After a lifetime of feeling like a blue crayon in a red box, I was finally diagnosed with autism and ADHD at 28. For most of my life, I\u2019d tried to squish myself into neurotypical spaces, explaining away my quirks, masking where I could, and turning up charm or humor where I couldn\u2019t. I wasn\u2019t the quiet weirdo \u2014 I leaned into being the class clown, the loud one, the one who made everyone laugh. If I couldn\u2019t blend in, I\u2019d perform.<\/p>\n
I used to think autism meant headbanging<\/em> or stimming<\/em> in obvious ways. I didn\u2019t see myself in the stereotypes, and I definitely didn\u2019t think it explained my chaos. But then came TikTok<\/a>.<\/p>\n It started innocently enough. Like many people, I downloaded the app during the pandemic to see what the fuss was about. The algorithm didn\u2019t take long. Almost instantly, my For You page was filled with chaotic, rainbow-haired women my age talking about ADHD and autism. Women who looked like me. Women who were<\/em> me.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t even have to search. They just appeared \u2014 video after video of people with the same explosive personality traits, the same sensory issues, the same thought patterns. The same trauma responses. The same jokes. The same blue hair.<\/p>\n At first, it was comforting. \u201cThat\u2019s me!\u201d I\u2019d laugh. \u201cOh my God \u2014 that\u2019s so me!\u201d But then the laughter started to sting.<\/p>\n [Read: \u201cI\u2019m \u2018The ADHD Doctor\u2019 on TikTok. Here\u2019s How the App Has Changed Me.\u201d<\/a>]<\/em><\/p>\n One video hit particularly hard. A woman \u2014 split-dyed blue and black hair, like mine \u2014 left her house to grab blueberries. The timestamp showed it had been over an hour when she came back through the door with five full shopping bags, arms overflowing. Her husband called out, \u201cDid you get the blueberries?\u201d And her face froze in horror. She hadn\u2019t. She\u2019d forgotten the one <\/em>thing she went out for. I laughed out loud\u2026 then felt punched in the gut. Because I had done that exact thing \u2014 only with orange juice.<\/p>\n Once the algorithm clocked my reaction, it doubled down. Every time I opened the app, I saw someone like me: brushing their teeth and suddenly realizing the toilet roll needed changed\u2026 which led to changing the bin\u2026 which led to discovering their toothbrush in the kitchen beside the bin they forgot to empty. These bizarre, tangled thought spirals I thought were unique to me were suddenly just\u2026 everywhere.<\/p>\n As my friends discovered the app, my inbox started to fill with more versions of myself \u2014 daily scenarios acted out by strangers who looked like me, always with the same message: \u201cThis is so<\/em> you.\u201d People even said it in person: \u201cYou know that girl \u2014 the one who\u2019s basically you on the Internet,\u201d when they were talking about an AuDHD<\/a> video.<\/p>\n And that\u2019s when it hit me. I wasn\u2019t special. I was one of thousands. Millions, even.<\/p>\n All my life, I\u2019d felt weird, different. I had clung to that as a form of identity. Even when it hurt, even when I felt alone, I had accepted my quirks as mine. But TikTok held up a mirror I hadn\u2019t requested \u2014 and in that mirror, I saw not one reflection, but hundreds. Thousands. My traits, once mine alone, were playing out on screens all over the world. It felt like I\u2019d been cloned and scattered across the Internet.<\/p>\n That realization spiraled into a strange grief. I was relieved to have answers for my lifelong struggles, yes. But at the same time, I was grieving the person I thought I was. I had worn my difference like armor \u2014 if I couldn\u2019t blend in, I\u2019d be the loudest, weirdest one in the room. I didn\u2019t realize how much of my identity hinged on feeling like the only one.<\/p>\n Seeing \u201cme\u201d reflected back so often, in so many strangers, made me feel exposed. Invisible, even. Was I just ADHD sprinkled with some autism \u2014 another neurodivergent stereotype of blue hair and mandalas? Had anything about me ever been unique?<\/p>\n For weeks, I found myself torn. I kept scrolling through these videos that made me laugh, cry, and feel understood. But they also made me feel hollow. Like my sense of self had dissolved. I started snapping the app shut, unable to face the steady stream of doppelg\u00e4ngers.<\/p>\n And then one night, I looked at my son \u2014 this messy, brilliant little boy who shares many of my quirks \u2014 and something shifted.<\/p>\n If I can see myself everywhere\u2026 maybe that means I was never alone.<\/p>\n Maybe there\u2019s comfort in that.<\/p>\n Maybe I\u2019m not a diluted version of a stereotype, but a real, whole person who happens to be neurodivergent \u2014 like so many others. And maybe that\u2019s not a bad thing. Maybe it\u2019s a blessing. Maybe I can see the humor in this \u2014 the light in myself by seeing it in others like me.<\/p>\n Because if I can find myself in all of these strangers, then maybe he will, too.<\/p>\n Maybe he\u2019ll grow up seeing himself everywhere and never feel the kind of loneliness I felt as a child.<\/p>\n Maybe the weird won\u2019t feel weird at all. That\u2019s all I can hope for.<\/p>\n These days, I still fall into the TikTok rabbit holes. I still see my reflection in strangers. But now I feel a little more grounded. A little more grateful. I\u2019m learning to let go of the need to be \u201cone of a kind,\u201d and embracing the strange, beautiful truth that we are never as alone as we think.<\/p>\n I may not be the only blue crayon in the box \u2014 but I\u2019m still here, coloring outside the lines.<\/p>\nWeirdness as Identity, Stolen by TikTok<\/h2>\n
I Don\u2019t Need to Be One-of-a-Kind<\/h2>\n
AuDHD in Women: Next Steps<\/h2>\n