Attachment Distress and Undiagnosed Neurodivergence
- 5 days ago
- 6 min read
Miranda Jane is a Neurodivergent-Affirming Somatic Coach and Consultant, specializing in the masked and late-identified Autistic and ADHD experience. Their personal crusade is to help recently identified AuDHDers understand and appreciate themselves, mind, body, and nervous system!
Due to sensory pain, overstimulation, and unusual ways of expressing ourselves, neurodivergent children, even with parents who love and carefully attend to us, often develop what is considered “insecure attachment” to our primary caregivers. I see that attachment distress extending to the world at large as an endless existential unease. It even colors the internal relationship to self, with self-loathing being a frequent challenge for my clients.
Autistic and ADHD attachment
Attachment theory describes the way that we navigate the challenge of safely staying alive while nourishing our individual growth. We need other people to survive, but they can also hurt us. For neurodivergent parents and children, the process of bonding can be especially fraught.
We can end up leaning into avoidance, trying to protect ourselves by minimizing connection with others. Or we can become anxious, perpetually reaching out to loved ones to make sure they’re still okay, we’re still okay, and the relationship is still okay. Finally, disorganized attachment is the outcome when the nervous system is not sure how to respond. It can’t figure out if it’s in danger and should be protecting itself, or if it should be seeking nurture and nourishment. So, it’s trying to allow in the good stuff while simultaneously fighting off the bad.
Imagine the experience of an infant with sensory sensitivities, allergies, and gastrointestinal distress. As they instinctively root and nurse, they feel the rush of warm milk in their mouth and then down their throat to the stomach. Maybe it tastes good, but the texture and unexpected rush of liquid are difficult to process, or even make them feel like they might choke. Their threat response spikes, alerting their immune system to danger. Then, they may have an immune reaction to something in the milk, getting itchy and feverish. Or their stomach may cramp as it tries and fails to gain nourishment.
Move forward through time, and that kiddo tries to express their experience of the world. The lights are too bright. Sounds are painful. Eye contact feels intrusive instead of loving. Over and over, people tell them that light is necessary. The volume is fine. They are being rude when they avert their eyes.
In time, they push through their own discomfort in order to make the best of the world and their social groups. But they lose faith in themselves, in their ability to interpret their own body’s signals, and in their ability to understand and navigate the world.
This confusing relational experience, where loved ones misunderstand them or normalize accepting pain, sets them up for future relationships where their needs are dismissed. Within themselves, they are already dismissing their own needs, so it feels natural to prioritize other people and deprioritize themselves. I describe it as having two volume knobs, one on other people and one on our own needs and desires. By the time my clients get to me, their inner volume is set to zero and everyone else’s is at 10.
Because they’ve normalized powering through their needs and limits, they have no idea where their natural limits really are. I joke that they think they only need one big breath of air a day, and they’re just holding their breath the rest of the day, saying, “This is normal, I can do this, no one retains consciousness throughout the whole day!”
But I believe that life can feel a lot better than that. When we deeply know and accept ourselves, and design lives that support us, life can actually be fun and not just an endless list of demands or chores.
Practice radical self-acceptance
Over the years of studying interpersonal neurobiology, Somatic Experiencing, and how to bring the latest insights from neuroscience into the room with my clients, a framework became clear.
First, we needed to practice radical self-acceptance. Radical acceptance has its roots in Buddhist teaching. It comes down to acceptance of the present moment reality without fighting against it. You don’t have to believe the next moment will be identical to this one, but believe that what is happening right now is what is happening right now.
Autistic minds find relief and security in predictable systems. We are perpetually seeking out patterns as a means of preparing for whatever is coming next. While this may reassure you, it can be extremely draining. Our pattern matching, excellent though it may be, does not make us omniscient. We do not have a crystal ball, and we cannot see the future.
The combination of being more detail-oriented than most, being frequently correct, and experiencing the world as a place of constant threat can convince us of our most dire predictions. This inaccurately gives weight to our belief in potential negative outcomes. On top of that, it can leave us hypervigilant and stressed out.
Part of radical acceptance is acknowledging the limited nature of our human experience. We have only two hands and only two eyes, which are both on only one side of our heads, a particularly limited perspective, much smaller than that of flies. We have 24 hours a day, and beliefs and knowledge that have emerged out of our handful of years of lived experience. When the practice of radical self-acceptance starts to soak in, we organically begin to feel what our needs and limits are.
Grief and then compassion
This awareness of our needs and limits often leads to profound existential grief, as we realize that we have been living our lives as though we could get everything done, meet everyone’s expectations, and still have time for fun later. This is where the next required ingredient for transformation emerges: compassion. Simply put, compassion is acknowledging suffering and wishing the suffering could be lessened. We don’t need to know how or have any plans to do anything about it. Just acknowledge it and hold the desire for relief or ease in your heart and mind.
Curiosity
The final ingredient is curiosity. We need to keep an open mind and try not to attach too strongly to our current interpretation of the experience. I like to consider the history of mankind and how our beliefs about the solar system have changed over time. While learning that the sun did not revolve around the earth was initially terrifying and demoralizing for some people, eventually, it was good for humans to learn we were wrong and start operating with the new information in place. On a smaller scale, I find it helpful for individuals to be curious about their experience and to be open to noticing when their emotions, sensations, and thoughts change or become more nuanced.
Forces outside our control
Despite our best efforts, there are forces outside our control. We can develop brilliant systems based on accurate information and still have outcomes we never thought of, let alone expected.
Furthermore, as neurodivergent people, we find ourselves encountering circumstances over and over that we aren’t taught about in the normative culture. We assume we’re making it up, misinterpreting, or creating unnecessary problems. Yet, when we talk to each other, we realize these are actually well-known aspects of the neurodivergent experience!
Meltdowns are an overloaded nervous system, not a tantrum. Shutdowns are an overloaded nervous system, not avoidance. Time does not proceed linearly in a logical fashion! It stretches out when we’re bored and vaporizes when we’re hyperfocused. Our executive functioning challenges and sensory sensitivities flare when we’re in neurodivergent burnout. Transitions are hard, and special interest energy is real.
If you're interested in learning more about our coaching services to address avoidant, anxious, or disorganized attachment, schedule a free consultation today.
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Read more from Miranda Jane
Miranda Jane, Neurodivergent Affirming Nervous System Coach
Miranda Jane is a late-identified Autistic ADHDer with a passion for helping people like them lead more pleasurable and fulfilling lives. They work with adults who are “twice exceptional” (2e), in many ways brilliant and in many ways struggling to function and disabled in their everyday lives. This particular blend of special skills and (often invisible) disability is particularly dangerous, leaving those who are 2e feeling thwarted in achieving their goals and leading to high rates of self-loathing, despair, and suicidality.
