There's something nobody tells you about being autistic and having ADHD. About having both at the same time, what some of us call AuDHD. They don't tell you that you might spend hours agonizing over a single sentence in an email. That you might restart a project seven times because it doesn't feel right, even though you can't articulate what "right" would look like. That the same brain that loses track of time and forgets to eat can also obsess over microscopic details that no one else will ever notice.
This is perfectionism wrapped in neurodivergence, and it's both my superpower and my kryptonite.
Living with AuDHD means existing in a constant contradiction. My ADHD brain bounces between tasks, loses focus, blurts things out before I've thought them through. I miss instructions, misplace important items, and struggle to maintain routines that neurotypical people find basic. And yet, when I do manage to focus on something... anything... there's this relentless voice insisting it must be perfect.
Not good. Not even great. Perfect.
The research talks about how autism brings black-and-white thinking, how we see things as right or wrong with little room for the gray in between. It describes how our attention to detail can be both remarkable and paralyzing. How we notice things others miss, but can't unsee our own perceived flaws. Add ADHD's hyperfocus into the mix, and you get someone who can spend eight hours absorbed in making something flawless while forgetting the world exists.
But here's what the research doesn't fully capture: the bone-deep exhaustion of it all.
There's a cruel irony in having both ADHD and perfectionism. I procrastinate on starting projects because the gap between my vision and my ability feels insurmountable. Then, when I finally overcome the executive dysfunction and begin, I can't stop. I can't let it be "good enough." I revise and refine and restart, chasing an impossible standard that keeps moving further away the closer I get.
My autism craves routine and predictability, while my ADHD makes maintaining any structure feel like wrestling smoke. So when I do manage to create something... a piece of writing, an organized system, a completed task... it has to be perfect. It has to be, because I might not be able to replicate the conditions that let me accomplish it in the first place.
The perfectionism isn't about ego. It's about survival. It's about trying to compensate for all the times I've been told I'm "too much" or "not enough." For every instruction I've misunderstood, every social cue I've missed, every deadline I've forgotten. If I can just make this one thing perfect, maybe it will balance out all my perceived failures. Maybe I'll finally be acceptable.
People don't understand what it's like to grow up feeling like you're always getting things wrong. The constant corrections, the confused looks, the frustration from others when you don't understand something that seems obvious to them. When you're autistic and have ADHD, you learn early that you're somehow different, somehow not doing things "right."
So you try harder. You develop this desperate need to prove you're capable, worthy, enough. You become hyperaware of your mistakes while simultaneously struggling to learn from them because your brain doesn't work the way the neurotypical world expects it to. You pour incredible effort into everything you do, not because you want to, but because you feel like you have to in order to justify your existence.
Every task becomes high-stakes. Every project carries the weight of proving you're not lazy, not careless, not incapable... all the things people have implied or outright stated about you.
But here's something I'm learning to hold onto: not many people care the way we do.
That's not a criticism of others; it's an observation of something genuinely remarkable about the AuDHD experience. When I finally step back from the exhaustion and frustration, I can see that my perfectionism, for all its challenges, comes from a place of deep caring. I notice details others miss not because I'm trying to be difficult, but because my brain is wired to see them. I invest hours into tasks because quality genuinely matters to me.
This isn't about being better than anyone else. It's about the simple fact that I can't help but put my whole heart into things. My hyperfocus, when it's not paralyzing me with impossibly high standards, allows me to create things with a level of attention and care that's increasingly rare. My autistic drive for understanding means I won't just do something; I'll learn everything about it. I'll consider angles others haven't thought of. I'll catch errors that would have caused problems later.
There's a strange kind of beauty in that level of dedication, even when it's exhausting. Especially when it's exhausting.
I won't romanticize this. The physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion of perfectionism with AuDHD is real and it's heavy. The anxiety that comes with making even small mistakes. The shame spiral when something doesn't meet my impossible standards. The way criticism (even constructive, kind criticism) can feel like confirmation of every negative thing I've ever believed about myself.
There are days when the weight of caring so much about everything is crushing. When I'm paralyzed by the fear of starting because I know I won't be able to stop tweaking and adjusting until I've burned myself out completely. When I look at a task and can see exactly how I want it to be but have no idea how to bridge the gap between vision and reality, and the frustration of that disconnect makes me want to give up entirely.
The burnout is real. The mental health impact is very real. The way perfectionism feeds anxiety and anxiety feeds perfectionism in an endless loop... that's real too.
I'm trying to learn that both things can be true at once. That my perfectionism can be both a gift and a burden. That the same traits that make me exceptional at certain things also make everyday life incredibly difficult. That I can acknowledge the beauty of my dedication while also recognizing when it's hurting me.
This doesn't mean "embracing imperfection" in some Instagram-quote kind of way. My brain doesn't work like that, and that's okay. Instead, it means learning to ask myself: "Does this need to be perfect, or does it need to be done?" It means recognizing that sometimes "good enough" really is good enough, even when every fiber of my being wants to keep refining.
It means being gentler with myself when I can't maintain the standards I set. Acknowledging that the effort I put in (even when the result isn't perfect) still matters. That the exhaustion I feel is valid, not a sign of weakness.
If you're reading this and recognizing yourself in these words, I want you to know: the level of care you bring to everything you do is not a character flaw. The exhaustion you feel is not you being dramatic. The way you notice things others don't, the way you can't let go of details, the way you pour so much of yourself into tasks that neurotypical people complete with a fraction of the effort... that's not wrong.
It's hard. It's so incredibly hard. Living with this particular combination of traits means existing in a state of constant tension between caring deeply and being unable to care in the ways that come naturally to others. Between seeing everything that's wrong and struggling to see what's right. Between wanting to rest and being unable to let something be less than what you envision.
But the world needs people who care this much, even when (especially when) that caring comes with such a high personal cost. We see things others miss. We create things with a level of thoughtfulness that's rare. We bring a dedication to our work, our relationships, our interests that transforms ordinary into extraordinary.
We just need to remember to extend some of that care to ourselves. To recognize that we are enough, even on the days when nothing feels good enough. That rest is not failure. That sometimes, the most perfect thing we can do is let ourselves be imperfect.
This is the reality of perfectionism and AuDHD. It's beautiful and it's brutal. It's a gift and it's exhausting. It's both, all at once, and learning to live with that tension is perhaps the most challenging (and most important) work of all.
If you're struggling with the intersection of perfectionism and neurodivergence, please know you're not alone. Consider connecting with a therapist who specializes in autism and ADHD, or finding support groups where others understand this specific experience. The work of managing perfectionism while honoring your neurodivergent brain is ongoing, but you don't have to do it alone.