The power of realisation in ND couples therapy
There’s a certain magic that happens in my therapy room. A quiet, almost sacred moment when a client starts to realise, perhaps for the very first time, that neurodiversity might be the missing piece of their puzzle. It’s not a dramatic Hollywood scene, more of a gentle dawning. A slow sunrise that illuminates years of confusion and self-doubt. And those moments are why I do what I do.
A realisation of ADHD
Recently, I had a couple in, struggling to navigate the wreckage of an affair. We were working through the emotional minefield that comes with an affair – hurt, betrayal, anger – but something wasn’t quite fitting. The husband just couldn’t seem to explain his impulsive choices. He’d jump from one thing to the next, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake. Tentatively, I suggested ADHD, which as a therapist I have to be very careful about doing. But approaching the topic paid off. The silence that followed was loaded.
They both just… stopped. Stared at each other, then at me. You could practically see the cogs turning, the years of misunderstood behaviours clicking into place. And then, the tears started. Not the angry, frustrated tears I’d seen before, but a quiet, almost relieved weeping. “I’ve always known there was a missing piece,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve spent years trying to understand myself, and something just shifted.”
It’s those shifts, those moments of profound self-understanding, that make all the difference. Suddenly, the impulsive decisions weren’t just ‘character flaws’, but a potential symptom of a neurological difference. The shame and self-blame began to soften, replaced by a flicker of understanding, a glimmer of hope. Not an excuse – not a license – but a place to start. This is what I emphasise with my clients. Diagnosis is a beginning, not an answer in and of itself. For this couple, a new journey began that day.
A realisation of high-adaptive Autism
There was the couple who came to me, essentially to negotiate a separation. For five years they’d been living separate lives under the same roof, a silent, painful stalemate. One partner had a diagnosed neurodiversity, and it was clear that the relationship had struggled under the strain. But as we talked, I noticed a familiar pattern in the other partner’s behaviour – the rigidity, the anger, the underlying fear, the depression. It wasn’t just about his partner’s differences. It was about his own.
I mentioned high-adaptive Autism and gave him some resources to explore. Even I couldn’t predict the dramatic turnaround that followed. The following week, he walked in a different man. He’d done his research, and the penny had dropped. He wasn’t just difficult. He was different. And instead of pushing his partner away, he wanted to understand, to work together. They didn’t need a separation after all. They needed understanding. That’s where I come in.
It’s never too late to learn
These aren’t isolated incidents. I see it time and again. Adults, often in their late 30s, 40s, or even 50s, coming to terms with the fact that they’re neurodivergent. Years of being told they were lazy, difficult, or just plain “wrong” suddenly make sense. The anxiety, the sensory overwhelm, the struggles with executive function – it’s a well-defined, neurological reality.
It’s like they’ve been trying to fit a square peg into a round hole their entire lives, and suddenly, someone hands them a square hole. The relief is palpable. We don’t aim to excuse, because accountability is paramount in therapy, but we want to foster understanding. It’s about finally being able to say, “Ah, so that’s why.” It opens a door that the couple can walk through hand in hand.
The impact of this realisation ripples outwards, affecting not just the individual but their relationships, their careers, their entire sense of self. It’s about moving from self-blame to self-compassion, from shame to acceptance. It’s about finally understanding that they’re not broken, they’re just wired differently. And that difference, once understood, can be a source of incredible strength.
As therapists, our role isn’t just to fix problems, but to illuminate the path to self-discovery. And in the realm of neurodiversity, that path is often paved with those quiet, life-altering moments when the penny finally drops.
