# 46 - “Just Push Through”: The Hidden Cost of Teaching Autistic & AuDHD People to Override Themselves

In this episode of Quietly Autistic at Last, Dr. Allison Sucamele explores the hidden cost of one of the most common pieces of advice autistic and AuDHD people hear: "Just push through." Drawing on current research and lived experience, she examines the critical differences between discomfort and overload, resilience and self-abandonment, executive dysfunction and reluctance, and growth versus chronic depletion. This episode challenges the belief that perseverance always leads to healing and instead asks a more important question: What did pushing through actually cost? If you've ever wondered why "coping" eventually stopped working, this conversation offers both validation and a new way to understand your nervous system.

Resources

Autistic Burnout
Raymaker, D. M., et al. Research on autistic burnout, including chronic exhaustion, loss of skills, reduced tolerance to sensory and cognitive demands, and the impact of prolonged life stress.

Social Camouflaging
Hull, L., et al. Research on social camouflaging (masking) in autistic adults and the development of the Camouflaging Autistic Traits Questionnaire (CAT-Q).

Double Empathy Problem
Milton, D. E. M. Research and theoretical work describing the reciprocal misunderstandings that can occur between autistic and non-autistic people.

Monotropism
Murray, D., Lesser, M., & Lawson, W. Research exploring autistic attention through the framework of monotropism.

Sensory Processing
Research examining sensory hyperreactivity, hyporeactivity, sensory seeking, and the impact of sensory environments on autistic well-being.

Interoception
Research exploring differences in noticing, interpreting, and responding to internal bodily signals in autistic individuals.

ADHD & Executive Functioning
Research on executive functioning, including task initiation, working memory, inhibition, reward processing, time perception, and context-dependent performance.

Crisis Support

If you are experiencing a mental health crisis:

• United States & Canada: Call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.
• United States: Text HOME to 741741 to reach the Crisis Text Line.

If you are outside the United States or Canada, please contact your country's local emergency services or crisis hotline.

