Is it Neurodivergence, Trauma or both?

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Where Neurodivergence and Trauma Meet

When we think about neurodivergence, we often focus on cognitive differences: different ways of thinking, processing, learning, or communicating. But what’s often missing from that conversation is a deeper look into how much of the neurodivergent experience - especially the parts that feel painful, chaotic, or distressing - may actually be the result of trauma, not simply neurotype.

This isn’t to say that neurodivergent brains aren't wired differently. They are. Neurodivergence includes a broad spectrum of differences like ADHD, autism, dyslexia, dyspraxia, and more - variations in brain function that are natural and valid. But it’s also important to understand that neurodivergent people don’t grow up in a vacuum. They grow up in a world unfortunately narrowly designed for neurotypicals, and the constant friction between being different and being expected to fit in can, over time, create deep emotional and psychological wounds.

And those wounds? That’s trauma.

We tend to think of trauma in terms of single, dramatic events - car crashes, assaults, or other life-threatening experiences. And yes, those are traumatic. But trauma isn’t only about what happens to us; it’s about how our nervous system responds and adapts. Trauma is anything that overwhelms our capacity to cope and leaves us feeling unsafe, powerless, or ashamed. It’s what happens when our environment consistently fails to meet our needs - especially in our most vulnerable and formative years.

Now, think about what life is often like for a neurodivergent child. From a very young age, they may be bombarded with the message that who they are is somehow wrong or not enough. Maybe they struggle with focus, sensory overload, or social cues. Maybe they need more support or a different kind of communication than what’s typically offered. Maybe they express themselves in ways that others misunderstand. In return, they might be scolded, punished, excluded, or constantly corrected. They might feel like a burden or a disappointment. Over time, those experiences can lead to feelings of chronic anxiety, rejection, and shame. And because these patterns often repeat across multiple areas of life - home, school, social settings - it creates what we call complex trauma, or CPTSD. This is where trauma doesn’t come from one event but from an ongoing pattern of emotional injury and survival responses. And for neurodivergent individuals, it’s often hard to untangle what’s a natural part of their neurotype and what’s actually a trauma response that developed from constantly being in environments that weren’t made for them.

For example, many people with ADHD show signs that overlap with trauma. Things like emotional dysregulation, hypervigilance, impulsivity, forgetfulness, and difficulty concentrating can be part of both ADHD and PTSD. Similarly, autistic individuals may experience shutdowns, meltdowns, or social withdrawal - again, behaviours that can stem from sensory processing differences but can also be responses to repeated distress or invalidation. Now imagine someone with ADHD and autism together - a comorbid experience that’s more common than many realise. They might constantly battle overstimulation, executive functioning challenges, social confusion, and an internalised sense of being “too much” or “not enough.” If they’ve also faced consistent misunderstanding or mistreatment, the trauma layers on top, creating a cycle that’s hard to break: they struggle to meet expectations, are punished or shamed for it, feel unsafe or unworthy, and adapt their behaviour in ways that only deepen the wounds.

And here’s where it gets even more painful: because the world isn’t trauma-informed or even neurodivergence-informed, these trauma responses often go unnoticed or are mislabelled. A neurodivergent person may be told they’re lazy when they’re actually frozen by anxiety. They might be seen as argumentative when they’re just trying to clarify because they’ve been misunderstood so many times. They might be labelled as rude or cold when they’re simply protecting themselves from further harm. Without context, these behaviours can seem confusing or even frustrating to others. But with context - with compassion - we begin to see them for what they are: deeply intelligent survival mechanisms, learned from years of trying to exist in a world that wasn’t built for you.

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Reclaiming Identity and Healing Through Self-Acceptance

So where do we go from here? If so much of what we thought was just part of being neurodivergent is actually layered with trauma, how do we begin to untangle the two? And more importantly, how do we begin to heal?

It starts with recognising that we don’t have to define ourselves by the pain we’ve experienced or by the coping strategies we had to adopt to survive. Our identity is not limited to the traits that were shaped in response to harm. Yes, trauma changes us - but healing can change us too. And one of the most powerful tools for healing is self-acceptance.

Self-acceptance isn’t about pretending everything’s okay or ignoring the hard parts of who we are. It’s about learning to see ourselves with honesty and kindness. To understand that every part of us - every reaction, every defence, every struggle - makes sense in context. You didn’t become anxious, avoidant, perfectionistic, withdrawn, or people-pleasing for no reason. These were adaptations. And the fact that you developed them means you were doing your best with what you had. But now, as adults, we have a chance to choose differently. To look at those patterns and say, “Do I still need this to feel safe? Does this serve me now?”

This doesn’t mean throwing away who you are and starting over. It means gently, curiously exploring the layers of yourself. Some traits may be core parts of your neurotype. Others may be responses to years of stress, rejection, or fear. All of them deserve compassion. And as you gain clarity, you get to recognise which parts are you and which part's aren't. You get to decide what you want to keep or what you’re ready to let go of.

That’s why understanding the role of trauma in your neurodivergent experience is so liberating. It allows you to stop blaming yourself for the things that were never your fault. It helps you understand why certain things feel so hard, even if they seem easy for others. And it opens the door to new possibilities - ways of thinking, feeling, and relating that aren’t rooted in survival, but in choice. But self-acceptance doesn’t just happen. It requires space. Safety. Support. It means giving yourself permission to slow down, to feel, to grieve. Because when we realise how much of our life was shaped by unmet needs, there is often grief. Not just for the pain itself, but for the version of us that never got to fully emerge. This is where practices like therapy, community support, and mindfulness can help. Not because they fix us, but because they help us reconnect - with our bodies, our values, our truth. They create opportunities to rewrite our story in a way that honours both what we’ve been through and who we’re becoming.

Let’s also talk about guilt and shame - because they’re often huge barriers to healing. We feel guilty for being “too sensitive,” “too much,” “not enough.” We feel ashamed of the ways we cope, the things we haven’t figured out, the parts of us we were taught to hide. But guilt and shame thrive in silence. When we name them, when we speak our truth out loud, they start to lose their power.

You don’t need to be proud of every single part of yourself to practice self-acceptance. You just need to stop fighting yourself. You need to say, “This is where I am right now, and that’s okay.” Healing isn’t about becoming someone new - it’s about coming home to yourself.

And no, it’s not always easy. But it is possible. It’s possible to let go of the shame, to soften the internalised “shoulds,” to stop chasing some perfect version of yourself that doesn’t exist. It’s possible to be fully, unapologetically you - and to know that that’s enough.

So if you’re reading this and feeling like you’ve spent your whole life trying to be someone you’re not just to survive, please know: you don’t have to do that anymore. You were never broken. You were never too much. You were never not enough. You are a whole, complex, beautifully unique human being. And you deserve to live a life that reflects that truth - not one shaped by fear or shame, but by love, agency, and self-understanding.

You are not your trauma. You are not your coping strategies. You are not what the world misunderstood about you.

You are you.

And that is more than enough.

If something here resonated with you, I’d love to hear it.

Whether it brought clarity, stirred a feeling, or simply gave you a moment of pause, you're not alone. These conversations matter, and your voice is welcome.

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Thank you for being here, exactly as you are.

Kindest Always.

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Joanna Baars is a psychotherapist and writer based in London. Her work explores how we can learn to understand ourselves, in a complex world. Find out more...