Discovering you are neurodivergent, whether through a formal diagnosis or self-identification, can be life-changing. For many, it begins as a moment of profound recognition. But what follows is often less talked about: identity transition.
Everyone experiences identity transition differently, but there do appear to be some common themes, and it is not unusual to hear people use words like grief and bereavement as well as relief and euphoria in connection with their experience.
To those on the ‘outside’, these words can sound dramatic. But think about it, the person has just realised the long-held beliefs about who they are could need a whole rethink. Not only that, but there are possible explanations for all the things they have been confused by, all the challenges they have had, which may or may not feel empowering.
For some people, identity transition is absolutely a grieving experience – they grieve the person they had assumed they were, mourn opportunities missed and hardships experienced, or experience distress about the shift in a future they had hoped for themselves (or indeed all of the above).
The fact that in many cases they were already asking questions about the way their brain and body worked doesn’t necessarily lessen the impact of these realisations. Like it or not, for many, this forces a re-evaluation of their past, a reconfiguration of the present and a new perspective on what their future might look like. And just like grief and bereavement, this can stir up a whole host of emotions, sometimes all at once, without warning.
Life before
Before discovering we are neurodivergent in some way, many of us interpret our challenges through the deficit-based lens that society has peddled our entire lives. We internalise painful messages: that we’re lazy, broken, too much, or not enough. We ‘fail’ at being ‘normal’, we try harder, mask, and struggle on. Even if we have not absorbed lots of negative beliefs about ourselves (show me someone who hasn’t, I want to shake their hand), many of us will still have recognised and struggled with feeling somehow different, even if we did not know the specifics of how or why. A diagnosis can come as both a revelation and a rupture. On one hand, it offers a powerful new lens through which everything can start to make sense. On the other hand, it challenges the entire narrative we have built our life around.
Some people describe this as liberating; others are devastated. One thing is for sure: it is rarely one or the other, and we are pulled between emotions daily. This tension, between relief and grief, validation and new challenges, is at the heart of what the ND community refer to as identity transition.
A grief cycle
The emotional experience is sometimes mapped onto the Kübler-Ross model of grief. It’s not always neat or linear, but the stages frequently show up in some form:
- Denial: “It can’t be that simple” or “Maybe the assessment was wrong.”
- Anger: “Why didn’t anyone see this sooner?” or “I missed out on so much.”
- Bargaining: “If I just try harder, maybe I can still fit in.”
- Depression: “How different could my life have been if I’d known?”
- Acceptance: “This is my reality now. I can work with it.”
As with bereavement, these phases don’t arrive politely one after another; they crash into each other several times a day, often with no warning, and they can completely derail you.
For me, there were periods when I couldn’t recognise myself, where I didn’t know what I thought any more. It was overwhelming, disorientating, and lonely.
Where this experience differs from the grief cycle is that there can also be moments of euphoria, relief, or validation. That rush of “things are starting to make sense” can be exhilarating. But even that can be short-lived. As Cynthia Kim of musingsofanaspie.com wrote:
“Once the bright shiny new ‘this explains everything’ stage wore off, I started thinking about the other side of being autistic…the challenges I faced weren’t imagined and they weren’t going to magically disappear. They were with me for life.”
Mourning the ‘old self’
What makes this process particularly intense is that it often involves mourning a version of ourselves that never quite fit in the first place, but one that we tried so hard to sustain. Many of us shaped our lives around external expectations, masking our differences, and working twice as hard to appear ‘normal.’
So the grief we talk about in this transition can include mourning lost time, missed opportunities, and relationships damaged by misunderstanding.
This period can also surface internalised ableism, those subtle, harmful beliefs about what it means to be different, which we may have absorbed over the years, making it difficult to simply embrace the new information.
Rebuilding identity
After diagnosis we need to rebuild. Without guidance or role models, this can feel overwhelming which is why support after diagnosis is so important.
Unfortunately, all too often, we are left to pick up the pieces alone. Professional support is often not available in a timely manner, and our partners and friends struggle to know how to help. Figuring out a way ahead without support can be incredibly difficult, particularly if we are unaware that identity transition is a ‘thing’ we will all experience in some shape or form, and this on top of everything else we have been dealing with.
Rebuilding is about stitching together a new identity, one based on truth and self-compassion. It might involve:
- Reinterpreting the past through a neurodivergent lens
- Reframing traits or behaviours once described as flaws
- Connecting with others who share similar experiences
- Exploring more authentic ways of living and relating
It’s more than ‘just a phase’, and it’s not always easy.
What support should look like
If we recognise identity transition as part of the diagnostic journey, then the lack of follow-up support becomes all the more concerning. Whether this experience lasts months or years, everyone connected with the person needs to understand this isn’t just a ‘difficult patch’, a major psychological shift is happening – it is exhausting, confusing, upsetting, even if it is also liberating.
Patience and understanding from family and friends are paramount, particularly as we experiment with adjustments and unmasking. We need you to understand that we are the same person underneath, but the way we present may shift. If we seem more neurodivergent after diagnosis, this could be seen as a complement – we feel safe enough around you to unmask, or we have gained confidence to advocate for our legitimate needs.
Just know
There is no right way to respond to your discovery. Processing will take time, and it takes as long as it takes.
There are lots of us who have been there already, seek us out, ask for support – you do not have to navigate this on your own. And there is no shame in asking.
Coming to terms with a neurodivergent identity is often as destabilising as it is illuminating. One thing is certain, in this process – it is not a linear journey; you will have days where you feel like you are on a rollercoaster, but ultimately, you will find clarity and healing.
To acknowledge this experience as an identity transition is to give it the weight it deserves. And like all transformations, it needs compassion, time, and the right kind of support.
If you’re on that path, you’re not alone. And you are not broken. You’re becoming. Your neurodivergent community welcomes you, understands you and celebrates with you.
