7 July – written by Katrin Kemmerzehl – Blog

People often come to therapy because something no longer feels sustainable.

Sometimes this happens after a diagnosis of autism. Sometimes it follows years of anxiety, burnout, relationship difficulties, or simply a growing sense that life seems to take more effort than it appears to for other people.

Many autistic adults describe carrying questions that have been with them for a long time, such as:

“Why do I feel so exhausted?”

“Why do relationships seem so hard?”

“Why do I often feel different when I’m surrounded by people?”

“Why have I spent so much of my life trying to fit in or be someone else?”

Counselling can’t provide simple answers to these questions. What it can offer is a place to explore them with curiosity and kindness, without the pressure to perform or become someone different. It can be a place where your thoughts and feelings are heard, and where you can begin to discover what you need to move forward.

Beginning to Make Sense of Yourself

For many autistic people, understanding themselves differently can be relieving. Experiences that once felt confusing may begin to make more sense.

You may start to recognise patterns that have been present for years: needing more time alone after socialising, feeling overwhelmed by uncertainty, finding change difficult, or feeling as though you’ve spent much of your life adapting to other people’s expectations.

Research suggests that receiving an autism diagnosis in adulthood is often associated with greater self-understanding and self-acceptance, even though it can also bring grief and mixed emotions (Nayyar et al., 2025).

Therapy can offer space for both. There may be relief that things finally make sense, alongside sadness for the younger version of yourself who struggled without understanding why.

Sometimes we might think: “I thought I was failing at life”, “I thought I was not good enough”, “I thought something was wrong with me.”

Therapy can help you begin to ask different questions, such as:

“What has your experience actually been like?”

“What helps you feel connected to yourself?”

Finding a Kinder Relationship With Yourself

Many autistic people grow up receiving messages, directly or indirectly, that they are too sensitive, too intense, too quiet, too direct, or somehow not the right kind of person. Over time, these experiences can become internalised and you may become your own harshest critic (Turnock, 2022).

A person-centred approach to therapy begins with the belief that people make sense in the context of their experiences and that understanding often grows in an accepting and compassionate relationship (Rogers, 1961).

For many autistic adults, being deeply listened to without judgment can be surprisingly powerful. Sometimes self-compassion begins with something very simple, such as recogning that perhaps you’ve been trying incredibly hard for a very long time.

Understanding Relationships and Patterns

Many autistic adults come to therapy because relationships feel confusing or painful.

You may find yourself replaying conversations long after they have ended, wondering if you said the wrong thing.

Perhaps you often feel misunderstood, struggle with conflict, or notice that relationships become exhausting or one-sided because so much effort goes into trying to understand what other people need or expect.

An interpersonal and psychodynamic way of thinking can be helpful here. Often, we begin to notice patterns that repeat themselves across relationships.

Transactional Analysis invites us to be ome curious about the stories we’ve come to believe about ourselves and our relationships, and whether they still fit who we are today (Steiner, 1974).

We may discover old ways of protecting ourselves, long-standing fears of rejection, or habits of masking and adapting that developed for understandable reasons.

Sometimes the question becomes:

“How have I learned to be with other people?” and

“What kind of relationships help me feel more fully myself?”

Research increasingly suggests that difficulties between autistic and non-autistic people often arise from differences in communication and understanding, rather than because one person lacks social skills or empathy (Milton, 2012; Crompton et al., 2020).

Many people find relief in realising that they aren’t “bad at relationships”. They may have spent years trying to bridge differences that require effort from both sides.

When Life Stops Feeling Sustainable

Sometimes, people seek counselling during periods of burnout or significant life change.

Perhaps you have started a new job, become a parent, experienced a loss, or reached a point where your usual ways of coping no longer seem to work.

Autistic burnout is increasingly recognised as a state of profound physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion caused by chronic stress and the effort of continually adapting to environments that do not fit one’s needs (Raymaker et al., 2020).

When burnout happens, people often begin to question the way they have been living:

“Can I keep going like this?”

“What do I actually need?”

“Why have I been pushing myself so hard?”

These are not only practical questions.They are also existential ones.

The Question Beneath the Struggle

Beneath anxiety, exhaustion, and relationship difficulties, there is sometimes another question waiting: How do I want to live?

A diagnosis, a period of burnout, or simply getting older can bring old assumptions into question. The life that once seemed manageable may no longer fit. The ways you have adapted for years may begin to feel too costly.

Existential therapy is interested in these moments of uncertainty and change. Rather than rushing to provide answers, it invites us to sit with important questions about identity, freedom, belonging, meaning, and how we wish to live our lives (van Deurzen, 2012).

Many autistic adults describe reaching a point where they no longer want to spend all their energy trying to fit into expectations that were never designed with them in mind.

Instead, the work becomes one of asking:

“What matters to me?”

“What kind of relationships feel nourishing?”

“What pace of life suits me?”

“What would it mean to live in a way that feels more authentic?”

What Does Neurodiversity-Affirming Therapy Mean?

Many autistic people worry that therapy will focus on changing who they are or helping them appear more “normal”. A neurodiversity-affirming approach starts somewhere different.

It understands autism as a natural variation in human experience rather than something that needs to be changed (Kapp et al., 2013).

This does not mean ignoring difficulties. Anxiety, loneliness, trauma, burnout, and relationship struggles are all very real. But rather than asking, “How can we make you fit in better?” therapy might ask:

“What has your experience been like?”

“What has it cost you to keep going in this way?”

“What supports you?”

“What kind of life feels right for you?”

For many people, having a space where they don’t need to explain themselves or justify why something feels difficult can be a relief.

Many autistic adults have spent years adapting, coping, and trying to keep up. Sometimes therapy is one of the few places where you can just be and reconnect with yourself.

In sessions, you’ll find space to slow down, to make sense of your experiences, to grieve what has been hard and to recognise your strengths.

It can be a space to become curious about who you are and what you need and to begin building a life that feels a little more like your own.

Whether you have been diagnosed, think you may be autistic, or are curious about what this might mean for you, counselling can offer a thoughtful, supportive, and steady space.

If you’d like to explore this, please feel free to get in touch.

References

• Crompton, C. J., Ropar, D., Evans-Williams, C. V., Flynn, E. G., & Fletcher-Watson, S. (2020). Autistic peer-to-peer information transfer is highly effective. Autism, 24(7), 1704-1712.
• Kapp, S. K., Gillespie-Lynch, K., Sherman, L. E., & Hutman, T. (2013). Deficit, difference, or both? Autism and neurodiversity. Developmental Psychology, 49(1), 59-71.
• Milton, D. (2012). On the ontological status of autism: The “double empathy problem”. Disability & Society, 27(6), 883-887.
• Nayyar, J. M., Stapleton, A. V., Guerin, S., & O’Connor, C. (2025). Exploring lived experiences of receiving a diagnosis of autism in adulthood: A systematic review. Autism in Adulthood.
• Raymaker, D. M., Teo, A. R., Steckler, N. A., et al. (2020). “Having all of your internal resources exhausted beyond measure and being left with no clean-up crew”: Defining autistic burnout. Autism in Adulthood, 2(2), 132-143.
• Rogers, C. R. (1961). On Becoming a Person: A Therapist’s View of Psychotherapy. Boston: Houghton Mifflin.
• Turnock, Amanda, Langley, Kate, & Jones, Christopher R. G. (2022). Understanding stigma in autism: A narrative review and theoretical model. Autism in Adulthood.
• van Deurzen, E. (2012). Existential Counselling and Psychotherapy in Practice (3rd ed.). London: Sage.

Katrin Kemmerzehl
I am a qualified psychotherapeutic counsellor in Newcastle upon Tyne.
Please get in touch if you’re interested in arranging a consultation.

The post How Can Autistic People Benefit from Therapy? first appeared on Warm and Friendly Counselling.

1 July – written by Katrin Kemmerzehl – Blog

There are days when you want to be around people. You reply to messages, make plans, and feel excited about things that are coming up.

Then there are days when the thought of another conversation feels tiring. You want things to be quiet. You cancel plans or take longer to reply and wonder what happened to the version of you who seemed so enthusiastic a few days earlier.

Perhaps you finally settle into a routine and feel relieved to have some structure, only to find yourself feeling restless and trapped by it not long afterwards.

Or you spend weeks longing for a slower pace of life, and then, when things become calmer, you start looking for something new to focus on.

For many people with AuDHD, this experience is deeply familiar.

Life can sometimes feel like living with different needs that take turns stepping forward. At times you need connection, stimulation, or novelty. At other times you need rest, predictability, or space to yourself.

Over time, these changes can become confusing. You may find yourself wondering:

Why can’t I just be consistent?

Or perhaps: Why don’t I seem to know myself as well as other people do?

Holding Opposite Needs

One of the challenges of living with AuDHD is that experiences that seem contradictory can exist side by side.

You may genuinely enjoy being around people and still become exhausted by socialising. You might love having a routine and also feel restricted by it. You may long for a quiet weekend and then find yourself feeling understimulated and restless.

Research increasingly recognises that the combination of autistic and ADHD traits creates a distinct lived experience that cannot always be neatly separated into one or the other (Asherson et al., 2016; Cooper et al., 2021).

Many people describe this as an ongoing push and pull between different needs, energies, and ways of engaging with the world.

The difficulty is that these changes can sometimes make us question ourselves.

If I wanted this yesterday, why don’t I want it today?

If I enjoy seeing people, why do I suddenly need to be alone?

If I was coping last week, why does everything feel harder now?

There are often no simple answers to these questions.

Sometimes We Don’t Know What We Need

Many AuDHD adults become skilled at carrying on. You get through work, keep up with responsibilities, and adapt to what life asks of you.

You may have spent years putting your own needs to one side, or learned to push through discomfort because it seemed easier than trying to explain it.

Over time, this can make it difficult to recognise what is happening inside.

Sometimes the hardest part isn’t meeting your needs. It’s knowing what they are in the first place.

You may feel irritable without realising that you’re overwhelmed.

You might think you need to rest when what you’re longing for is connection, or keep yourself busy because stopping would mean noticing just how tired you are.

Many people only recognise their need for quiet when everything suddenly feels too much. Others realise they have been lonely only after withdrawing from people for weeks.