Transcript

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Welcome back to Quietly Autistic at Last, a podcast about late diagnosed autism, ADHD, masking, sensory experience, burnout identity, and the complicated process of finally understanding yourself after years, sometimes decades, of being misunderstood. I'm your host, Dr. Allison Sukamelli, and I'm here because less than a year ago I was diagnosed with autism, and then a bit later with Aud. And I don't have all the answers to what this means, or how to live a perfect autistic life, or how to easily navigate the neurotypical world. And of course, there is no perfect life, but I'm still trying to figure all of that out. So the thought was while I did my research, I'm a researcher by nature, I figured why not do a podcast, build community, and perhaps help other people who also may be diagnosed later in life like myself. I was 48 years old when I was diagnosed, and explain the details of that in episode number two if you are interested in that story. But it has been an interesting journey upon realizing the things that I thought everyone was experiencing, only to find out that it's actually an autistic trait. And to clarify, it is also important to remember that there is no single all DHD experience. Some people crave routine, others struggle to maintain it, some seek stimulation, others become overwhelmed quickly by it, some can work for hours in deep focus, others move between tasks constantly, some mask heavily, others express their traits more openly. It's all like one big mashup for each individual. It's also important to note that one trait does not equal a diagnosis. Many autistic and ADHD traits also appear in the general population. And a person may dislike loud noises, prefer routines, become deeply focused on an interest, struggle with eye contact, procrastinate, forget appointments, or feel socially awkward without being autistic or having ADHD. And a diagnosis is not based on one isolated trait. Clinicians look for a broader, persistent pattern of characteristics that began during development, appear across different parts of life, and meaningfully affect daily functioning or support needs. Context, intensity, frequency, and the way multiple traits interact all matter. Recognizing yourself in one autistic or ADHD experience can invite curiosity, but it does not automatically mean you are on the spectrum. And at the same time, no single trait or its absence can form or rule out autism. And every person's profile is complex, and a qualified professional should consider the whole picture rather than relying on a checklist, social media post, or one relatable characteristic. And with that said, today I want to talk about a phrase that sounds motivational, a phrase that is often delivered as encouragement, a phrase that can come from parents, teachers, coaches, supervisors, partners, friends, medical professionals, and sometimes even therapists. And that phrase is just push through. Just push through. You're tired, push through. You're overwhelmed, push through. The room is too loud, push through. You're shutting down, push through. And I'm sure you can think of a hundred other scenarios where you were just told to push through. And how invalidating. You spend the entire weekend recovering from five days of appearing functional. You're told that's adulthood. You are told over and over again that the answer to distress is to become better at overriding it. And for many autistic and ADHD people, especially those diagnosed later in life, this message does not simply teach perseverance. It can teach self-disconnection, which is even more draining. It can teach you that the body is an obstacle, that sensory pain is weakness, that exhaustion is laziness, and that executive dysfunction is a character flaw. That needing predictability is rigidity, that needing recovery is indulgence. And that saying I cannot do this anymore really means I should try harder. And eventually you may become so skilled at pushing through that you no longer know when you should stop. And that's where today's conversation begins. Because perseverance can be valuable. A lot of us have done degree programs at various levels and did push through a lot in that context, but also it would not be sustainable to do for the rest of our lives. It was temporary, and that's why we could do it. But some of these other contexts can be forever or for decades and are not sustainable in the long term. And of course, challenge can be valuable. Growth can be valuable at times, but it shouldn't be happening on a daily basis in extreme forms. And learning new skills can require frustration. Anxiety does sometimes encourage avoidance. Human beings do sometimes underestimate themselves. And there are moments when we can do difficult things. There are moments when one more step is possible. Emphasis on whatever it is being just one more time, but not one more time every day for the rest of your life. And there are moments when courage means continuing. And to be clear, this episode is not an argument that autistic or Aud people are fragile. We are some of the toughest people I've met. And it is not an argument against resilience. I'm one of the most resilient people I know. So when I speak up and need something, an accommodation, or even just a little understanding, I'm beyond my breaking point and may have even broken down already privately. And this is not an argument against responsibility or that every uncomfortable experience should be escaped. It is an argument for something