The Goldilocks Paradox of Being Neurodivergent

Recently, I’ve been on a roll—practically unstoppable.
In fact, I don’t think there’s ever been a time in my life where I’ve felt so on top of my shit.

Coming from a phase of active addiction—prior to discovering my autism and ADHD—where I was regularly told to “get my shit together”? This feeling of thriving has been intoxicating.

But here’s the thing:

I’m autistic. I’m ADHD.

I’m going to be inconsistent.

And this week, it officially arrived—the slowing of the gears, the mental and physical heaviness that just wants to sit down. The desires and dreams that once put sparkles in my step? They’re sputtering.

There’s a sticky, concrete sense of stuckness that comes with it.

I expected to feel some low energy this week. I traveled over the weekend. I’m at the end of my menstrual cycle. I’ve recently closed major chapters in my life, which means transitions—and as an autistic person, transitions feel like wading through monotropic pools of mud, trying to make sense of what this ending means for my identity… while also bracing for the next change.

I’ve even written it in my journal three days in a row—honor this transition, sit with the discomfort, slow down and feel. Because I’ve learned that when my body feels like a cinder block sinking to the ocean floor, there’s something deep and powerful I need to move through emotionally.

And yet, I found myself confused.

I’ve been riding the drastic-life-change train for over a year now—transformation has become my homeostasis. So why, this time, does it feel so much harder than usual?

I couldn’t even bring myself to journal about it. The idea of picking up a pen felt impossible. And that made everything worse:
Why is this happening to me?
Why can’t I just sit with it and let it pass?

In classic avoidance fashion, I pivoted to something easier—drafting content for Instagram. Choosing music for posts is part of that process, and I remembered a concept I’d been meaning to explore tied to a song called Enough.

It’s about a belief many neurodivergent people—myself included—carry deep in their bones:

That we are too much and not enough, all at the same time.

I call it the Goldilocks Paradox of being neurodivergent.

Just like Goldilocks and her porridge, I have spent my entire life feeling like I’m always “off.”

Too much. Not enough. Never just right.

Too emotional during an autistic meltdown.
Not emotional enough when my facial expressions don’t meet neurotypical expectations.

Too intense and passionate when sharing a special interest.
Too dull and withdrawn in social spaces when I can’t connect over small talk.

Too overwhelmed in high-energy spaces—vibrating with sensory input.
Too disconnected from my own body when my interoception is off.

But the hardest part?
That I’m either so on top of my life it’s terrifying… or I feel so discombobulated I want to disappear.

The inconsistency is brutal.

It’s part of what makes being neurodivergent so difficult—because the waves of inconsistency in performance are not the same as what neurotypicals experience, no matter how much they think they “get it.”

So, as I sat there scribbling down a caption—reframing this belief of inadequacy around the Goldilocks Paradox—it was like something finally clicked. The rusted gears turned. The pressure began to lift.

And then it hit me:

All of this—the travel, the cycle, the transitions—had created the perfect storm.

It triggered something I hadn’t felt in a while:
A deep, desperate need to slow down.

Not just for an afternoon. But for days.

And that need birthed inconsistency in the habits and routines I’ve worked so hard to establish.

Even though I was still using the new self-care tools, self-talk strategies, and nervous system regulation skills I’ve been practicing, something underneath it all was churning:

Shame.

Shame around needing to slow down.

Shame for breaking my own streak of consistency in the name of taking care of myself.

Shame born from internalized capitalism—the belief that rest is weakness and output is worth.

But underneath that shame was something even deeper.

A realization.

For so long, I’ve used perfectionism and high performance as armor—to protect me from judgment, to hide the natural ups and downs of my neurodivergent reality.

But here’s the truth:

My need for rest… my inconsistent energy… my waves of performance?
They don’t make me “too much.”
They don’t make me “not enough.”

They make me just right.

Because inconsistency is real. It’s human.

And choosing to honor it—to let shame breathe, to coach myself out of toxic thought patterns, to reframe inconsistency not as failure but as fact—that’s brave.

In a world obsessed with curated perfection and Instagram highlight reels, that is revolutionary.

That makes me courageous.

That makes me exceptional.

So if today you feel like too much—or not enough—if you’re soaring one day and curled under a weighted blanket the next:

Let that shame move through you.

Because there is nothing wrong with being human.

In fact, it’s the most powerful thing we’re allowed to be.

---

💌 If this resonated…
Subscribe to my blog for more raw, real reflections on neurodivergent life.
📲 Follow me on Instagram @exceptional__living for bite-sized reframes, empowerment, and education.
🧠 Ready to build your own reframing toolkit? Reach out for a discovery session to explore how coaching can support your growth as a late-diagnosed neurodivergent adult.