There can be a great deal of self-doubt in not knowing what you need and not trusting yourself to get it right.

“But You Were Fine Yesterday”

These changes can also be difficult for other people to understand. Perhaps someone has said:

“I thought you were looking forward to this.”

“You always change your mind.”

“I can’t keep up with you.”

“But you were fine yesterday.”

Comments like these can stay with us. Over time, we may start saying similar things to ourselves.

Maybe I’m unreliable.

Maybe I ask for too much.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me.

Yet capacity is not fixed. Energy, sensory demands, stress, and emotional experiences all influence what feels possible from one day to the next.

Research into autistic burnout suggests that many neurodivergent adults continue functioning long after their internal resources have been stretched beyond what feels sustainable (Raymaker et al., 2020; Higgins et al., 2021).

The fact that your needs have changed does not necessarily mean that you have changed your mind. Sometimes it means that something else has changed in the background.

The Hidden Loneliness of Not Trusting Yourself

Repeatedly feeling misunderstood, by others or even by ourselves, can be lonely.

Many AuDHD adults come to therapy carrying a sense that they can’t rely on themselves. They wonder why they become overwhelmed so suddenly, why things that once felt manageable no longer do, or why they seem to need different things from one week to the next.

Often there is grief in this too. Grief for the years spent trying to be more consistent, less sensitive, more productive, or easier for other people to understand.

Research suggests that many neurodivergent adults have spent significant parts of their lives masking or adapting to fit expectations around them, often at considerable emotional cost (Hull et al., 2017).

After a while, it can become difficult to know where adaptation ends and your own needs begin.

Learning to Listen Again

Self-understanding isn’t about being the same person each day. It often starts with developing more curiosity.

What has been taking my energy recently?

Am I needing rest, stimulation, connection, or space?

What feels difficult today?

What feels possible?

These questions are not always easy to answer. But they invite a gentler relationship with ourselves. Self-compassion involves responding to ourselves with understanding rather than criticism, especially in moments of difficulty or struggle (Neff, 2003).

For many AuDHD people, self-compassion may begin with accepting that changing needs are not a failure of character or evidence that we do not know ourselves. They may simply be part of being human.

Living well with AuDHD

Living well with AuDHD is not always about achieving perfect balance or being entirely consistent. It may be more about recognising yourself a little earlier.

Noticing when something is starting to build up. Be open to the idea that your needs might differ on different days. And perhaps trust that both the part of you that desires the world and the part that longs for quiet belong equally.

How Counselling can help

Counselling can offer a space to reflect and become curious about these patterns with someone alongside you. Many people find relief in no longer having to explain or justify their experience. It offers time to better understand your needs, develop greater self-compassion, and start building a life that feels more manageable, authentic, and sustainable.

You don’t need to arrive with all the answers. Sometimes it is enough to bring your questions, your uncertainties, ideas and thoughts and the sense that life has been feeling harder than it needs to. Together, we can begin to make sense of it.

If you’d like to explore this, please feel free to get in touch.

References

• Asherson, P., Buitelaar, J., Faraone, S. V., & Rohde, L. A. (2016). Adult attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder: Key conceptual issues. The Lancet Psychiatry, 3(6), 568–578.
• Cooper, M., Martin, J., Langley, K., Hamshere, M., & Thapar, A. (2021). Autistic traits in children with ADHD index clinical and cognitive problems. European Child & Adolescent Psychiatry, 30(8), 1247–1256.
• Higgins, J. M., Arnold, S. R. C., Weise, J., Pellicano, E., & Trollor, J. N. (2021). Defining autistic burnout through experts by lived experience. Autism, 25(8), 2356–2369.
• Hull, L., Petrides, K. V., Allison, C., et al. (2017). “Putting on My Best Normal”: Social camouflaging in adults with autism spectrum conditions. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 47(8), 2519–2534.
• Neff, K. D. (2003). Self-compassion: An alternative conceptualisation of a healthy attitude toward oneself. Self and Identity, 2(2), 85–101.
• Raymaker, D. M., Teo, A. R., Steckler, N. A., et al. (2020). Having all of your internal resources exhausted beyond measure and being left with no clean-up crew: Defining autistic burnout. Autism in Adulthood, 2(2), 132–143.

Katrin Kemmerzehl
I am a qualified psychotherapeutic counsellor in Newcastle upon Tyne.
Please get in touch if you’re interested in arranging a consultation.

The post Living with the changing needs of AuDHD first appeared on Warm and Friendly Counselling.

26 June – written by Katrin Kemmerzehl – Blog

Have you ever found yourself wanting to do something, yet nothing is appealing? Many adults with ADHD describe days when everything feels strangely flat, only for one unexpected idea or activity to suddenly capture their attention.

This article explores why that happens, why it is so often misunderstood, and how understanding yourself with greater compassion can make everyday life feel a little less confusing.

Waiting for Something to Capture Your Attention

Have you ever looked forward to having a free afternoon, only to discover that nothing seems particularly interesting once it finally arrives?

Perhaps you browse through films without choosing one, wander around a bookshop hoping something catches your eye, or think about returning to a hobby you used to enjoy, but somehow never get started.

You might pick up your phone, put it down again, make a cup of tea, look out of the window for a moment, then wonder what you were planning to do in the first place.

It isn’t that there is nothing to do. It’s that nothing quite draws you in.

Many adults with ADHD describe recognising this feeling. They often say they aren’t looking for constant excitement. They’re looking for that moment when something finally clicks and they become interested, curious, or completely absorbed in what they’re doing.

Many adults with ADHD find that interest helps them find their way into a task, while activities that feel less engaging can be much harder to begin, even when they genuinely want to do them (Ramsay, 2020; Young et al., 2021).

For someone who hasn’t experienced this, it can be difficult to understand.

“You’ve got time. Why don’t you just get on with something?”

Many adults with ADHD ask themselves exactly the same question.

Over time, it’s easy to conclude that you’re unmotivated, or simply not trying hard enough. Yet many clinicians and researchers have described ADHD as involving differences in how motivation and engagement are experienced, with interest, meaning, novelty, and challenge often playing a much greater role than people realise (Barkley, 2021; Young et al., 2021).

Understanding this doesn’t make everyday responsibilities disappear. It can, however, offer a kinder explanation for an experience that many people have spent years blaming themselves for.

“I want to do it. I just can’t seem to get into it.”

One of the most confusing aspects of ADHD is that wanting to do something and feeling able to begin are not always the same experience.

Perhaps you’ve been meaning to reply to a friend’s message all week. You care about them and every day you think, I’ll do it later. Somehow later never arrives.

Or maybe the washing is still sitting in the machine. It isn’t a particularly difficult job and it would probably only take a few minutes, yet walking over to hang it up feels strangely difficult to begin.

Some people describe standing in the supermarket knowing they need something for dinner, but finding that nothing really appeals.

Others spend half an hour looking for something to watch before realising they aren’t really searching for a film. They’re waiting for something to capture their interest.

These moments can seem small on their own. When they happen several times a day, they can become surprisingly exhausting.

Many adults with ADHD notice that interest helps them find their way into an activity, whereas tasks that feel repetitive or disconnected from their interests can be much harder to begin (Ramsay, 2020; Young et al., 2021).

That doesn’t mean everyday tasks are impossible or that people only do things they enjoy. It helps explain why some activities seem unexpectedly difficult to begin, even when the intention is there.

For years, many people believe these experiences say something about their character.

More often, they reflect a different way of experiencing motivation and engagement. Understanding that difference can replace years of self-criticism with self-compassion and curiosity.

When Interest Suddenly Arrives

If you’ve ever wondered why you can spend days putting off one task, then become completely absorbed in something else without noticing the time, you’re certainly not alone.

Perhaps you’ve planned to sort out your paperwork, but instead find yourself reading about an unfamiliar topic that unexpectedly captures your imagination. You only meant to look something up for a few minutes, and before you know it, an hour has passed.

Or perhaps someone asks you a question that sparks your curiosity. You find yourself thinking, exploring ideas, making connections, and talking enthusiastically without any effort at all.

Many adults with ADHD describe these moments as feeling surprisingly familiar. It’s as though something has finally “come alive” and their attention naturally follows when engaged with something that matters (Barkley, 2021; Ramsay, 2020).

Of course, life can or should consist only of interesting activities. We all have responsibilities that are repetitive, ordinary, or simply need doing. The difficulty is that many adults with ADHD spend years wondering why those everyday tasks seem to require so much more effort than they appear to require for other people.

When Boredom Starts to Feel Personal

Living with this experience over many years can slowly change the way you see yourself. You might begin to wonder why everyone else seems able to “just get on with things.”

Perhaps you’ve promised yourself that tomorrow will be different, only to find yourself stuck in exactly the same place.

You may hear comments like, “You just need to be more disciplined,” or “Everyone has to do boring things.” After hearing messages like these often enough, it’s understandable if they gradually become part of your own inner dialogue.

Many adults with ADHD describe carrying a sense of guilt about things that other people rarely notice:

The email that still hasn’t been answered.

The birthday card you genuinely meant to send.

The hobby you were excited about a month ago but haven’t touched since.

None of these moments defines who you are, yet together they can leave you wondering whether you’re somehow letting yourself, or other people, down (Young et al., 2021).

Research has found that adults with ADHD often experience lower self-esteem and higher levels of self-criticism, particularly after years of masking, feeling misunderstood or repeatedly struggling with everyday expectations (Ramsay, 2020; Kooij et al., 2019).

Looking Beyond Laziness

One of the most painful misunderstandings surrounding ADHD is the idea that if something looks easy, it should feel easy.

Many people tell themselves, “It’s only a five-minute job. Why can’t I just do it?” Yet emotional effort doesn’t always match the size of the task.

Sometimes replying to one email feels harder than spending an afternoon helping a friend solve a complicated problem.

Sometimes folding laundry feels overwhelming, while planning an entire holiday feels absorbing and enjoyable.

Moving towards Understanding

From the outside, these differences can seem confusing. From the inside, they often make perfect sense.

When we stop asking, “What’s wrong with me?” and begin asking, “What helps me engage?” the conversation changes.

We move away from blame and towards understanding. That doesn’t remove life’s responsibilities, but it can soften the harsh judgements that so many people have carried for years.

