If you’ve been hearing the term “AuDHD” pop up more often and are wondering what it means—or how it shows up in real life—this conversation is for you. I sat down with life coach and content creator Megan Griffith to talk about her late diagnosis of both autism and ADHD. With warmth, humor, and powerful insight, Megan shares what growing up undiagnosed felt like, how masking and sensory needs shaped her experiences, and why honoring neurodivergent play is so important. Whether you're a parent, educator, or fellow neurodivergent adult, this candid conversation will leave you with a deeper understanding of what it means to be AuDHD.
What is AuDHD?
Tara: I’m joined by the amazing Megan Griffith. Can you tell us a little bit about yourself?
Megan: Hi! I’m Megan—a life coach for autistic and ADHD adults. I’m AuDHD myself, which means I’m both autistic and have ADHD. I love creating content and talking about all things neurodivergence. I wasn’t diagnosed until adulthood, which I’ve learned is pretty common, especially for ‘90s kids.
Tara: Okay, so for people hearing the term for the first time—can you explain what AuDHD means?
Megan: Absolutely! AuDHD is a combo of autism and ADHD. It’s actually really common to have both, but until 2014, you couldn’t be officially diagnosed with both at the same time. So a lot of us, especially those diagnosed as kids, may have only gotten one label. The name combines the “Au” from autism and “DHD” from ADHD.
Living at the Intersection of Autism and ADHD
Tara: I’ve definitely started seeing that term more lately. And I think once you hear it, you start noticing it everywhere.
Megan: Totally. And having both can feel like you’re at war with yourself. ADHD is all about novelty and jumping around, while autism craves routine and predictability. Professionals used to think those traits couldn’t exist in the same person—but many of us live that experience every day.
What I Wish Adults Had Understood
Tara: A lot of our readers are seeing more adults get diagnosed later in life. I’ve had friends reach out, like one who was diagnosed at 53 and said it finally made everything make sense.
What do you wish the adults in your life had understood about you growing up?
Megan: So much. One of the biggest things was sensory sensitivities. Restrooms were hard—the loud, automatic toilets and the hand dryers were overwhelming. Socially, it felt like I could never get it right. If I didn’t go out, I got teased. When I did, I still got it “wrong.” It always felt like people had made up their minds about me—and it wasn’t good.
Tara: That’s something I’ve heard from a lot of late-diagnosed autistic adults—trying so hard to do what was expected, but still getting it “wrong.” That leads to masking, anxiety, loneliness…
Coping Through Dissociation
Megan: My go-to way of coping was dissociation. It was like, “This is too much, too hard—I’m out.” For anyone unfamiliar, dissociation is when your brain checks out. A simple example is when you’re driving, and suddenly you’re pulling into your driveway thinking, “Wait, how did I get here?” That’s a common, mostly harmless form.
But other types can be more intense. One I’ve experienced a lot feels like there’s thick aquarium glass between me and the world—like I’m deep inside myself, watching everything from behind two feet of glass. It’s hard to be present, connect, or even respond in the moment when you’re in that space.
Tara: Thank you for explaining both types of dissociation. I think most people can relate to the “car ride home” version—going through the motions without really being present. But that deeper kind, like you described with the aquarium glass, must make it really hard to connect or follow through in the moment.
Megan: Exactly. It became about just getting through interactions—saying what people expected, trying to make it end smoothly.
Coping Through Masking
Tara: Can you explain masking for readers who might be unfamiliar?
Megan: I have a metaphor I use in my book that helps. People often think masking is just putting on a face, like slipping on a costume—but it’s more complex than that. Imagine you’re a kid and your teacher says, “It’s time to build a LEGO tower.” So you build one that you’re proud of. But then you look around, and yours looks nothing like anyone else’s. Maybe the teacher or other kids say, “This is wrong. Do it right.” So you start copying others—maybe even take a few of their blocks—and eventually your tower looks “close enough” to pass. But now? You don’t like it. It’s still not quite right to anyone else either. But at least you feel safe. That’s what masking feels like.
Tara: Looking back, were there any moments in your childhood when you felt especially misunderstood or wished adults had handled things differently?
A Moment of Misunderstanding
Megan: Yes—there’s one moment that always stands out. Not because it was traumatic, but because it perfectly captures what misunderstanding felt like for me. I was about 11 or 12, and my family had just gotten home from the store. Everyone else went into the house through the garage, and the last person hit the button to close the garage door.
Normally, I’d hop over the sensor and go in. But this time, I hesitated. The door was already coming down, and I panicked—I thought it was too low. I froze, and then I started crying.