far more precise. There is a profound difference between stretching your capacity and repeatedly violating it. You can't stretch yourself every day for decades in multiple contexts simultaneously. And there is a difference between discomfort and overload. Discomfort is often part of learning and growth. It may involve anxiety, uncertainty, frustration, or the challenge of trying something new. And although uncomfortable, the nervous system generally remains regulated enough to think, learn, and recover relatively quickly. Overload is different. It occurs when the brain and nervous system receive more sensory, cognitive, emotional, or social input than they can effectively process. As overload builds, thinking becomes more difficult, language may become less accessible, emotional regulation can decline, and some autistic people may experience shutdowns or meltdowns. Recovery often requires reducing demands and allowing the nervous system time to regulate. Research supports this distinction. Studies on autistic burnout by Raymaker and colleagues describe how chronic overload and prolonged demands without adequate support can contribute to exhaustion, loss of skills, and reduced tolerance for sensory and cognitive input. And research on sensory processing and autism has also found that many autistic individuals experience heightened sensory reactivity, meaning environments that are merely uncomfortable for one person may be genuinely overwhelming for another. And growth really comes from repeatedly overwhelming the nervous system. Lasting growth is more likely when challenge is balanced with appropriate support, recovery, and accommodations that allow a person to stretch their capacity without consistently exceeding it. And there is a difference between anxiety and sensory pain. Anxiety and sensory pain can sometimes look similar from the outside, but they are not the same experience. Anxiety is an emotional and physiological response to a perceived threat or uncertainty. It often involves worry, racing thoughts, increased heart rate, and a desire to avoid something that feels frightening or unpredictable. Sensory pain, on the other hand, is a direct response to sensory input itself. Bright lights, loud noises, certain textures, strong smells, or overcrowded environments may be physically painful or intensely distressing for some autistic people because their nervous system processes sensory information differently. The distress is not primarily driven by fear, it is driven by the sensory experience itself. And this distinction matters because the supports are different. Anxiety may improve with strategies such as cognitive behavioral therapy, relaxation techniques, or gradual exposure when appropriate. Sensory pain is often better addressed by reducing the sensory demand through accommodations such as noise-canceling headphones, sunglasses, quieter environments, scheduled breaks, or other sensory supports. The problem for working professionals with autism or ADHD is I can't wear noise-canceling headphones during an all-staff meeting where music is playing in the background, and there are at least a dozen different conversations happening simultaneously. And if I'm expected to focus on a task in that sort of scenario, it's not gonna happen for me. And atypical sensory processing means that the brain is constantly receiving information through the senses. So sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell, balance, also referred to as vestibular or body awareness or proprioception, and internal body signals or interoception. And when researchers use the term atypical sensory processing, they simply mean that the brain processes sensory input differently than what is considered typical. For some autistic people, certain sounds may seem painfully loud, lights unbearably bright, clothing unbearably itchy, or strong smells overwhelming. And others may seek out intense sensory experiences such as movement, pressure, or certain textures, because their nervous system processes those sensations differently. Listen to episode number 22, not reckless, regulating autism, adrenaline, and the lives we live before diagnosis for more on seeking sensory experiences. And importantly, atypical sensory processing is not about being too sensitive or not trying hard enough. It reflects genuine neurological differences and how the brain interprets sensory information. And research has consistently shown that sensory processing differences are common in autistic individuals and can have a significant impact on daily life, learning, social participation, and overall well-being. And studies have also found that sensory sensitivities are associated with increased stress and reduced quality of life in many autistic individuals. I can firsthand vouch for that. Sensory pain is one of the things I struggle with most, especially at work in meeting environments that I just described. So far, any accommodation for that sort of setting at work has been denied multiple times so far. It's also interesting that there are no follow-up questions regarding my request. It's just a no, you have to go to the meeting. But to be fair, I do have permission to take 15-minute breaks, but that also requires me to get up and weave my way through a very, very crowded room, which does nothing but draw attention to me. So that almost makes the situation worse. And there's an invisible toll that attending the meeting takes. And if I need to get up and take a break, again, getting up and having, you know, a spotlight essentially shined