Becoming Curious About What Helps You Engage

If you’ve spent years believing you need to try harder, it can feel a bit unfamiliar to ask yourself a different question.

Instead of, “Why can’t I just make myself do this?” you might begin to wonder, “What would help me find my way into it?”

The answer will be different for everyone. Sometimes it helps to make a task smaller or more manageable. Sometimes it’s easier to begin when someone is sitting alongside you, even if they’re doing something completely different.

You might find that putting on music, changing your surroundings, going for a short walk first, or linking a task to something that feels personally meaningful makes it easier to get started.

Many adults gradually discover that they work best with their own rhythms, rather than constantly trying to follow someone else’s (Ramsay, 2020; Young et al., 2021).

Of course, there will still be days when nothing seems particularly appealing. It may simply be a reminder that we’re human, that our energy and attention naturally fluctuate, and that self-understanding is often more helpful than self-criticism.

Learning to notice these patterns is about understanding yourself well enough to work with your strengths, recognise what tends to get in the way, and approach yourself with a little more compassion (Neff, 2003).

A Compassionate Perspective

Many adults with ADHD spend years asking themselves, “What’s wrong with me?” Perhaps a kinder question is, “What helps me feel engaged?” Or even, “What helps me feel alive and like myself?”

Those questions won’t make every everyday task enjoyable. There will probably still be emails that sit unanswered for a little longer than you’d like, chores that feel difficult to begin, and afternoons when you’re waiting for something to capture your attention.

But understanding yourself can lift the weight of those moments. Instead of seeing them as evidence that you’re lacking motivation, you might begin to recognise them as part of your own way of experiencing the world.

That shift in perspective often creates space for greater self-acceptance, less shame, and a more compassionate relationship with yourself (Ramsay, 2020).

How Counselling Can Help

Many people come to counselling hoping they’ll finally become more organised, more motivated, or better at keeping on top of life. Sometimes those things do improve.

More often, though, people begin by understanding themselves differently. Together, we might explore the patterns you’ve noticed throughout your life, the expectations you’ve carried, and the ways you’ve learned to judge yourself when everyday life has felt harder than it seemed to be for other people.

From a neurodiversity-affirming perspective, that understanding begins with curiosity. Instead of asking how you can become more like everyone else, we explore what helps you live well as yourself.

We can also make space for your strengths, your interests, your relationships, and the parts of you that may have been overlooked beneath years of trying to keep up.

Counselling isn’t about becoming interested in everything or finding the perfect strategy for every situation. It’s about developing a kinder understanding of yourself, making sense of your experiences, and building a life that works with who you are.

If you’d like to explore this, please feel free to get in touch.

References

• Barkley, R. A. (2021). Taking Charge of Adult ADHD (2nd ed.). Guilford Press.
• Brown, T. E. (2013). A New Understanding of ADHD in Children and Adults: Executive Function Impairments. Routledge.
• Kooij, J. J. S., et al. (2019). Updated European Consensus Statement on diagnosis and treatment of adult ADHD. European Psychiatry, 56, 14–34.
• National Institute for Health and Care Excellence. (2018). Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder: Diagnosis and management (NG87). Updated 2019.
• Neff, K. D. (2003). Self-compassion: An alternative conceptualisation of a healthy attitude toward oneself. Self and Identity, 2(2), 85–101.
• Ramsay, J. R. (2020). Rethinking Adult ADHD: Helping Clients Turn Intentions into Actions. American Psychological Association.
• Young, S., et al. (2021). Failure of healthcare provision for attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder in the United Kingdom: A consensus statement. Frontiers in Psychiatry. ⁠

Katrin Kemmerzehl
I am a qualified psychotherapeutic counsellor in Newcastle upon Tyne.
Please get in touch if you’re interested in arranging a consultation.

The post Why Does Nothing Feel Interesting? first appeared on Warm and Friendly Counselling.

18 June – written by Katrin Kemmerzehl – Blog

People come to therapy for many different reasons. Sometimes there is a clear starting point. A relationship has ended, anxiety has become harder to manage, a loss has changed something important, a diagnosis has raised new questions about who you are, or a life transition has left life feeling unfamiliar.

Often, though, the reason is harder to explain. There may be a sense of feeling stuck without knowing exactly why. Everyday life continues, but it takes more effort than it once did. Decisions feel harder to make. Self-doubt becomes louder. A feeling lingers that something isn’t right, even if it’s difficult to put into words.

From the outside, everything may appear much the same. Work gets done. Responsibilities are met. Other people may see someone who is coping well.Yet underneath, there can be a growing sense of disconnection from yourself, uncertainty about where you’re heading, or a feeling that parts of you have been pushed aside for a long time.

Having the time to stay with these experiences can be valuable in itself. Questions that are easy to dismiss in the busyness of everyday life often have something important to say. Sometimes what initially feels like a vague sense of dissatisfaction turns out to be connected to deeper questions about identity, relationships, meaning, or how we want to live.

When Something Doesn’t Feel Right

Many people come to therapy expecting to talk about a specific problem. Often, however, what brings someone to therapy is much broader than that.

A person who feels anxious may also be carrying a great deal of responsibility and finding it difficult to switch off. Someone struggling in relationships may notice similar patterns appearing again and again. Another person may feel exhausted from trying to keep up with expectations that no longer fit with who they are.

For some people, this leads to questions about identity, purpose, or direction in life. Others begin to wonder whether experiences such as autism, ADHD, AuDHD, or other forms of neurodivergence might help explain some of what they have been experiencing.

Whatever brings someone to therapy, there is often more to explore than the problem itself.

Looking Beyond the Problem

There is often more to people than the problems that bring them to therapy.

Someone may come because they are overthinking everything, struggling with confidence, feeling overwhelmed, or finding relationships difficult.

While those experiences matter, they are rarely the whole story.

Therapy offers space to explore not only what is happening, but also how you relate to yourself, other people, and the world around you.

How do you experience relationships?

What have you learned about yourself from the people and situations that have influenced your life?

What patterns keep showing up in your life?

Questions like these can help us make sense of difficulties that may otherwise feel confusing or frustrating. The idea that our experiences and relationships shape how we see ourselves and others has long been recognised within psychotherapy (Bowlby, 1988; Wallin, 2007).

Research also suggests that one of the most important factors in successful therapy is the quality of the relationship between therapist and client (Norcross & Lambert, 2019). Feeling able to talk openly, explore difficult experiences, and feel understood can create the conditions for meaningful change.

The Beliefs We Live By

Many of us carry beliefs about ourselves that have been with us for a very long time.

Perhaps you’ve come to believe that you need to keep everyone happy.

Perhaps asking for help feels uncomfortable.

Perhaps you hold yourself to standards that you would never expect of anyone else.

Or maybe you’ve spent years feeling that you need to achieve more, do more, or be more before you can finally feel good enough.

These beliefs usually develop for understandable reasons. They often begin as ways of coping, adapting, or getting through difficult situations (Wallin, 2007).

The problem is that they can continue shaping our lives long after we have stopped questioning them.

Therapy can offer a space to look at these beliefs with curiosity and compassion. Sometimes understanding where they came from helps us decide whether they still belong in our lives today.

This reflects the work of Carl Rogers (1961), who is known for his person-centred approach to therapy and believed that greater self-understanding can help people live more authentic and meaningful lives.

Reconnecting with Yourself

Many people come to therapy feeling disconnected from themselves, although they don’t always describe it that way at first.

They may feel exhausted, stuck, overwhelmed, or unsure about what they want. Sometimes there is a sense that life has become mostly about getting through the day, meeting responsibilities, or looking after other people’s needs.

This can happen so gradually that we barely notice it.

We become busy with work, relationships, family life, expectations, and everyday pressures. Over time, it can become harder to hear our own voice amongst everything else competing for our attention.

Some people realise they have spent years putting themselves last. Others notice they have become disconnected from parts of themselves in order to fit in, avoid conflict, or meet expectations.

For some neurodivergent people, there can be an added sense of wondering why things seem to take so much effort, or why they have spent so much of their lives trying to adapt to environments that never felt entirely comfortable (Price, 2022).

Therapy can offer a space to pause and reflect on these experiences. It can be a chance to reconnect with what matters to you, what you need, and how you want to live your life.

As existential therapist Irvin Yalom (2002) suggests, periods of uncertainty or change can invite us to reflect more deeply on ourselves and what gives our lives meaning.

Making Sense of Ourselves

People sometimes imagine that therapy is about finding answers.

Often, it begins with making space for questions.

Why am I finding this so difficult?

Why do I keep responding in the same way?

What is it that I really need right now?

As we begin to explore these questions together, things often start to feel a little clearer.

Patterns that once felt confusing begin to make more sense. We may notice how certain beliefs, experiences, or relationships have shaped the way we see ourselves. We may find ourselves responding with less self-criticism and more understanding and self-compassion.

This doesn’t mean that all of life’s difficulties disappear. Rather, we often develop a clearer sense of ourselves and a greater understanding of what has brought us to where we are today.

Meaningful change rarely happens all at once. More often, it grows from meeting ourselves a little better and approaching our experiences with greater curiosity and compassion.

You Don’t Need to Have It All Figured Out

Many people spend some time wondering whether to come to therapy. They may question whether their difficulties are serious enough, if things can change, or whether they will know what to say, or whether they should be coping better than they are.

There is no right way to start therapy. Some people arrive knowing exactly what they want to talk about. Others are carrying a feeling that is much harder to describe.

You don’t need to have everything figured out, and you don’t need to wait until things become overwhelming.

Some people come to therapy with a specific problem they want help with. Others arrive with a feeling they can’t quite explain, only a sense that something isn’t working as well as it used to.

Whatever has brought you here, you deserve the time and space to explore it.

If you’d like to explore this, please feel free to get in touch.

References

• Bowlby, J. (1988). A secure base: Parent-child attachment and healthy human development. Basic Books.
• Lambert, M. J., & Norcross, J. C. (2019). Psychotherapy relationships that work (3rd ed.). Oxford University Press.
• Price, D. (2022). Unmasking autism: Discovering the new faces of neurodiversity. Harmony Books.
• Rogers, C. R. (1961). On becoming a person: A therapist’s view of psychotherapy. Constable.
• Wallin, D. J. (2007). Attachment in psychotherapy. Guilford Press.
• Yalom, I. D. (2002). The gift of therapy: An open letter to a new generation of therapists and their patients. Piatkus.

