“Am I Bad at Being an Adult?”

For Queer, Neurodivergent Folks Rethinking What Growing Up Looks Like

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If you’ve ever looked around and thought, “Everyone else seems to have this whole adulthood thing figured out—what’s wrong with me?” — you’re not alone. For queer, neurodivergent folks, the shame of feeling like you’re “bad at being an adult” runs deep.

Maybe your mail piles up unopened for weeks. Maybe your fridge has nothing in it but condiments and expired almond milk. Maybe you’ve Googled “how to be a functioning adult” more than once.

But what if the problem isn’t you? What if the rules for adulthood—the ones you feel like you’re constantly failing at—weren’t written with you in mind?

This post isn’t here to say adulthood is fake or that nothing ever has to change. There might be systems you genuinely need: medication reminders, body-doubling, routines that don’t collapse under pressure. But this post is also here to say: you are allowed to interrogate the rules. You’re allowed to be both in need of scaffolding and skeptical of what you’ve been told counts as “success.”

Cultural Expectations of Adulthood

Mainstream culture often defines adulthood in rigid, narrow terms. You’re supposed to be:

• Independent (but also socially graceful and deeply connected)

• Organized and productive (by 9am, with inbox zero)

• Financially stable (on an underpaid, overstimulating job)

• Emotionally self-regulating (but not “too sensitive” or “too cold”)

  
  

These expectations are deeply shaped by capitalism, white supremacy, ableism, and gender roles. And yet, they’re often presented as neutral truths. Let's be clear: there's nothing neutral about those lies. A magical question to ask about the rules we take for granted is this: Who benefits? If you're struggling with buckets of shame, it's a fair guess that who's benefiting isn't you.

Everyone does not start adulthood on the same playing field, with the same wiring, and the same access to resources. Scrap the idea of a level playing field. It never existed.

You might have looked at your parents, teachers, or other adults in your life and thought, “That’s what being grown-up is.” They seemed stable, put together, in control. But here’s the thing: you don’t know what was happening behind that performance of adulthood.

You don’t know what they were struggling with in private. You don’t know if they had support—financially, emotionally, structurally—that you don’t. The economy was different. Social media wasn’t feeding them a 24/7 stream of impossible comparisons. Their path and yours? Different. Not better. Not worse. But definitely not the same.

What Adulthood Looks Like for Neurodivergent People

If the list above of what mainstream culture suggests you're "supposed to" do, doesn’t reflect your reality, that doesn’t make you defective—it just means you’re working with a different operating system.

Neurodivergent adulthood can look like:

• Time-blindness that makes planning painful

• Burnout cycles that sneak up on you and wipe you out

• Difficulty keeping up with “low-effort” tasks that aren’t actually low-effort for your brain

• Emotional intensity, rejection sensitivity, sensory overload

• Masking so much of yourself you forget what rest feels like

  
  

Consider this: a teacher who works with ADHD and Gifted (sometimes called "twice exceptional") students wakes up in the morning and sniff-tests clothes from their floor-drobe—because the laundry didn’t get done again. Breakfast often gets skipped, not out of neglect, but because their brain is already halfway through the Social-Emotional lesson plan they’re working on. They love figuring out what might work well for their students. At the same time: boring stuff is hard for them. Consistency is hard for them. And yet, they’re a skilled, empathetic, somewhat scattered, professional who knows how to support others through the struggles they've faced themselves. They understand systems of support, even if they can’t always stick to them. They help others accommodate their needs while still figuring out what that looks like in their own life.

Are they a bad adult? Or are they living a complex, human experience of adulthood that doesn’t match the script but still aligns with what matters?

For folks who are also queer—the stakes get higher. You may have had to grow up without role models, navigate religious trauma, hide parts of yourself, or take on adult roles long before you were ready. Of course you’re exhausted. Of course some things slipped through the cracks.

Masking and Burnout in Neurodivergent Adults

A lot of us learned to survive by pretending. Pretending to have it together. Pretending to be organized, emotionally even, socially fluid. Pretending not to be overwhelmed when we were falling apart inside.