upon you for getting up also takes a hidden toll. And there's also a difference between reluctance and executive dysfunction. Reluctance is not wanting to do something. You may dislike the task, find it boring, or choose to put it off, yet you generally have the ability to begin if you decide. Executive dysfunction is different. The desire to complete the task may be there, but the brain struggles to initiate, organize, prioritize, switch attention, or sustain effort. It can feel as though there is a disconnect between intention and action. And this is why many autistic and ADHD individuals describe wanting to do something desperately while feeling unable to get started. And research has consistently found that executive functioning differences are common in both autism and ADHD, affecting skills such as planning, working memory, cognitive flexibility, inhibition, and task initiation. And recognizing this distinction matters because someone experiencing executive dysfunction often needs support, structure, or accommodations, not criticism for not trying hard enough. There is a difference between challenge and cumulative depletion. A challenge is a demand that stretches your abilities while still allowing your nervous system to recover. And although it may be difficult or uncomfortable, it can build confidence, skills, and resilience when balanced with adequate support and rest. And cumulative depletion is different. It occurs when demands consistently exceed your available physical, cognitive, sensory, or emotional resources without sufficient recovery. Instead of becoming stronger over time, your energy reserves become progressively drained. And for many autistic and all DHD people, this can lead to chronic stress, reduced functioning, increased sensory sensitivity, difficulty with executive functioning, and in some cases, autistic burnout. And if the idea of cumulative depletion sounds familiar, you may also want to revisit my earlier episode on spoon theory. Spoon theory is a metaphor that describes how many autistic people begin each day with a limited amount of physical, cognitive, sensory, and emotional energy or spoons to spend. Every demand from masking and navigating sensory environments to making decisions and switching tasks uses some of those spoons, making it essential to budget energy wisely and prioritize recovery before the nervous system becomes overwhelmed. Research on autistic burnout suggests that it is associated with prolonged life stress, the ongoing demands of masking, and a mismatch between expectations and available supports. In other words, growth comes from manageable challenges followed by recovery. Cumulative depletion occurs when there is no opportunity for the nervous system to recharge before the next demand arrives. There is also a difference between building tolerance and losing access to yourself. And building tolerance means gradually expanding your ability to handle manageable challenges while remaining connected to your thoughts, emotions, body, and values. And you may feel uncomfortable, but you still recognize your needs, can communicate them, and recover without sacrificing your well-being. Losing access to yourself is different. It happens when you repeatedly ignore your body signals, suppress your autistic traits, mask your distress, or override your needs in order to meet external expectations. Over time, you may stop recognizing when you're overwhelmed, hungry, exhausted, or in need of a break because you've become so accustomed to pushing through. Rather than becoming more resilient, you become disconnected from your own nervous system. As I've said before, research on autistic masking and burnout suggests that chronic self-suppression and prolonged efforts to appear neurotypical are associated with increased stress, anxiety, depression, exhaustion, and autistic burnout. And true resilience is not learning to ignore yourself. It is learning to listen to yourself while continuing to grow. And if no one ever taught you those distinctions, then push through may have become one of the most dangerous instructions in your life. I know it has been in mine. And one of the strangest things about being diagnosed later in life is realizing that other people may have interpreted your survival strategies as evidence that you did not need support. You worked, you taught, you raised children, you earned degrees, you maintained relationships, you attended meetings, went to parties, made phone calls, drove through traffic, answered emails, met deadlines, and kept showing up day after day. You sat for hours under fluorescent lights, tolerated constant noise, adapted to unexpected schedule changes, made eye contact when it didn't come naturally, and navigated social situations that required tremendous mental effort. And from the outside, it looked as though you were managing just fine. People saw the accomplishments, the responsibilities you carried, and the fact that you kept going. They concluded, often with the best of intentions, see, you can do it. What they didn't see was the invisible cost of doing it. What they may not have seen was what happened afterward. They did not see you lying in a dark room. They did not see you unable to speak. They did not see the migraine, the gastrointestinal symptoms, the irritability, the insomnia, the tears, the hours of rumination, the inability to make dinner, the unopened mail, or even the mere energy to walk to the mailbox to get the mail, which isn't even that far. The unanswered text, the weekend lost to recovery, and