug-of-war alone. Often, validation from someone else softens the edges of my own self-judgment.
The Beauty in AuDHD
For so long, I only saw the push and pull of being both Autistic and ADHD as a burden. The rigidity against the restlessness, the hyperfocus against the distractibility, the sameness against the novelty. But the longer I live with it, the more I see the unexpected beauty woven into the contradictions.
There’s beauty in the way my Autistic self grounds me while my ADHD self keeps me moving. Together, they create a rhythm that is both steady and alive. One helps me go deep, immersing in research, writing, or the small details that others miss. The other helps me leap, experiment, and find fresh angles.
There’s beauty in the way I can feel so intensely. My Autistic sensitivity lets me notice textures, patterns, and subtleties in the world that others pass by. My ADHD energy adds spark and passion, turning those sensitivities into art, humor, or creativity.
There’s beauty in resilience. Living at the intersection of autism and ADHD means I’ve had to learn to hold contradictions without breaking. I’ve had to make peace with opposites structure and freedom, sameness and novelty, stillness and momentum. That practice has given me flexibility and compassion, both for myself and for others who live with their own paradoxes.
There’s beauty in the way AuDHD lets me connect. I can sit in quiet focus with someone, honouring the depths of their story. And I can bring playfulness, spontaneity, and sparks of joy into the same space.
The beauty of AuDHD is that I don’t have to choose between depth and energy, between steadiness and movement. I hold both. And while it’s messy, it’s also rich, layered, and deeply human.
Reflection Prompts
- Where do you notice the push and pull in your own life between craving safety and craving freedom, structure and novelty?
- Which part of you tends to receive more criticism your part that seeks predictability, or your part that craves change?
- How does this inner tug-of-war affect your relationships, your work, or your sense of self-worth?
- What small anchors help you find balance when you feel pulled in opposite directions?
- How might you practice compassion for both sides of yourself, instead of siding with one against the other?