That’s masking. And it’s not just draining—it’s dangerous when it becomes the baseline.

The pressure to "do things the right way"—whether it's the morning routine productivity TikTok swears by, or the idea that being a good adult means being perpetually self-sufficient—can force neurodivergent folks into unsustainable roles. Roles that prioritize appearing functional over actually being okay.

And here’s the hard part: the more energy you spend performing someone else’s version of adulthood, the less capacity you have to show up for your version.

Burnout isn't just exhaustion. It’s losing access to your own values because you’re too spent to act on them. It’s waking up and realizing you can’t even remember what matters to you—only what’s expected.

So if it feels like you don’t know how to start living a life that prioritizes what is actually nourishing and meaningful for you, you’re not alone. It might be that you’ve never been given permission to. And it might be that you’re burned out from trying to earn your place in a world that never made space for you.

Clarifying Your Values with the Eulogy Exercise

One way to reconnect with your values—especially when the noise of adulthood feels overwhelming—comes from Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. It's called the Eulogy Exercise.

It’s simple, and a little intense: imagine someone is writing your eulogy. What do you hope they would say? Not about your job title or how many dishes you washed. But about who you were. How you showed up. What you stood for.

Here’s the thing, though: for many of us, this exercise can bring up a wave of self-criticism. It’s easy to look at the gap between the life you want to live and the life you feel like you’re living and think, “I’m not measuring up.”

But this isn’t a test. It’s not about perfection—it’s about direction.

Clarifying your values can stir up discomfort, especially if you’ve been stuck in survival mode or trying to meet everyone else’s expectations. That discomfort isn’t a sign you’re doing it wrong. It’s often a sign that you’re getting closer to the truth.

Your version of a rich, meaningful life might include creating things. Showing up for community. Making space for joy, or justice, or rest. Maybe it’s about living more gently with yourself. Maybe it’s about choosing courage over comfort, in your own way, in your own time.

Whatever it looks like—you get to decide what matters.

When Shame Creeps In

Here’s where things often get tangled. Even when we’ve started to clarify our values, build support systems, and question cultural norms—we can still get sideswiped by shame.

Shame says:

• “I should have figured this out by now.”

• “Everyone else is managing—why can’t I?”

• “I’m too much. I’m not enough. I’m behind.”

  
  

Shame thrives in comparison. It weaponizes difference. It tells us that our struggles are evidence of personal failure, not systemic gaps or different needs. It whispers that the distance between who we are and who we think we’re supposed to be is proof that something’s wrong with us.

And for neurodivergent queer folks, shame isn’t new. It often shows up early and repeatedly. Maybe you were shamed for being “too sensitive” or “too loud.” Maybe you learned to associate care with compliance—love with invisibility. Maybe you were told, in subtle or not-so-subtle ways, that there was something about you that had to be fixed.

Even now, as an adult trying to live on your own terms, shame can flood back in when you drop the ball, need rest, or feel like you're not doing “enough.”

But here’s what’s true: shame is not an accurate barometer of your worth. It’s a reaction. A learned response. A weight you don’t have to carry.

What helps isn’t pushing through with more perfectionism. What helps is interrupting the cycle—with honesty, with self-compassion, and sometimes with help from others who get it.

You don’t have to prove your adulthood by pretending you’re invulnerable. Your humanity is not the problem. And your capacity to feel shame? Without discounting that it can indeed feel like shit, it also means you care. Let's use that care to move toward something that actually matters to you.

Coping Isn’t a Character Flaw: Understanding the Roots of “Bad” Habits

Sometimes the habits we criticize ourselves for—avoiding emails, zoning out on social media for hours, staying up too late, numbing out with food or substances—aren’t random. They’re things we’ve done to cope. They’re the behaviors that helped us function or survive under conditions that didn’t meet our needs.

They might not be helping anymore. But they weren’t born out of laziness or indifference. They’re adaptations.