Katrin Kemmerzehl
I am a qualified psychotherapeutic counsellor in Newcastle upon Tyne.
Please get in touch if you’re interested in arranging a consultation.

The post Making Sense of Ourselves first appeared on Warm and Friendly Counselling.

06 June – written by Katrin Kemmerzehl – Blog

For years, you might have wondered why everyday life seemed to require so much effort.

Perhaps you were the person who appeared capable on the outside while feeling exhausted underneath. The person who replayed conversations afterwards, struggled with overwhelm that nobody else seemed to notice, or spent years trying to become more organised, more sociable, less sensitive, or somehow easier to be.

You kept adapting.You learned what was expected and found ways to manage.Then one day, you come across autism, ADHD, or AuDHD.

Suddenly, pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place: the exhaustion, the overwhelm and the misunderstandings. The feeling of always working a little harder than everyone else seemed to have to.

For many people, that moment brings relief. Finally, there is a framework that helps make sense of experiences that may have felt confusing for years.

Yet alongside the relief, another feeling often appears: Grief. Not everyone expects that.

After all, understanding yourself better sounds as though it should feel entirely positive. And often there is validation in finally having words for experiences that previously felt difficult to explain.

At the same time, many people find themselves looking back at their lives through a different lens. Memories take on new meaning. Experiences that once felt like personal failures begin to look different:

The teacher who called you distracted.

The unspoken and sometimes confusing rules of friendship.

The exhaustion that followed a busy day, even when everyone else seemed fine.

Looking back, it can be startling to see how much effort was going into getting through ordinary life:

The mental rehearsal before social situations.

The careful monitoring of expressions and tone of voice.

The constant effort to avoid making mistakes, standing out, or getting things wrong.

Research suggests that adults who discover they are autistic later in life often experience a mixture of validation, relief, sadness, anger, and re-evaluation as they make sense of their experiences in a new way (Cook et al., 2021; Lewis, 2016).

Understanding yourself in new ways

One of the most profound aspects of discovering neurodivergence in life is that it can change the meaning of past experiences.

Situations that once felt confusing begin to make more sense. You might recognise sensory overwhelm where you once saw weakness. Burnout where you once saw a lack of resilience. Communication differences where you once assumed you were somehow getting relationships wrong.

Many autistic and AuDHD adults describe feeling as though they are revisiting their lives with a different perspective.

Research suggests that social camouflaging, often called masking, is common among autistic adults and can involve consciously or unconsciously adapting behaviour to fit social expectations (Hull et al., 2017; Pearson & Rose, 2021).

For some people, recognising this brings enormous relief. For others, it raises difficult questions about how much energy was spent trying to fit in. Often it is both.

The Grief Nobody Talks About

Sometimes the grief is about what happened. Sometimes it is about what didn’t happen.

The support that never arrived.

The understanding that was missing.

The question of whether some parts of life might have felt less difficult if you had understood yourself sooner.

For some people, there is sadness when they realise how much time was spent blaming themselves for things that now make far more sense. Others find themselves wondering what school, work, friendships, or relationships might have been like if they had known then what they know now.

There are no clear answers to those questions. Yet they arise for many people, because they are beginning to see how much effort went into navigating environments that often weren’t designed with their needs in mind.

Research exploring late diagnosis suggests that many adults experience a complex mixture of validation, relief, sadness, and re-evaluation after learning they are autistic (Lewis, 2016; Cook et al., 2021).

What Parts of Me Have Been Hidden?

As people begin making sense of their experiences, another question often emerges: “Which parts of me have been hidden underneath all that effort?”

Years of adapting to other people’s expectations can make it difficult to know what genuinely feels like your own preference, need, or way of being.

Some people reconnect with interests they gradually abandoned. Others begin noticing sensory needs they have ignored for decades.

Someone realises they actually dislike crowded events. Someone else discovers they have spent years agreeing to plans that leave them exhausted.

For some, this process involves reconnecting with interests, passions, or ways of expressing themselves that were gradually set aside in the effort to fit in (Price, 2022).

At first, there can be a lot of uncertainty. If you’ve spent years adapting to other people’s expectations, it can’t be easy to know what feels natural and what has simply become familiar.

Many people describe a period of experimentation: noticing what helps, what drains them, and which parts of life feel easier when they stop pushing themselves.

What do I actually enjoy? What do I need?

When Unmasking Can Feel Difficult

Online conversations about neurodivergence sometimes describe unmasking as freedom. And for some people, it is. For others, unmasking can feel relieving, frightening, hopeful, confusing, and complicated all at once.

There may be worries about how other people will respond. Concerns about appearing too much, too sensitive, too direct, or too different.

You may begin to notice needs that have taken a back seat for years and wonder how to make room for them now.

Many masking strategies developed for understandable reasons. They may have helped you avoid criticism, navigate social situations, or cope in environments that didn’t accommodate your needs.

Some autistic writers have suggested that masking is often less about hiding who we are and more about adapting to environments where difference is not always understood or accommodated (Price, 2022).

Seen this way, masking can be understood not simply as an individual behaviour but as a response to social expectations and the deeply human desire to belong (Pearson & Rose, 2021).

Relief and Grief Can Exist Together

Understanding yourself differently can bring enormous relief. It can also open up questions that weren’t there before.

For many people, learning about their neurodivergence is not the end of a journey but the beginning of seeing their life through a different lens.

There can be relief in finally having an explanation. At the same time, it can be emotional to look back and realise just how difficult things were for so many years.

Unmasking is rarely a single decision. More often, it unfolds gradually.

You notice something more clearly that leaves you drained. You discover something that helps. You begin paying attention to needs that may have taken a back seat for years.

However, this new understanding can’t change what has already happened. The effort was still real. The overwhelm was still real. The loneliness, confusion, or self-doubt that sometimes came with it are still part of your story.

As Irvin Yalom observed, there comes a point when we have to let go of the hope for a better past (Yalom, 2002).

Yet looking back can feel different. Many autistic adults find that diagnosis helps them make sense of past experiences in a new way and develop a kinder understanding of themselves (Crane et al., 2018). Patterns emerge where there once seemed to be only confusion. As understanding grows, self-criticism sometimes begins to make space for greater self-compassion.

Relief and grief often arrive together. There can be comfort in finally making sense of your experiences, alongside sadness for the effort it took to get here. Looking back may bring a sense of loss, even as the future begins to feel more hopeful.

Discovering neurodivergence later in life

Learning new aspects of yourself can also raise questions about identity. If the story you have told yourself for many years no longer feels complete, there can be a period of uncertainty. Things may no longer make sense in quite the same way as before, even if it is not yet clear what comes next. Although that uncertainty can feel unsettling, it can also open up new possibilities.

Questions about what matters to you. What helps you thrive. What kind of relationships, work, and ways of living feel sustainable.

Rather than asking how to become a different person, the process often shifts towards understanding what helps you feel more at ease in yourself and how to build a life around that.

Over time, self-understanding can become more than an explanation for past experiences. It can help people make choices that fit them better and create a life that feels more meaningful and sustainable (Botha & Frost, 2020).

A Kinder Way of Looking Back

As people begin to make sense of their experiences, many find themselves spending less time wondering what they should have done differently.

Instead, they may look back and ask:

“Given what I knew at the time, how was I trying to cope?”

For many, that question brings a greater sense of compassion.

The past may still hold sadness, frustration, or regret. Yet it can become easier to recognise how much effort went into managing, adapting, and getting through.

As understanding grows, attention often begins to turn towards the present and the future. People may find themselves wondering what matters most, what supports them, and what kind of life feels possible from here.

Therapy can offer space for those conversations. A place to make sense of what has been difficult, to grieve what needs grieving, and to become more familiar with the person who has been there all along. From there, it may become easier to make choices that feel more like your own.

If you’d like to explore this, please feel free to get in touch.

References

• Botha, M., & Frost, D. M. (2020). Extending the minority stress model to understand mental health problems experienced by the autistic population. Society and Mental Health, 10(1), 20–34.
• Crane, L., Hearst, C., Ashworth, M., Davies, J., & Hill, E. L. (2021). Supporting newly identified or diagnosed autistic adults: An initial evaluation of an autistic-led programme. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 51(3), 892–905.
• Hull, L., Petrides, K. V., Allison, C., Smith, P., Baron-Cohen, S., Lai, M.-C., & Mandy, W. (2017). “Putting on My Best Normal”: Social camouflaging in adults with autism spectrum conditions. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 47(8), 2519–2534.
• Lewis, L. F. (2016). A mixed methods study of barriers to formal diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder in adults. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 46(8), 2361–2374.
• Pearson, A., & Rose, K. (2021). A conceptual analysis of autistic masking. Autism in Adulthood, 3(1), 52–60.
• Price, D. (2022). Unmasking Autism: Discovering the New Faces of Neurodiversity. Harmony Books.
• Raymaker, D. M., Teo, A. R., Steckler, N. A., Lentz, B., Scharer, M., Delos Santos, A., Kapp, S. K., Hunter, M., Joyce, A., & Nicolaidis, C. (2020). Having all of your internal resources exhausted beyond measure and being left with no clean-up crew: Defining autistic burnout. Autism in Adulthood, 2(2), 132–143.
• Yalom, I. D. (2002). The gift of therapy: An open letter to a new generation of therapists and their patients. New York, NY: HarperCollins.

Katrin Kemmerzehl
I am a qualified psychotherapeutic counsellor in Newcastle upon Tyne.
Please get in touch if you’re interested in arranging a consultation.

The post The Hidden Grief of Realising You’ve Been Masking first appeared on Warm and Friendly Counselling.

At least, you think you were.

The plan sounded good when you made it. Maybe it was coffee with a friend, a family gathering, a social event, or even something you genuinely wanted to do.

Then the day arrives.

You’re tired.

Your week has been busier than expected.

Work has taken more out of you than usual.

Everything feels a little louder, a little harder, a little more demanding.

Suddenly the idea of leaving the house, making conversation, being around people, or simply having one more thing to do feels overwhelming.