that one really gets to me personally. The sudden collapse in functioning after a period of apparently exceptional performance, performance being the key word here. The way you could teach a class, lead a meeting, give a presentation, or care for everyone around you, then become unable to decide what to eat later when you are alone. They saw the performance, they did not see the invoice. And this is one of the central problems with push-through culture. It evaluates success at the moment of task completion. Did you attend? Yes. Did you finish? Yes. Did you smile? Yes. Did you stay until the end? Yes. Did you meet the deadline? Yes. Then pushing through worked. Accept that this definition of worked is extraordinarily narrow. And what if you completed the task and lost the next two days? What if you attended the event and could not sleep that night and it took you three days to recover? But oh yeah, you still have to go back to work the next morning and the two days after that, so it really wasn't three full days of uninterrupted recovery. And what if you survived the work week and spent Saturday unable to move from the couch, been there, done that? What if you forced yourself through years of escalating overload and eventually reached Point where skills you had relied on disappeared? What if the cost was cumulative? What if the nervous system kept score even when no one else did? The question cannot only be, could you do it? The question also has to be, what did doing it cost? And many autistic and odd HD people grew up in environments where capacity is treated as morality. If you can do something, you are good. If you cannot, you are difficult. If you persist, you are admirable. If you stop, you are weak. If you tolerate, you are mature. If you protest, you are dramatic, and that one hits big. And if you comply, you are cooperative, and I'm hearing the cost registering on that one. And if you need something different, you are demanding. That one weighs heavy on most of us. And this begins early. A child who covers their ears are often told to stop being dramatic. A child who cannot tolerate a clothing texture is labeled as being picky. A child becomes distressed by a change in plans is often scolded and told you need to learn that the world doesn't revolve around you. And a child who cannot begin an assignment is often told by teachers and parents you're lazy. A child who forgets materials is told you don't care. A child who talks excessively about an interest is met with a nasty enough already. A child withdraws after school, it's a problem with their attitude. A teenager who cannot manage schoolwork, homework, extracurricular activities, family demands, social expectations, a job and basic self-care simultaneously is told everyone is busy and they need to push through. An adult says the open plan office is destroying their ability to concentrate. The response, you need to adapt. An employee asks for written instructions and they're told you should be able to remember. A person asked to leave a social event early and then questioned as to why. Why are you so antisocial? A partner says, I cannot have this conversation right now. I am overloaded. That person is then accused of always avoiding conflict. And over time, the person may internalize a devastating equation. My limits are evidence of my moral failure. That belief can become incredibly difficult to dismantle. Because once capacity has been moralized and rest produces guilt, accommodation produces shame. Boundaries feel selfish. Saying no feels dangerous. Leaving early feels rude. Asking for clarification feels incompetent. Wearing headphones feels embarrassing. Not only that, people don't realize that when they are talking about someone wearing headphones, a lot of times they can still hear them even if they pretend not to. So you push through. Not necessarily because you have capacity, sometimes due to fear and many forms. Fear of disappointing people, being seen as lazy, fear of losing your job, of being excluded, of being called difficult. Fear that if you acknowledge one limitation, every accomplishment will suddenly be questioned. This does happen. I can vouch for that, but also no one asks clarifying questions. They just assume they know enough about autism from a brief blurb in a textbook that they can pass judgment. And one of the greatest misconceptions about autism is the assumption that every autistic person experiences the world in the same way. In reality, autism is a spectrum of highly individual traits, strengths, challenges, sensory profiles, communication styles, and support needs. Yet people often compare one autistic person to another or to a stereotype and dismiss someone's lived experience simply because it doesn't match their expectations, forgetting that no two autistic individuals have the exact same neurological profile. And for late diagnosed people, there can be another fear. Many late diagnosed autistic people experience imposter syndrome, wondering if they are quote unquote autistic enough because they spent years masking, adapting, and being told they were simply too sensitive, shy, anxious, or difficult. And this self-doubt is common and is often reinforced by stereotypes about what autism is supposed to look like externally. Even their research shows that many autistic adults, especially those diagnosed later in life, have learned to camouflage their traits so effectively that they question their own experiences. What if everyone was right about me? What if I am really lazy? What if I am making