My family thought it was hilarious. They joked, “What is wrong with you?” But they didn’t realize how distressed I really was. They assumed I was just sensitive or overreacting. But the fear and emotion I felt? It was as real and intense for me as if they were in a scary situation. They just couldn’t see it that way.
The Disconnect Between Reaction and Perception
Tara: That’s such an important point. Adults tend to respond with more empathy when they view a child’s reaction as “valid.” But when something seems silly or dramatic, it often gets dismissed—or even laughed at—and that only adds to the disconnect.
That garage door moment sounds like a perfect storm: sensory overload, anxiety, the fear of not getting inside. And then on top of it, being laughed at. That’s a lot.
Megan: Exactly. Quick decisions have always been hard for me. The irony is, I can make huge life decisions super fast—thanks to ADHD—but the little everyday stuff? That’s where I freeze. That’s the autism side. People often find that contrast amusing, but it’s very real.
Early Social Differences
Tara: Let’s talk about school and social interactions for a minute. Since so many in our community work with preschool and early elementary-aged kids, I’d love to hear—what do you remember about those early years? What helped, and what might have made things easier?
Megan: Two of my earliest memories are from preschool. There was a My Little Pony barn with a bunch of ponies, and I’d rush in to grab them. Then I’d open the classroom door all the way and hide behind it to play by myself. I wasn’t interested in playing with other kids—I just wanted to be alone with the ponies.
Another memory was when we were doing sidewalk chalk outlines with partners. I was paired with the teacher. I’m not sure if she did that on purpose so I wouldn’t be left out, or if I got stuck without a partner and she stepped in. But I remember noticing—everyone else was with another kid, and I wasn’t. It didn’t upset me, but I noticed it.
Tara: Yeah, that difference between noticing and being upset by it—such an important distinction.
“Did I Say Something Wrong?”: Moments of Social Confusion
Megan: Totally. One thing that’s always been hard is realizing that people don’t always respond the way I expect. Sometimes I feel like I’m blending in just fine, masking well—then something small happens that makes it clear I’m not. One vivid memory from high school stands out: I was talking to someone, and they just stared at me, completely confused. Whatever I said clearly didn’t land the way they expected, and I couldn’t figure out what went wrong.
Tara: Oh gosh, that would make me panic.
Megan: It did! I actually wondered if I had started speaking another language without realizing it. I was so confused.
Tara: It’s those little moments that can feel so disorienting—and then you’re left trying to decode what just happened.
Play as Joy, Not a Task
Tara: Your My Little Pony memory reminded me of my classroom—our pony treehouse set was a favorite, but many of my autistic students weren’t ready for cooperative or even parallel play yet, and that’s okay. I always say: meet kids where they’re at. Asking them to share a favorite toy during free play can be really distressing. What might seem like “no big deal” to some kids can trigger a full stress response for others.
Megan: Exactly. I played that way well into my teens! My sister and I laugh about it now—when we played Barbies, I directed everything like a script from a book. I thought it was fun, but she says, “You never let us do anything!” Looking back, it all makes sense now.
Tara: It’s just like scripting with props. I had a student who acted out the same tiger vs. lion scene every time. Instead of changing his play, we built around it—some kids sold tickets, others brought concessions. He got to enjoy what he loved while still being included. That’s when I realized: if it’s not joyful, it’s not really play—it’s just another task.
Megan: Yes! That’s what I see a lot—pressure to make autistic play look more “typical.” But if the child is happy, why change it?
Don’t Fix the Play—Build Around It
Tara: Exactly. People don’t always realize how often that pressure sneaks in—especially with play.
Megan: Yes! That’s the part that gets me. I think I was lucky—I was allowed to truly play growing up. But I see a lot of pressure online, especially toward trying to make autistic kids’ play look more “typical.” And I just think… why? Why do we care how they’re playing if they’re happy?
Tara: Right. So many people say they’re not trying to push their child toward “typical,” but then play becomes this one area where the pressure sneaks in.
Megan: I think part of the reason parents feel pressure around play is because it’s so visible. Other things—like meltdowns or routines—might happen mostly at home. But play is something everyone sees. And I totally get it. No one wants their kid to be picked on or labeled “the weird one.” But especially at home, kids need a safe place to just be themselves. If they don’t have that, masking can become really dangerous.
There’s a quote from the book The Drama of the Gifted Child that’s always stuck with me. One of the author’s clients said, “I lived in a glass house. And in a glass house, you can’t hide anything—not even from yourself. You have to bury it.”
That’s a whole other level of masking—when you feel like you have to hide even in your own home.