So you cancel.

And almost immediately, you feel relief.

The pressure lifts.

You can stay home.

You can rest.

You can finally stop performing for a while.

Then, not long afterwards, another feeling arrives.

Guilt.

Disappointment.

Loneliness.

You miss the very thing you no longer had the energy for.

If you’re autistic, ADHD, or AuDHD, this experience may feel very familiar.

Relief Doesn’t Mean You Didn’t Want Connection

One of the biggest misconceptions about cancelling plans is that relief means you didn’t really want to go.

In reality, many neurodivergent people deeply value relationships and connection.

The problem is not usually the person.

It’s the amount of energy required to get there.

By the time a social event arrives, you may already have spent days managing work, navigating expectations, coping with sensory demands, making decisions, switching between tasks, and responding to other people’s needs.

Research suggests that many autistic people experience social interactions differently from neurotypical people, often requiring greater conscious effort and adaptation (Crompton et al., 2020).

The relief that follows cancellation is often relief from the effort, not relief from the relationship.

The Part People Don’t See

Many neurodivergent adults become very skilled at appearing fine.

You show up to work.

Reply to messages.

Meet responsibilities.

Keep going.

What other people don’t always see is the energy this may require.

For some people, socialising involves a degree of masking or camouflaging—adjusting behaviour, monitoring responses, and managing how they come across to others (Hull et al., 2017).

Even when those interactions are enjoyable, they can still be tiring.

This is one reason why socialising can feel both meaningful and exhausting at the same time.

Why the Guilt Can Be So Strong

After cancelling plans, many people immediately turn against themselves.

“Why can’t I just be normal?”

“I always let people down.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

Yet these thoughts often ignore the context.

Perhaps you have been carrying more stress than usual.

Perhaps you’ve been masking heavily.

Perhaps you’ve had very little time to recover.

Research into autistic burnout suggests that prolonged demands and insufficient recovery can gradually reduce a person’s capacity to engage with everyday life (Raymaker et al., 2020).

Seen from this perspective, the cancellation may not be a sign of failure.

It may be a sign that your resources were already running low.

The Loneliness Paradox

One of the hardest parts of this experience is that two seemingly contradictory things can be true at the same time.

You can need time alone.

And feel lonely.

You can feel relieved that plans were cancelled.

And disappointed that they won’t happen.

You can care deeply about people.

And still not have enough energy to spend time with them.

Many neurodivergent adults spend years feeling confused by this tension.

In reality, it may simply reflect the difference between wanting connection and having the capacity for connection in that particular moment.

A Kinder Question

Instead of asking:

“Why do I keep cancelling?”

It may be more helpful to ask:

“What was happening for me that made cancelling feel necessary?”

Perhaps you needed rest.

Perhaps life had become too demanding.

Perhaps your energy had been going elsewhere for weeks.

Understanding the answer won’t always remove the disappointment.

But it may help replace self-criticism with self-understanding.

And that is often where change begins.

References

Crompton, C. J., Hallett, S., Ropar, D., Flynn, E., & Fletcher-Watson, S. (2020). The Double Empathy Problem: A Systematic Review of Interpersonal Experiences of Autistic People. Autism, 24(8), 1908–1925.

Hull, L., Petrides, K. V., Allison, C., et al. (2017). “Putting on My Best Normal”: Social Camouflaging in Adults with Autism Spectrum Conditions. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 47(8), 2519–2534.

Pearson, A., & Rose, K. (2021). A Conceptual Analysis of Autistic Masking. Autism in Adulthood, 3(1), 52–60.

Raymaker, D. M., Teo, A. R., Steckler, N. A., et al. (2020). Having All of Your Internal Resources Exhausted Beyond Measure and Being Left with No Clean-Up Crew: Defining Autistic Burnout. Autism in Adulthood, 2(2), 132–143.

The post Why Cancelling Plans Can Feel Wonderful and Terrible at the Same Time first appeared on Warm and Friendly Counselling.

03 June – written by Katrin Kemmerzehl – Blog

One day you’re managing. The next, everything feels harder than it should. You find yourself overthinking a message from a friend, putting off a phone call, or feeling surprisingly upset when plans change. Small decisions feel exhausting. Ordinary tasks take more effort than they used to.

Deep down, you know it isn’t really about the message, the phone call, or the change of plans. It’s just that the weight you’ve been carrying is becoming harder to ignore. Many AuDHD people know this experience well.

For days or even weeks, life can seem manageable. You keep going. You get through work, respond to people, take care of responsibilities, and carry on as best you can. Then a friend cancels plans, a conversation doesn’t go as you’d hoped, or one more thing is added to an already full week. What might once have felt manageable suddenly feels overwhelming, and you’re left wondering why something so small has affected you so deeply.

Overwhelm Rarely Appears Out of Nowhere

When people talk about stress, they often imagine a single event causing a reaction.

For many AuDHD people, overwhelm tends to be more cumulative than that.

A busy week at work.

Several nights of poor sleep.

Too many social commitments.

Sensory overload.

Trying to keep on top of life admin.

A misunderstanding with a partner or a friend.

Feeling let down by someone.

Managing uncertainty.

Masking your struggles while appearing fine on the outside.

Each thing on its own may seem manageable. Together, they can gradually consume more and more of your emotional, mental, and physical resources.

Some of that effort is obvious. Some of it is much harder to see.

Many autistic people describe the relief of being with people who seem to ‘get’ them. Research suggests that experiences of understanding, acceptance, and belonging can play an important role in wellbeing and self-understanding (Crompton et al., 2020).

When so much effort goes into navigating life in ways that others may not see, that sense of being understood can be deeply restorative.

The Cost of Looking Like You’re Coping

One reason the build-up effect can be difficult to recognise is that many neurodivergent adults become exceptionally good at functioning while struggling.

You still show up. You get things done, meet deadlines, keep on top of the housework, and answer messages.

From the outside, everything may look fine.

Meanwhile, a huge amount of energy may be going into adapting to different environments, managing expectations, navigating social situations, juggling your private and work life, and balancing competing demands.

For many AuDHD people, overwhelm is often less about one difficult conversation, unexpected change, or disappointment, and more about accumulation. The final straw may be visible, but the weight of everything that came before it is not.

Often, this experience is recognised long before the word “burnout” feels relevant. Instead, it may show up as feeling increasingly sensitive to change, finding everyday tasks harder to manage, becoming more emotional than usual, or needing longer to recover from demands that once felt manageable (Higgins et al., 2021; Raymaker et al., 2020).

Why Emotions Can Feel Bigger When You’re Running Low

The build-up effect isn’t only about energy.

It can affect emotional regulation too.

Many AuDHD people notice that when they have enough capacity, they can navigate disappointments, frustrations, and misunderstandings relatively well. Difficult experiences still hurt, but they feel bearable.

When stress has been accumulating, the same situation can feel very different.

A delayed reply suddenly feels deeply personal.

A criticism stays with you for days.

A change of plans can feel overwhelming or like the end of a relationship.

You find yourself becoming tearful, irritable, anxious, or emotionally exhausted much more quickly than usual.

Research suggests that both autistic and ADHD individuals can experience differences in emotional regulation, particularly during periods of stress and overload (Shaw et al., 2014; Cai et al., 2018).

Many people then become critical of themselves.

They tell themselves they are overreacting, being too sensitive, making a fuss over nothing.

But often what they are experiencing is not a personal failing. It is a sign that their resources have been stretched for longer than they realised.

Sometimes strong emotions are less about the event itself and more about the amount you have been carrying beforehand.

“But I Was Fine Yesterday”

This is something many people recognise: “I don’t understand, I was coping yesterday.”

Capacity is not fixed. It shifts from day to day depending on what has already been happening in the background.

Work can look fine on the surface while still slowly draining energy over time. Disappointments do not always land at once but can linger. Relationship tensions, sensory demands, and the ongoing effort of masking or adapting can all build up without being immediately obvious (Hull et al., 2017).

It is often only when something else happens that everything suddenly feels like too much. That moment tends to get most of the attention, even though it usually reflects everything that came before it

A Different Question

When overwhelm arrives, many people ask:

“Why am I reacting like this?”

A kinder question might be:

“What has been building up recently?”

Sometimes, as you begin to look a little more closely, you may wonder whether work has been more demanding than usual, whether you’ve been carrying a disappointment that never really had space to be acknowledged, or whether you’ve spent so much energy meeting other people’s needs that your own have taken a back seat. It might be that you’ve been coping with more than you realised.

Often, sitting with these questions can open the door to greater curiosity, self-understanding, and a kinder relationship with yourself.

Learning to Notice Earlier

Many AuDHD adults spend years learning how to push through discomfort. Over time, it can become harder to notice the early signs that something is becoming too much.

You might realise things are taking more effort than usual, or notice fatigue building, irritability increasing, or a stronger urge to withdraw.

There can also be a sense that emotional capacity is getting smaller, or that your resources are stretched.

Counselling can offer a space to start noticing these patterns earlier, before overwhelm becomes unavoidable. Not with the aim of removing all stress from life, but to better understand your own limits and respond to them with more care.

Meeting yourself with more kindness

Counselling can offer a space to explore your experiences through a neurodiversity-affirming lens. Whether you’re newly discovering your neurodivergence or have understood this part of yourself for some time, therapy can be an opportunity to make sense of your experiences, deepen your self-understanding, and explore what helps you thrive.

It can also be a place to meet yourself with greater kindness. Many AuDHD adults have become skilled at adapting, coping, and carrying on, sometimes at the expense of their own wellbeing. Over time, counselling can help you develop a more compassionate way of living and caring for yourself, one that feels more supportive and sustainable.

If you’d like to explore this, please feel free to get in touch.