excuses? What if I have simply become weak? What if I used to be able to do this? And the last question deserves its own conversation. You cannot see the hidden costs of being autistic, and that's where a lot of people get dismissed by neurotypicals and doubt themselves and feel ashamed, depleted, misunderstood, and many other things all at once. And when it comes to things you used to be able to do, and you no longer can, like cooking, being organized, tolerating loud meetings, and even thinking, I used to be able to push through this. We sometimes interpret reduced capacity as evidence that we need to push even harder. And this can create a dangerous feedback loop. Capacity decreases, the person becomes frightened, they increase force, more force creates more depletion. Depletion further reduces capacity, reduced capacity creates more fear and shame. Fear and shame produce more pushing. Eventually, the person is using extraordinary effort to maintain a smaller and smaller window of functioning. And this is one reason the research on autistic burnout is so important. And research by Dora Raymaker and colleagues helped us articulate autistic burnout as a distinction phenomenon involving chronic exhaustion, loss of skills, and reduced tolerance to stimulus associated with chronic life stress and a mismatch between expectations and abilities without adequate supports. And that phrase matters: a mismatch between expectations and abilities without adequate supports. And notice what is missing from that formulation: moral failure, laziness, lack of character, insufficient positivity, not wanting it badly enough. Autistic burnout research gives us language to something many autistic people have described for years. The problem is not always that you failed to push through, sometimes the problem is that you've pushed through for too long. Unlike occupational burnout, autistic burnout often reflects the cumulative burden of continually adapting to sensory overload, social expectations, executive functioning demands, communication differences, changing routines, and that's where I struggle a lot. Unspoken rules and the relentless expectations to appear calm, flexible, and capable while your nervous system is working far harder than anyone else can see. Then someone says, just push through. And the autistic person may think, What do you think I've been doing? And that is the part I wish more people understood. For many late diagnosed autistic adults, the diagnosis does not arrive because they suddenly became unwilling to cope. It may arrive after decades of coping, compensating, of trying to become less affected, of studying other people. Some of us have degrees in those areas. Decades of rehearsing, decades of forcing eye contact, decades of suppressing stems, which again are not the same for every autistic person, of remaining in environments that hurt, and that one is really impactful. And decades of translating yourself into a language other people find more comfortable. Then at some point, the nervous system can no longer sustain that level of adaptation and says no more. And even then, many people do not stop, they push harder. Imagine running two versions of yourself simultaneously, and one version is having the experience, the other is monitoring whether the experience is socially acceptable. And you are listening to the conversation while analyzing your posture. You are answering the question while monitoring eye contact. You are experiencing sensory overload while making sure your face does not reveal sensory overload. You are confused while trying not to look confused. You are exhausted while trying not to look tired. You are hurt while calculating whether your hurt is socially proportionate. You are angry while translating anger into acceptable language. You are disappearing while reassuring everyone else that you are fine. That is pushing through. And when a person does this for years, the question becomes: what happens to their relationship with our own internal signals? Then the crash comes. And this is where push-through can become particularly complicated. Because some Audi HD people are capable of extraordinary bursts of output, they may complete in six hours what others complete in several days. They may create a podcast, redesign a website, deep clean a room, build a curriculum, write thousands of words, research an entire topic, reorganize a system, solve a complex problem. Then they cannot answer an email. And other people see the extraordinary output and conclude you clearly have the capacity. No, you have demonstrated capacity for a specific task under specific conditions at a specific time with a specific combination of interest, urgency, novelty, autonomy, energy, sensory conditions, and cognitive access. Human capacity is not a bank account with one number in it. Being able to do one hard thing does not prove you can do every easier thing. This is especially important in ADHD. Executive functioning is not simply effort. Task initiation can be affected by interest, urgency, novelty, reward, ambiguity, working memory demands, emotional salience, and many other factors. So when an Aud person says, I cannot start, and someone replies, just push through, they may be treating a regulation and executive function problem as a motivation problem. Then shame gets added to the original difficulty. Now the person still cannot start. They simply hate themselves while not starting. Perhaps you did not. Many diagnosed children are also taught to suppress themselves. Still, for the late