Comfort Zone, Learning Zone, Panic Zone
Tara: Wow. That’s powerful. And heartbreaking. Every child deserves a place where they don’t have to mask—especially at home. We want to give kids the freedom to play in the way that feels good to them. That doesn’t mean we never introduce new things—we absolutely should expose them to different types of play and experiences.
It’s just like us as adults—we try new hobbies, not to change who we are, but to explore. So we can create space for both: a time to play freely in a safe, comforting way, and a time for gentle exposure to something new.
Megan: Yes! It reminds me of that visual where you have three zones: the comfort zone, the panic zone way out on the edge, and the learning zone in between. With autistic kids, you really want to avoid pushing them into panic—even if you don’t think something should cause panic. If it does, it does. And that’s your cue to scale back.
Tara: So true. Kids might not be able to say, “I’m in panic mode,” but their sensory and regulation cues will usually tell you. That makes me wonder—what do you wish adults had understood about your sensory needs and regulation when you were younger?
Believe The Cues
Megan: Honestly? I just wish they had paid attention to the cues. More than anything, I wish the adults in my life had trusted me to accurately report my reality.
I didn’t just grow up without accommodations for my sensory needs—I grew up feeling like no one believed I had them. I don’t know if they thought I was lying or exaggerating, but either way, it was clear they didn’t take me seriously.
And that’s what I wish had been different. I wish someone had just believed me when I said something was too loud, too overwhelming, too much—even if it didn’t seem that way to them.
Tara: And one of the best ways to show that belief is to lean in with curiosity. If a child is able to answer, ask questions. Be a little bit of a detective—try to understand what’s behind the behavior or the sensory reaction, instead of jumping to conclusions.
Curiosity Over Judgment: How Adults Can Support Autistic Children
Megan: Exactly. Be curious instead of judgmental. That mindset shift makes such a difference.
I know teachers are busy—and sometimes you just want to solve the problem and move on. But going a little deeper, or looping in someone else who can, really matters.
I was lucky to have a few really great teachers. I remember one from first or second grade—I had a terrible stomachache but didn’t want to be a problem. By that age, I was already starting to distrust my own body and experience because I’d been told so many times that I was exaggerating.
But she noticed. She looked at me and asked, “Megan, do you need to go to the nurse?” I kind of whispered, “I think so.” And instead of sending someone else with me, she walked me there herself. I’ll never forget what she said: “It’s always okay to ask for what you need.” She was so kind. And I really needed that.
Tara: Wow. I wish more people were like that teacher. She wasn’t just kind—she was intuitive. She noticed something was off, stepped in, and built a connection. And that kind of relationship—where a child knows they’re seen and supported—makes all the difference. Kids learn more when they trust the adults around them and feel genuinely liked.
A Message to My Younger Self
Tara: Okay, so here’s a big one. If you could go back and tell your younger self anything, what would it be?
Megan: I’d tell her, “Hey, guess what? You’re not the wrong kind of person. You’re exactly the way you’re supposed to be.” There are so many other people out there who are just like you. And some of the things that feel really hard right now? They’re going to be the things that help you thrive later in life.
Tara: I love that. I hope everyone reading this—especially parents of autistic kids—takes a moment to really soak that in. The way your child is wired is not only okay, it’s right.
Like Megan said, what feels like a challenge now might just become a superpower down the road.
Megan's Resources
Tara: Megan, you are amazing. I could go on and on, but instead—can you share some of the incredible things you’re working on to support others?
Megan: First off, I have a book coming out in September called Welcome to AuDHD. It’s written to help autistic and ADHD adults not just survive, but thrive. It’s filled with both lived experience and research, and I’m so proud of it.
I’ve created something you can download right now—it’s a free PDF called 11 Types of Neurodivergence. A lot of people are familiar with autism and ADHD, but neurodivergence is a much broader umbrella. It also includes OCD, personality disorders, Tourette’s, Alzheimer’s, and more.
The PDF outlines 11 types with links to trusted sources so you can dive deeper. If you’re a parent thinking, “My kid isn’t developing like their sibling or like I did,” this could be a helpful place to start learning.
Tara: And it’s free—how amazing is that? Megan, thank you so much for being here. This conversation was incredible.
Megan: Thank you for having me—it was truly great.
Listen to Episode #124
Megan's Resources:
Megan’s New Book (coming out in the fall of 2025):
The Nuerocuriosity Club – You Tube
Read Related Topics:
Navigating the Autism Diagnosis
Autism Diagnosis: Talking to Kids
If you use visual supports in your classroom or home, you are going to want to sign up for this free Visual Supports Starter Set ASAP! Click here to have one sent to your inbox. Also, be sure to read more about visual supports and how they can help autistic children here.
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