References

• Cai, R. Y., Richdale, A. L., Dissanayake, C., et al. (2018). Emotion Regulation in Autism Spectrum Disorder: Where We Are and Where We Need to Go. Autism Research, 11(7), 962–978.
• Crompton, C. J., Hallett, S., Ropar, D., Flynn, E., & Fletcher-Watson, S. (2020). “I never realised everybody felt as happy as I do when I am around autistic people”: A thematic analysis of autistic adults’ relationships with autistic and neurotypical friends and family. Autism, 24(6), 1438–1448.
• Higgins, J. M., Arnold, S. R. C., Weise, J., Pellicano, E., & Trollor, J. N. (2021). Defining autistic burnout through experts by lived experience: Grounded Delphi method investigating autistic burnout. Autism, 25(8), 2356–2369.
• Hull, L., Petrides, K. V., Allison, C., et al. (2017). “Putting on My Best Normal”: Social Camouflaging in Adults with Autism Spectrum Conditions. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 47(8), 2519–2534.
• Raymaker, D. M., Teo, A. R., Steckler, N. A., et al. (2020). Having All of Your Internal Resources Exhausted Beyond Measure and Being Left with No Clean-Up Crew: Defining Autistic Burnout. Autism in Adulthood, 2(2), 132–143.
• Shaw, P., Stringaris, A., Nigg, J., & Leibenluft, E. (2014). Emotion Dysregulation in Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. American Journal of Psychiatry, 171(3), 276–293.

Katrin Kemmerzehl
I am a qualified psychotherapeutic counsellor in Newcastle upon Tyne.
Please get in touch if you’re interested in arranging a consultation.

The post The AuDHD Build-Up Effect first appeared on Warm and Friendly Counselling.

02 June – written by Katrin Kemmerzehl – Blog

Sometimes we know something needs to change long before we know what to do about it.

Perhaps a relationship no longer feels the way it once did. Perhaps work leaves you feeling exhausted, disconnected, or unlike yourself. Perhaps you find yourself saying yes when you want to say no, constantly worrying about disappointing people, or feeling stuck in the same patterns despite your best efforts to change them.

For some people, change may involve questioning a career path that no longer feels meaningful. For others, it may mean navigating a relationship difficulty, recovering from burnout, adjusting to a life transition, or coming to understand themselves differently after learning they are autistic, ADHD, or AuDHD.

Often, people come to therapy carrying a mixture of feelings. Part of them longs for something different. Another part feels frightened, uncertain, or simply tired.

This can be confusing. We often assume that if we really wanted change, we would just make it happen. Yet human beings are rarely that straightforward.

Wanting change and resisting it at the same time is not a sign that something is wrong with you. It is part of being human.

The pull of what we know

One of the reasons change can feel so difficult is that even painful situations are familiar.

Many of the ways we think, relate, protect ourselves, and move through the world developed for good reasons. At some point, they helped us feel safer, more accepted, or more connected.

Perhaps you learned to keep the peace by putting other people’s needs first. Perhaps you became highly independent because relying on others felt disappointing. Perhaps you learned to hide your struggles because you worried about being a burden. Or perhaps you became skilled at adapting yourself to fit in, even when doing so came at a personal cost.

These responses often begin as adaptations rather than choices. Many of the ways we learn to relate to ourselves and others develop in response to our early relationships and experiences, becoming patterns that can continue long after the circumstances that first shaped them have passed (Bowlby, 1988).

The difficulty is that what once protected us can sometimes begin to limit us.

In therapy, people are often relieved to discover that their struggles are not signs of weakness or failure. More often, they are signs of strategies that once made sense but may no longer be serving them in the same way.

Understanding this can make it easier to respond to ourselves with curiosity rather than criticism.

Why do we keep repeating the same patterns?

Many of us notice similar themes appearing throughout our lives.

We may find ourselves drawn to familiar dynamics in relationships. We may keep having the same arguments, feeling the same disappointments, or wondering why we seem to end up in situations that feel strangely familiar.

Someone might repeatedly find themselves in one-sided relationships where they do most of the emotional work. Another person may struggle to ask for help, even when they need it. Someone else might find themselves constantly seeking reassurance, yet never quite feeling reassured.

This can be frustrating, especially when we genuinely want things to be different.

Sometimes these patterns reflect unfinished emotional business. Without realising it, we may continue searching for experiences that were missing earlier in life. We hope that this time we will be understood, chosen, appreciated, or loved in the way we longed for.

As Gottlieb (2019) observes, many of us return to familiar emotional territory not because we enjoy suffering, but because part of us hopes the story might end differently this time.

The longing itself makes sense. The difficulty is that we can end up looking for healing in places that recreate the original wound (Shedler, 2010).

Part of growth involves recognising when an old hope is keeping us stuck. This can bring sadness. It may involve grieving what we did not receive and accepting that the past cannot be rewritten.

Yet there can also be freedom in this. When we stop trying to earn what should have been freely given, we create space for relationships that feel more mutual, supportive, and genuine.

The uncertainty that comes with change

One of the hardest parts of change is not knowing what comes next.

We may sense that we have outgrown something, that a relationship has shifted, or that an old way of coping no longer fits in the way it once did. Yet moving forward often means stepping into territory that feels unfamiliar.

Most of us would prefer certainty. We want reassurance that things will work out. We want to know that if we make a difficult decision, set a boundary, change careers, reduce masking, speak more honestly about our needs, or take a risk, it will all be worth it.

Life rarely offers that kind of certainty.

There is often a period where we do not yet know how things will unfold. We may find ourselves caught between what feels familiar and what feels possible.

This can feel uncomfortable. Sometimes it can feel frightening.

The philosopher Albert Camus (2013) recognised that life does not always provide the clear answers we would like. Yalom (1980) similarly observed that uncertainty is one of the unavoidable realities of being human. Much of our distress comes not from uncertainty itself, but from our understandable wish for life to feel more predictable than it is.

Yet uncertainty is also where many of life’s possibilities live. If everything stayed familiar, very little would ever change.

The philosopher Nietzsche (2006) encouraged people to think of life not as a process of becoming someone else, but of becoming more fully themselves.

Growth may not be about getting rid of uncertainty, but about trusting ourselves enough to take the next step, even when the way ahead is not entirely clear. Change is often less about becoming a different person and more about growing into who we already are

Listening to what our feelings are telling us

Many people spend a long time telling themselves that what they are going through is not serious enough to deserve attention.

They compare themselves to others. They tell themselves they should be coping better. They keep going, often long after things have started to feel difficult.

Sometimes people apologise for crying in therapy. Others quickly explain away experiences that have affected them deeply, as though they need to prove that their feelings are reasonable before they can be taken seriously.

Yet most of us would not speak to a friend in the same way.

Research on self-compassion suggests that we tend to be far kinder and more understanding towards other people than we are towards ourselves (Neff, 2003). We readily recognise someone else’s pain, but often struggle to acknowledge our own.

The reality is that emotional pain is not a competition. Someone else having a difficult experience does not make your own experience any less real.

Often, meaningful change begins when we stop judging ourselves for how we feel and start becoming curious about what our feelings might be telling us.

Our emotions are not always comfortable, but they can draw our attention to what matters to us, what hurts, what feels missing, and what may need our care or attention.

Therapy as a place to practise

Meaningful change rarely arrives as a sudden breakthrough. More often, it begins with a feeling that something is no longer working, or a growing sense that life could be different.

You may be carrying something that has felt difficult for a long time. Perhaps a relationship leaves you feeling unseen. Perhaps you are exhausted from trying to meet everyone else’s expectations. Perhaps you have spent years adapting to fit in and are beginning to wonder what life might feel like if you did not have to work quite so hard.

Change is rarely a straight line. There may be uncertainty, setbacks, or moments when old habits feel easier. If part of you longs for change while another part feels hesitant or unsure, that is a very human place to find yourself.

Sometimes change begins with curiosity. Curiosity about why certain patterns keep repeating, what you need, or whether things could be different.

You do not need to have everything figured out before you begin.

Therapy offers an opportunity to explore these questions at your own pace. Together, we can make sense of what feels difficult, understand the patterns that may be keeping you stuck, and think about what moving forward might look like for you. Often, change happens one conversation, one insight, and one small step at a time.

If you’d like to explore this, please feel free to get in touch.

References

• Bowlby, J. (1988). A Secure Base: Parent-Child Attachment and Healthy Human Development. Basic Books.
• Camus, A. (2013). The Myth of Sisyphus. Penguin Classics. (Original work published 1942).
• Gottlieb, L. (2019). Maybe You Should Talk to Someone. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.
• Neff, K. D. (2003). Self-compassion: An alternative conceptualization of a healthy attitude toward oneself. Self and Identity, 2(2), 85–101.
• Nietzsche, F. (2006). Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for Everyone and Nobody. Cambridge University Press. (originally published 1883–1885).
• Norcross, J. C., & Lambert, M. J. (2019). Psychotherapy Relationships That Work (3rd ed.). Oxford University Press.
• Rogers, C. R. (1961). On Becoming a Person. Houghton Mifflin.
• Shedler, J. (2010). The efficacy of psychodynamic psychotherapy. American Psychologist, 65(2), 98–109.
• Yalom, I. D. (1980). Existential Psychotherapy. Basic Books.

Katrin Kemmerzehl
I am a qualified psychotherapeutic counsellor in Newcastle upon Tyne.
Please get in touch if you’re interested in arranging a consultation.

The post When Part of You Wants Change and Part of You Doesn’t first appeared on Warm and Friendly Counselling.

29 May – written by Katrin Kemmerzehl – Blog

Most people imagine relationships as something we either “have” or “don’t have”. A friendship survives or fades. A couple stays together or separates. A family remains close or becomes distant.

In reality, relationships are often much more nuanced than that. They shift alongside us as we move through different stages of life, different versions of ourselves, different losses, responsibilities, identities, and pressures. A friendship deepens, changes, or slowly fades.

Sometimes relationships become a source of comfort and steadiness during difficult periods. At other times, they can become another place where people feel overwhelmed, misunderstood, guilty, lonely, or unsure of themselves.

As the years go by, many people discover that staying connected to others can require more emotional work than they expected.

Not because they are doing relationships “wrong”, but because adult life itself can be emotionally demanding and full of change.

Over time, lives often begin pulling in different directions. One person may be adjusting to parenthood while another is grieving a relationship or trying to recover from burnout. Someone may be caring for a parent, navigating a major move, or receiving a diagnosis that suddenly helps past experiences make sense in a new way. Sometimes, people reach a point where they no longer have the energy to keep performing the version of themselves that others have come to expect.

Much of this can remain invisible to the people around us. Many people carry far more internally than they outwardly show.