diagnosed adult, there may have been no framework at all. You simply knew that ordinary life seemed to cost you more than it appeared to cost other people. You watched them, they went to work, then dinner, then drinks, then a party. You went to work and needed silence, you wondered why. They seemed able to transition casually, you needed preparation, you wondered why. They seemed able to make a phone call without rehearsing. You wrote a script, you wondered why. They could be interrupted and returned to a task. You lost the thread, you wondered why. They wore uncomfortable clothing and seemed to forget about it. You could feel the seam for eight hours. You wondered why. Without a framework, many people arrive at the same conclusion. I am the problem, which is not true, but they push through anyway. They build elaborate systems, they become perfectionists, they over-prepare, they arrive early, they rehearse, they research, they anticipate every possible outcome. They become hyper-responsible, they make themselves indispensable, they never ask for help. They become the person everyone relies on. And then one day they cannot do it anymore. And the tragedy is that other people may interpret the collapse as a new problem. Sometimes the collapse is a visible result of an old problem, a lifetime of unsustainable compensation. And we need to challenge the assumption that achievement disproves disability. You can be autistic and academically successful. You can have ADHD and earn advanced degrees. You can be a DHD and run a business, teach, write, parent, research, lead, create, perform, advocate. You can be profoundly capable and still disabled. And capability and disability are not opposites. And this matters because high-achieving, neurodivergent people are often told, you've done harder things than this. Perhaps, yet capacity is contextual. A person may be able to write a dissertation and struggle to call the dentist. A person may teach hundreds of students and struggle to attend an unstructured social gathering. A person may manage a complex project and become overwhelmed by grocery shopping. A person may speak publicly and be unable to respond when unexpectedly confronted. A person may produce extraordinary creative work and struggle to maintain basic household routines. This is not hypocrisy. It is not manipulation. It is not proof that the person is selectively trying. Different tasks require different combinations of executive function. Sensory processing, social cognition, motor planning, uncertainty tolerance, working memory, interest, and emotional regulation. Ud X, therefore you can do Y, is often neurologically meaningless. And here's another difficult truth. Sometimes pushing through works, and that can make it more dangerous. You can override hunger, you can override exhaustion, you can override pain and sensory distress, the need to use the bathroom, you can override emotion, you can override shutdown signals, you can perform. And the fact that you can override a signal does not prove the signal was false. Think about adrenaline, think about emergencies. Human beings can sometimes access extraordinary short-term capacity under pressure. That does not mean the capacity is sustainable. Many neurodivergent people have built lives around emergency energy, things like a deadline, crisis, urgency, fear, adrenaline, panic, then action. And this can be particularly relevant in ADHD, where urgency may temporarily increase task engagement. The person learns I work best under pressure. Sometimes what they mean is I have difficulty accessing task initiation until the consequences become threatening enough to generate sufficient activation. And that is not the same thing as thriving under pressure. You may simply have learned how to borrow energy from the future, and the future keeps arriving. And I want to stay with that phrase for a moment: borrowing energy from tomorrow. You push through today, tomorrow pays. You attend the event tonight, tomorrow pays. You take the extra shift, tomorrow pays. You ignore the shutdown signs, tomorrow pays. You work through lunch, tomorrow pays. You answer one more email, tomorrow pays. You say yes to one more obligation, tomorrow pays. Then tomorrow arrives already in debt. So you borrow from the next day and the next and the next. Eventually there is no surplus, there is only maintenance. Then one unexpected demand arrives: a schedule change, a conflict, an illness, a family emergency, a workplace demand, a sensory heavy event, a night of poor sleep, and suddenly the entire system collapses. People say it was just one small thing. Maybe, or maybe it was the final demand placed on a system that had been operating in deficit for years. And one of the cruelest parts of this cycle is that the person may not recognize the edge until they are over it. This can relate back to interoception. Alexymia may also be relevant for some autistic people, though autism and alexymia are distinct and should not be conflated. A person may struggle to identify or describe internal emotional states. They may know something is wrong, yet not know whether they are angry, afraid, overstimulated, hungry, exhausted, ashamed, or approaching shutdown. Add masking, add years of overriding, add environments where expressing discomfort was punished. Now imagine trying to identify capacity in real time. You may not get a gentle signal that says, Dear Allison, you are currently at 72% capacity. Please reduce stimulation. You may get something like fine, fine, fine, and then all of a sudden you