Recognizing that something isn’t working can bring up a new layer of self-criticism. You might think, “I should know better,” or “I’ve read all the right books—why can’t I just change?” But from an ACT perspective, noticing that discomfort doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’re becoming more aware. It means you’re in the process.

The goal isn’t to shame yourself into change. It’s to acknowledge with honesty: this isn’t working for me anymore.

And for neurodivergent folks, especially those with interest-based nervous systems, making that shift isn’t as simple as just deciding to change. It's okay to need support. It's okay if what works for others might not work for you. Taking effective action (action that works for you to move toward what matters to you) requires building systems that are realistic for your brain and responsive to your needs—not someone else’s standards.

That awareness gives you power. The power to ask: What am I actually needing in those moments? And what other options might move me toward the life I want—not the one I think I’m supposed to have, but the one that actually matters to me?

This is where compassion meets agency. You don’t have to abandon yourself to grow. You get to bring your full messy, brilliant self along for the ride.

Redefining Adulthood on Your Terms

If you’ve made it this far, you might be entertaining the notion that the actual "problem" isn't what you'd thought it was. Maybe a small voice inside you is saying: What if I don’t have to do it their way? What if my way counts, too?

Rewrite the "adulting" rules:

• Instead of endless productivity, what if you honored the ebb and flow of your energy—and rested without guilt?

• Instead of hiding your support needs, what if you treated accommodations like any other tool—neutral, necessary, and non-shaming?

• Instead of contorting yourself to be “likable,” what if you allowed authenticity to guide connection?

• Instead of waiting until everything feels under control, what if you started experimenting with what feels aligned now?

  
  

Redefining adulthood isn’t about lowering the bar—it’s about shifting it to measure something real. Something that reflects your values, your needs, and your actual life—not a fantasy composite of everyone else’s highlight reels.

Here’s the catch: living from your values won’t always feel good. Sometimes it’s deeply uncomfortable. You might disappoint others. You might have to unlearn things you were praised for. But discomfort is not danger—it’s often just the friction of growth.

Compassion means being honest with yourself, not coddling. It means asking: What matters enough to be worth the work? Then taking one small step in that direction—even if you don’t feel ready. If you wait until you feel ready, chances are you'll be waiting a really long time.

Your adulthood doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. That works out. You're not living anyone else's life.

Practical Tools and Resources for Neurodivergent Adulthood

If you’re wondering where to start, here are a few gentle options:

• Try the eulogy exercise in a journal. Let it be messy. Let it surprise you.

• Use a body-doubling tool like FocusMate or find a friend to co-work with when the boring stuff feels impossible.

• Set up your supports to fit your brain: that might mean using visual timers, post-it reminders, or color-coded calendars. None of it is childish. It’s just what works. That might even include using AI tools like ChatGPT to help with prioritizing tasks or building a grocery list—especially when executive function is taxed. Programs like GoblinTools can also break down tasks into manageable steps based on your capacity and communication style.

• Practice checking in with your values—what matters to you, not what looks good on paper.

• Build in recovery time. Burnout doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means your system needs care. For emotional grounding and ideas that affirm rather than shame, consider checking out books like How to ADHD and How to Keep House While Drowning, which offer practical support without the usual condescension.

  
  

And most of all: don’t go it alone. Find spaces—whether it’s therapy, mutual aid, group chats, or chosen family—where you’re not expected to mask to be loved.

You’re Not Behind. You’re Becoming.

There is no final exam for adulthood. No secret list you were supposed to memorize. You are not late. You are not broken. You are a living system—changing, adapting, unfolding.

You’re allowed to be a work in progress. You always were.

If you want a witness, a co-strategist, or just a place to start sorting through the noise—it might be a good time to consider working with a neurodiversity-affirming therapist.

Today could be the day you access support and start from where you are.

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Written by Helen Dempsey-Henofer, LCSW, ADHD-CCSP — a queer, neurodivergent therapist and founder of Divergent Path Wellness. If you're looking for affirming, neurodivergent-informed support in Virginia, book a free 15-minute consultation with our team.