Why changes can feel overwhelming

Periods of change often affect much more than practical routines or future plans.

A person might leave a job that drained them for years and still feel strangely untethered afterwards. Someone could finally move to the city they had always imagined living in, only to find themselves standing in a supermarket feeling unexpectedly emotional because even buying milk suddenly feels unfamiliar.

A relationship might end after a long time of knowing it was no longer working, yet the absence of that person can still appear unexpectedly in everyday moments: reaching for your phone to tell them something, noticing the empty side of the sofa, or passing the bench in the park where you once sat together.

Often, transitions are made up of moments like these.

For some people, change brings excitement and possibility. For others, it can create a deep sense of emotional and relational instability. Even positive changes may involve grief, uncertainty, or a feeling of no longer fully recognising yourself.

Many people describe feeling as though they are caught somewhere between older and newer versions of themselves during periods of change, an experience often associated with uncertainty, adjustment, and emotional disorientation (Bridges, 2004).

Existential and humanistic writers have long explored how periods of change can bring people into closer contact with questions around identity, meaning, loss, freedom, uncertainty, and belonging (van Deurzen, 2012). These are often the moments when life feels less certain, but also more open and reflective than it might otherwise be.

Friendships can change too

One of the more painful parts of adulthood is that friendships often change gradually rather than clearly.

People become busy, overwhelmed, partnered, burnt out, unwell, financially stretched, or consumed by caring responsibilities. Sometimes friendships deepen through this. Other times, people slowly drift into different lives without intending to.

This can create a particular kind of grief, because there is often no clear ending to mark.

A person may notice there is no one they automatically message when something important happens. Or they may realise they have spent months feeling lonely while still technically surrounded by people.

Modern life can add to this. Social media can create the impression that everyone else is more connected or emotionally fulfilled than we are. Meanwhile, many people find that maintaining closeness feels harder than they expected.

Healthy relationships are not those without difficulty. They are the relationships where people keep finding ways to notice each other more clearly, communicate more openly, and repair moments of disconnection as they arise (Perry, 2019).

Neurodivergence, overwhelm, and relationships

For neurodivergent adults, relationships and life changes can sometimes feel especially emotionally demanding.

Many autistic, ADHD and AuDHD people describe longing for connection while also finding relationships unpredictable, exhausting, or difficult to sustain alongside burnout, masking, sensory overload, or everyday demands.

Some feel tired of always initiating contact. Others worry they are “too much”, “too sensitive”, “too intense ”, or somehow not getting relationships right. A person may care deeply and still struggle to maintain communication or emotional energy consistently.

At the same time, many neurodivergent people experience relationships with enormous depth, loyalty, emotional intensity, and care.

Sometimes, communication, rejection sensitivity, overwhelm, or social fatigue are not a sign of disconnection, but of how much effort has already been going into staying connected in environments and relationships that do not always feel easy to navigate.

Research and lived experience increasingly suggest that many neurodivergent people spend significant energy adapting socially in order to maintain connection or reduce misunderstanding (Price, 2022). During periods of stress, burnout, grief, or change, that effort can become harder to sustain.

Relationships can become more emotionally charged during difficult periods

During times of stress or transition, relationships often become emotionally amplified.

A delayed message can feel loaded with meaning. A small misunderstanding may carry more weight than expected. Someone who usually feels steady in relationships may find themselves withdrawing, overthinking, or feeling more sensitive to distance or criticism.

During these periods, people often become more self-critical. Some worry they are asking for too much or becoming too difficult to be around. Others work harder to keep things steady, holding everything together for others while feeling exhausted internally.

For some, especially those who experience rejection sensitivity, even small moments of disconnection can feel unexpectedly intense. Fears around being unwanted, misunderstood, or left out may become more present during times of uncertainty or overwhelm.

At the same time, much of this energy can go into monitoring relationships, managing reactions, or trying to stay connected without disrupting anything.

The loneliness people do not always talk about

Human beings are relational by nature. Even people who value independence usually need some sense of emotional recognition or connection in order to feel grounded (Bowlby, 1988).

Yet many adults feel deeply alone.

Some become so focused on coping that they lose touch with what actually nourishes them. Others begin to notice that their relationships have become organised around managing, working, caring, or surviving rather than genuine closeness.

Often, what people long for is not more contact, but relationships where they can feel more at ease, more honest, and more themselves without having to work so hard to belong.

Rather than seeing this as a personal failing, person-centred therapy understands distress as something that can arise when people lose connection with their own needs, feelings, or ways of being (Rogers, 1961). Existential approaches similarly explore how meaning, aliveness, and connection to self can become harder to access when life becomes organised mainly around coping or expectation (Yalom, 1980).

The pressure to keep adapting

Modern culture often places a strong value on how well we adapt.We are encouraged to stay resilient, productive, flexible, socially skilled, and emotionally regulated, even when things feel difficult inside.

Yet not everything we go through can be processed quickly or in a neat, linear way.

For many neurodivergent people, this expectation of constant adjustment can begin early in life. Over time, some become highly practiced in reading the room, holding back distress, or shaping themselves in ways that feel easier for others to receive. While these strategies can support connection, they can also become tiring over time.

There can come a point where life events such as burnout, grief, illness, relationship strain, or general overwhelm slow things down enough for something else to surface beneath everyday coping.

What actually matters to me, underneath all of this?

Where do I feel most at ease, most understood, or genuinely connected?

How much of myself have I learned to set aside in order to stay connected with others?

What might a life that feels “good enough” look like, if it were shaped less by pressure and more by what feels real and sustainable?

These are not always easy questions, and they do not come with immediate answers.

Still, many people find that meaningful connection has less to do with performing well in relationships, and more to do with slowly becoming more fully themselves within them.

Creating a life with room for connection

As people grow older, many begin to realise that a meaningful life isn’t necessarily the same as a constantly optimised one.

A life shaped mainly by work, coping, responsibility, and self-improvement can leave very little space for rest, closeness, spontaneity, friendship, or reflection.

For some people, building something more sustainable begins through small shifts over time. This might include:

• holding more realistic expectations of themselves
• building relationships with greater reciprocity and steadiness
• spending time in places where there is less need to mask or perform
• noticing limits a little earlier, before reaching burnout
• making space for interests, rest, or joy that are not measured by achievement
• learning, gradually, that connection does not depend on self-abandonment

This does not mean relationships become simple or pain-free. Human connection remains complex, because people themselves are complex.

Still, many people find that relationships feel more sustainable when they are no longer shaped by performance, fear, or the need to over-adapt.

A space to bring your thoughts and feelings

Counselling can’t remove uncertainty or prevent painful experiences. Relationships will still change. People will still disappoint each other. Life will continue asking us to adapt in ways we did not choose.

What therapy can sometimes offer is a space where you don’t have to carry all of this alone, but where you are met human to human.

A space where you can bring what feels important in your relationships, including times of feeling misunderstood, unsure, or more sensitive in connection, and where it can be met with understanding, without needing to have everything figured out.

Some people come to therapy because a relationship has broken down. Others come because they feel a bit disconnected, worn down by the effort of coping, or unsure why things feel heavier than they used to.

Often, underneath this is something very human. A wish to feel understood, to feel more steady in relationship with others, and to not always have to hold everything together alone.

If you are struggling with relationships, life changes, overwhelm, a sense of disconnection, or navigating life as a neurodivergent person, counselling may offer a space to pause, reflect, and begin making sense of what you are carrying, and what might feel more possible for you moving forward.

If you’d like to explore this, please feel free to get in touch.

References

• Bowlby, J. (1988). A secure base: Parent-child attachment and healthy human development. Basic Books.
• Bridges, W. (2004). Transitions: Making sense of life’s changes (2nd ed.). Da Capo Press.
• Frankl, V. E. (2006). Man’s search for meaning. Beacon Press. (Original work published 1946)
• Gottlieb, L. (2019). Maybe you should talk to someone. Scribe.
• Perry, P. (2019). The book you wish your parents had read (and your children will be glad that you did). Penguin.
• Price, D. (2022). Unmasking autism: Discovering the new faces of neurodiversity. Harmony Books.
• Rogers, C. R. (1961). On becoming a person: A therapist’s view of psychotherapy. Constable.
• van Deurzen, E. (2012). Existential counselling & psychotherapy in practice (3rd ed.). SAGE Publications.
• Yalom, I. D. (1980). Existential psychotherapy. Basic Books.

Katrin Kemmerzehl
I am a qualified psychotherapeutic counsellor in Newcastle upon Tyne.
Please get in touch if you’re interested in arranging a consultation.

The post The Emotional Work of Staying Connected first appeared on Warm and Friendly Counselling.

28 May – written by Katrin Kemmerzehl – Blog

At certain points in life, many people find themselves asking questions they hadn’t expected.

Sometimes those questions arrive after something difficult has happened: A relationship ends. A parent dies. There has been illness, burnout, loneliness, or a period of trying to get through each day.

At other times, nothing dramatic has happened at all. Life may look much the same from the outside. Work continues. Family life continues. Responsibilities are met. Yet something begins to feel different.

You might notice yourself looking at old photographs and feeling unexpectedly emotional. A birthday arrives and leaves you thinking about time in a way you never have before. Your children become more independent. A move, a career change, or even a quiet evening can prompt questions that seem to appear out of nowhere.

You may find yourself wondering whether the life you are living still feels like your own.

Many people spend years adapting, coping, looking after others, meeting expectations, and doing what seems sensible or necessary.

Then one day a different question emerges: Is this enough? Or perhaps: When do I get to feel fully alive again?

Others reach goals they worked hard for, only to discover that the sense of fulfilment they expected never really arrives. They may feel restless, disconnected, lonely, or unsure why something feels missing when, on paper, everything appears to be going well.

These experiences can be difficult to talk about because there is often no obvious problem to solve. Nothing is necessarily wrong. Yet something no longer feels aligned.

The psychiatrist and existential therapist Irvin Yalom suggested that some forms of anxiety, sadness, emptiness, and restlessness are not only connected to our personal histories, but also to the realities we all share as human beings (Yalom, 1980).

We live knowing that life changes. Relationships matter and can be lost. Time moves forward whether we want it to or not. We make choices, and those choices shape our lives. We cannot completely protect ourselves or the people we love from uncertainty, disappointment, or grief.