cannot speak. And this is why proactive accommodation matters. Waiting until visible crisis is often too late. And workplaces often reward pushing through. Come in sick, stay late, skip lunch, answer after hours, attend every meeting, be flexible, be a team player, do more with less, never appear overwhelmed. And for autistic and Aud employees, this culture can become particularly harmful when disability-related needs are framed as insufficient commitment. Consider the employee who needs a predictable schedule, written directives, reduced unnecessary meetings, a quiet workspace, advanced notice of changes, clear priorities, permission to use sensory tools, protected planning time, fewer abrupt transitions. These supports may improve performance, yet the employee may hesitate to ask because they have learned that the ideal worker needs nothing. So they compensate, then they burn out. Then the organization points to the burnout as evidence that the employee could not handle the job. And sometimes the job was not inherently impossible, sometimes the unsupported version of the job was, and that distinction. Distinction matters. So what can we say instead of just push through? If you are a parent, teacher, partner, friend, supervisor, therapist, coach, or simply someone who loves a neurodivergent person, consider replacing immediate pressure with curiosity. Instead of just push through, try saying what part is hardest right now. Instead of saying you're almost done, try saying would a short break help you finish. Instead of everyone is tired, try what kind of tired is this? Instead of you need to be more flexible, try saying what would make this change easier to process. Instead of you did it last time, try what is different about today. Instead of you're overreacting, try, is something in the environment overwhelming you? Instead of you just need to start, try, can we make the first step smaller and more concrete? Instead of saying you can't avoid everything, try saying, is this avoidance, overload, or both? Instead of saying you need to get used to it, try is repeated exposure helping, or is it increasing distress? Instead of try harder, try saying what support is missing. And that last question can change lives. What support is missing? Because sometimes the problem is not motivation, sometimes the problem is access. And if you are listening to this and recognizing yourself, I want to offer a framework. Before automatically pushing through, ask, what am I experiencing? Is this anxiety, sensory overload, executive dysfunction, fatigue, boredom, fear, confusion, demand overload, perfectionism, shutdown, task initiation difficulty, transition difficulty, social uncertainty, physical illness, sleep deprivation. You may not know immediately, and that is okay. Again, the goal is curiosity, not perfect identification. And another question to ask yourself: what is the actual demand? And try to be specific. I cannot handle work, maybe too broad. Perhaps the actual demand is a three-hour unstructured meeting in a loud room with no agenda. That is a different problem. I cannot socialize, maybe come. I cannot socialize for four hours after a full workday in a crowded restaurant. That's a different problem. I cannot do the assignment, maybe come. I do not understand the first step. That's a different problem that will open some new doors. Specificity creates options. And the third question to ask yourself: can the task be modified? Can you reduce duration? Change location, use headphones, get written instructions, bring a safe food, drive separately, leave early, turn the camera off, break the task into steps, use a timer, request an agenda, move the meeting, delay the non-urgent task. Next question: What will this cost me? Not can I technically survive it? What will it cost? Will you lose the evening, the next morning, the weekend? Will you need recovery? Can you build that recovery in? And another important question to ask yourself: Am I choosing to continue? This is perhaps the deepest question. Am I choosing or am I afraid I am not allowed to stop? And please don't ever criticize yourself for not pushing harder. There is something heartbreaking about finally understanding that, but here there can also be liberation. Okay, so there you have it. Thank you for spending this time with me on Quietly Autistic at Last. And if today's conversation helped you feel a little more seen, understood, or left alone, I hope you'll join me again next week. And for listeners who want to go a little deeper, please check out the episode description for a list of resources worth exploring and a direct link to the Quietly Autistic at Last podcast Instagram page. Be sure to follow for additional insights, reminders, and a neurodivergent affirming community. Until next time, this is Dr. Allison Sucamelli. Be gentle with yourself, honor your nervous system, and remember, you were never too much, you were just carrying too much. And kind reminder that Quietly Autistic at Last podcast is intended for educational and informational purposes only and reflects my personal perspective alongside current research. It is not a substitute for medical, psychological, or mental health care. If you're struggling or believe you maybe experience autistic burnout or another mental health concern, please reach out to a qualified health care professional. If you are in crisis or feel you may be in immediate danger, contact your local emergency services or your country's crisis hotline right away. Alright, take care and I will see you next week.