I am a person with developmental disabilities,
possessing characteristics of both ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder)
and ADHD (Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder).
While I’ve mentioned this in several articles before,
today I’d like to put into words
what specifically happens inside my head.
The Clothespin Hanger Controversy
First, let me give an example from everyday household items.
There’s a product for hanging laundry called a “clothespin hanger.”
You know, the one with a metal or plastic frame attached to lots of clothespins.
As someone with ASD, I’m obsessed with durability.
I want things that last, won’t break unexpectedly, and won’t fade or warp from UV exposure over time.
If a clothespin suddenly breaks, the hanger frame snaps, or I catch a glimpse of discoloration on a part of the hanger from an unusual angle,
it becomes a minor emergency for me with ASD.
I fall into a mild panic.
That said, something like a clothespin hanger isn’t really that serious.
I didn’t have this kind of leeway when I was younger, but now that I’m older, I can handle it—it’s a manageable level of panic.
But when something like this happens, the unpleasant feeling
might stick with me for the rest of the day.
I think this is because ASD traits make me feel immense stress when my daily routine changes.
So for me, with ASD, there’s only one choice for clothespins: sturdy stainless steel.
Plastic ones usually turn whitish on the surface after about a year due to UV exposure.
And the quick ones start snapping off before two years are up.
If it said “This product lasts about a year,” I could plan replacements, but that’s never written anywhere.
This is how, every time a clothespin snaps, my ASD side experiences intense mental turmoil.
Meanwhile, my ADHD side is also present during these moments.
My ADHD side constantly feels irritated by repeating “the usual routine” and being forced into unchanging daily life. It complains, “This predictable existence is suffocating,” and tries to create change at every opportunity.
For this ADHD part of me, the moment a clothespin snaps off the clothespin hanger and becomes unusable feels like a long-awaited fanfare announcing “change.”
I know this analogy won’t resonate with everyone,
but inside my ADHD side, trumpets start blaring—
the feeling of “Alright, the adventure begins!”
“Yes! This one’s reached the end of its life!”
“Time to buy a new one! I wonder what kind I’ll get next?”
I get genuinely excited.
So, for me with ADHD, the plastic clothespin hanger is the only choice. It breaks suddenly after a reasonable period, injecting excitement into my otherwise dull routine.
By now, you probably understand:
The interests of the ASD and ADHD traits within me clash completely.
“How do I want to live?”
“What excites me?”
These things are practically polar opposites.
So, after a fierce battle in my head,
when it comes to the clothespin hanger case, my ASD side usually wins.
That’s why stainless steel clothes pin hangers have long held the top spot in my house.
My ADHD side grumbles in protest, but I convince him with logic like, “This will ultimately be good for you too.”
Moving
The story about the clothespin hangers got a bit long, but
where the struggle for control between my ASD and ADHD sides becomes visible,
moving house is a prime example.
My ASD side struggles with new environments.
After moving, there’s the inevitable shopping for the new place.
I have to buy curtains, covers for the gas stove, and so on.
I make a list of everything needed and head to the dollar store or home center near the new place.
But usually, I end up coming home without buying anything.
Because I can’t cope with the new environment, and my mind goes into a bit of a panic.
Even if it’s completely unnoticeable from the outside, my inner world is in intense turmoil.
So the anxiety arises: “If I shop now, won’t I make the worst possible choices?”
As a result, I leave the store without buying anything, spending my first night in the room without curtains, barely able to sleep.
Even if I check the store map online beforehand and mentally simulate the process over and over—essentially “preparing”—it’s almost always useless.
Some might think, “Why not just get everything you need before moving?”
But here too, there’s a battle over control.
Even if my ASD side suggests, “Let’s buy things in advance,” my ADHD side counters, “What the hell are you talking about?! Let’s explore the new place!”
As a result, I usually only manage to shop properly in a new area on my second or third visit.
Needless to say, this is a major constraint in daily life.
But my ASD side wants to interact with familiar places the same way, unchanged, every single time.
Meanwhile, my ADHD side loves new things and constantly craves change.
I hear change is stressful for many people, whether neurotypical or on the spectrum. That’s why some warn, “Don’t combine major life transitions with moving—it creates too much stress.”
But for my ADHD side, facing the stress of change makes my heart soar.
The more stressed I get, the sharper my mind becomes, enveloped in a sensation where everything feels crystal clear. You could almost call it euphoria.
But of course, during that time, my ASD side is wailing, “Give me a break already!”
In the case of this “desire to move,” my ADHD side usually wins.
My ASD side cries, “I can’t bear being forced into that ‘ordeal of adapting to a new environment’ again,” but in the end, I imagine my ADHD side just overpowers me.
It might be “negotiation” rather than “balance.”
Having put this into words, I’ve come to realize something.
It’s that the ASD and ADHD traits within me
are fundamentally incompatible.
And this isn’t about compromise either.
Every time, it requires negotiation and bargaining.
You could call it,
an “internal political struggle” or an “inner cabinet.”
Needless to say, this conflict structure is profoundly exhausting, both mentally and physically.
To others,
it might just be shopping,
just moving house,
but inside,
panic,
excitement,
the tug-of-war between the two,
persuasion,
exhaustion,
are all happening.
In closing
Having both ASD and ADHD traits coexisting within me
is like constantly carrying two maps through life.
Both maps are correct.
But I can’t use them simultaneously.
Each time, I choose one, move forward,
and perhaps that’s what I call living.
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