Most of the time, we carry these realities in the background. At other moments, they come sharply into focus.

Existential therapy offers a space to explore what happens when they do. Rather than treating anxiety, uncertainty, grief, or loneliness as symptoms to overcome, existential therapy asks what these experiences might be telling us. What matters to us now? What have we been longing for, avoiding, sacrificing, or carrying alone? How do we want to live with the time we have?

At its heart, existential therapy is not about becoming a better version of yourself. It is about developing a deeper relationship with your own life, becoming more honest about what matters, more able to tolerate uncertainty, and more present for the people, choices, and possibilities that are already here.

Bringing These Questions Into Therapy

People sometimes imagine therapy as a place where they need to arrive with a clear explanation for what is wrong.

But existential therapy often begins with something much less certain.

You may feel anxious, disconnected, stuck in familiar patterns, exhausted from coping, lonely despite being surrounded by people, or dissatisfied with a life that appears reasonable from the outside. Sometimes there is no obvious crisis at all, only a growing sense that something no longer fits.

Therapy can offer space to pause and become curious about these experiences rather than immediately trying to explain them away or push through them.

Together, we might explore questions such as:

Have I spent much of my life adapting to other people’s expectations?

What do I actually want, rather than what I feel I should want?

What parts of myself have been neglected or pushed aside?

Why does life feel heavy when, on the surface, things seem to be going well?

What would it mean to live in a way that feels more genuine, connected, or meaningful?

In existential therapy, these questions are understood as part of being human. Existential therapist Emmy van Deurzen (2012) suggests that many of the struggles people bring to therapy arise not because life has gone wrong, but because living itself involves uncertainty, change, loss, choice, and the ongoing task of finding our place in the world..

Therapy becomes a place to explore these questions openly and thoughtfully. Some conversations may focus on long-standing patterns, relationships, or ways of coping that no longer feel right. Others may centre on identity, belonging, change, loneliness, freedom, or how you want to live this next chapter of your life.

Rather than focusing solely on solving problems, existential therapy invites a different kind of reflection: an opportunity to consider how you are living, what matters most to you, and what might help you feel more connected to yourself, your relationships, and your life as it is now.

Four Existential Realities We Encounter

Irvin Yalom (1980) described four central concerns that all human beings encounter in some form: death, freedom, isolation, and meaninglessness.

These concerns often sit beneath experiences such as anxiety, loneliness, grief, restlessness, or a lingering sense that something important is missing.

Talking about these realities can feel uncomfortable at first. Yet many people find that giving them attention brings greater clarity about what matters, how they want to live, and what they want to carry forward.

Death: Becoming Aware That Time Matters

Many people avoid thinking about death until something brings life’s fragility into focus: the loss of a loved one, illness, ageing, becoming a parent, or noticing how quickly the years seem to pass.

Alongside grief or fear, these moments often bring unexpected questions:

Am I spending my life in ways that matter to me?

What have I been postponing?

What kind of life do I want now?

People often arrive in therapy feeling caught up in routines, responsibilities, productivity, or the endless demands of everyday life. Then something shifts. What once felt important may no longer carry the same weight, while relationships, creativity, rest, honesty, or long-neglected parts of themselves begin asking for attention.

Both Heidegger and Yalom suggested that becoming more aware of our limited time can deepen our appreciation of life, drawing us back towards what feels meaningful and alive (Heidegger, 1927/1962; Yalom, 1980).

Many people find themselves returning to a simple but profound question: If time is limited, how do I want to spend the life I have?

Freedom: The Anxiety of Choice

There are moments in life when no clear path exists. A relationship is no longer working. A career no longer feels right. A boundary needs setting. An old identity begins to feel too small. We find ourselves standing between what is familiar and what might come next.

These moments can be unsettling. Part of us may long for change, while another part wants the safety of staying exactly where we are.

Many people notice this tension in therapy.

Someone may realise they have spent years becoming the person they thought they needed to be in order to feel accepted, useful, wanted, or emotionally safe. Another person may notice how much of their energy goes into managing other people’s reactions while gradually losing touch with themselves.

Questions begin to emerge:

When did I stop paying attention to what I actually want or need?

Why do certain changes feel so difficult, even when part of me wants them?

How much of my life has been shaped by trying to keep other people comfortable?

What would it mean to live in a way that feels more like my own?

Erich Fromm (1941) wrote about the “fear of freedom”, recognising that choice can open the door to growth while also bringing uncertainty. Emmy van Deurzen (2012) similarly describes human life as full of tensions and contradictions that can’t always be neatly resolved.

Over time, people often begin to notice where choice still exists in their lives. Sometimes it appears in significant decisions. Sometimes it shows up in smaller moments: speaking honestly, setting a boundary, changing a familiar pattern, or responding differently than before.

Rollo May (1981) captured something of this when he wrote, “Freedom is the capacity to pause.” In that pause, people often discover a little more room to choose how they want to live, relate, and move forward.

Isolation: Wanting Connection While Being Alone

Loneliness is not always about being alone.

Many people feel lonely while surrounded by other people. They may have relationships, friendships, colleagues, or family around them, yet still carry a sense of being unseen, misunderstood, or emotionally disconnected.

Some find themselves constantly adapting to other people’s needs while losing touch with their own. Others long for closeness but experience relationships as confusing, exhausting, or difficult to navigate. Many describe feeling slightly on the outside of things, never sure why connection seems easier for other people than it does for them.

For some neurodivergent people, including autistic people and people with ADHD or AuDHD, these experiences may feel especially familiar. Researcher Damian Milton (2012) suggested that misunderstandings often arise between people with different ways of experiencing and communicating, rather than existing within one person alone. What can feel like disconnection is often shaped by a gap in mutual understanding.

Over time, experiences like these can leave people feeling isolated even in the company of others. Yalom (1980) wrote about the deeply human tension between our longing for closeness and the reality that no one can ever fully know another person’s inner world.

People often carry this tension in different ways. Some become skilled at people-pleasing. Others hide parts of themselves, stay in one-sided relationships, struggle to be alone, or work hard to earn a sense of belonging.

Therapy can offer a different experience. Through a relationship built on curiosity, honesty, and understanding, people often begin to feel more seen and more able to show up as themselves.

Many also discover a different relationship with solitude. Connection becomes less about the number of people in our lives and more about whether we feel known, accepted, and able to be ourselves within those relationships. Over time, people often move towards relationships grounded in openness, reciprocity, and mutual care.

Meaning: Reconnecting With What Feels Alive

At certain points in life, people begin asking questions that can feel difficult to ignore:

What is the point of all this?

These questions often emerge during periods of burnout, grief, loneliness, transition, or emotional exhaustion. They can also appear after years of coping, adapting, meeting expectations, and doing what seemed necessary.

For some, the question arrives unexpectedly. Life may look successful from the outside, yet something feels missing. Others find themselves wondering where they went, having spent so much time looking after other people, managing responsibilities, or getting through each day.

Viktor Frankl (1984) believed that human beings can endure great suffering when they are able to find meaning in their lives. Meaning, however, is rarely something we discover once and keep forever. It often shifts and changes as we move through different chapters of life.

People find meaning in different places. It may emerge through relationships, creativity, nature, learning, spirituality, humour, caring for others, or living in a way that feels aligned with their values. Often, it appears in ordinary moments that help us feel more connected to ourselves and the world around us.

Albert Camus (1942/2013) wrote about the human longing for certainty in a world that rarely provides it. Yet his writing continually returns to the simple experiences that make life feel worth inhabiting: conversation, love, beauty, sunlight, laughter, rest, and moments of genuine presence.

As people begin reflecting on what matters, they often notice small shifts taking place. They speak more honestly. They reconnect with neglected parts of themselves. They create healthier boundaries. They become more willing to accept imperfection and more able to appreciate what is already here.

A meaningful life rarely emerges from a single dramatic decision. More often, it grows through small choices, repeated over time.

A life does not need to look extraordinary from the outside in order to feel meaningful from within.

Being Met More Honestly

At the heart of therapy is a relationship between two people.

Irvin Yalom (2002) described therapy as one human being meeting another. The therapist brings training, experience, and a particular way of listening, yet both people are still engaging with something deeply human: uncertainty, loss, hope, longing, loneliness, change, and the desire to feel understood.

Many people arrive in therapy carrying things they have rarely spoken about openly. They may be reflecting on ageing, grief, loneliness, identity, relationships, or a growing sense that they have lost touch with themselves somewhere along the way. Others feel exhausted from years of coping, adapting, or holding everything together for everyone else.

Over time, therapy can become a place where those experiences no longer have to be carried alone. As trust develops, people often find themselves talking more honestly about what matters, what hurts, what they hope for, and what they want from the next chapter of their lives.

Again and again, people describe the value of feeling genuinely heard. Not analysed or judged, but met with curiosity, compassion, honesty, and care.

Life rarely arrives at a point where everything feels resolved. Yet many people discover a greater sense of clarity, self-understanding, connection, and acceptance as they begin paying attention to experiences that may once have felt difficult to name.

Sometimes that is where change begins.

If you’d like to explore this, please feel free to get in touch.

References

• Camus, A. (2013). The Myth of Sisyphus. Penguin Classics. (Original work published 1942)
• Frankl, V. E. (1984). Man’s Search for Meaning. Simon & Schuster.
• Fromm, E. (1941). Escape from Freedom. Farrar & Rinehart.
• Heidegger, M. (1962). Being and Time. Blackwell Publishing. (Original work published 1927)
• May, R. (1981). Freedom and Destiny. Norton.
• Milton, D. (2012). On the ontological status of autism: The “double empathy problem”. Disability & Society, 27(6), 883–887.
• van Deurzen, E. (2012). Existential Counselling & Psychotherapy in Practice (3rd ed.). Sage.
• Yalom, I. D. (1980). Existential Psychotherapy. Basic Books.
• Yalom, I. D. (2002). Love’s Executioner and Other Tales of Psychotherapy. Penguin.

Katrin Kemmerzehl
I am a qualified psychotherapeutic counsellor in Newcastle upon Tyne.
Please get in touch if you’re interested in arranging a consultation.

The post Discover Existential Therapy first appeared on Warm and Friendly Counselling.