Finding My Way: Autism, ADHD, and the Threads That Bind Us By Sarnia de la Maré FRSA

 Finding My Way: Autism, ADHD, and the Threads That Bind Us By Sarnia de la Maré FRSA

I never imagined I’d be writing this.Not because I feared it, but because for the longest time I didn’t have the language. Or the time. Or the perspective. Life has a way of flinging diagnoses at you like paint at a wall—chaotic at first, overwhelming—and only later do you step back and begin to see the whole picture forming. That’s what this blog is for. To reflect. To connect. And hopefully, to help.This is the story of how I came to understand not just autism and ADHD—but the way they pulse through my life like an invisible rhythm I’m only now learning to dance to.The Tragedy That Reframed EverythingIt started, as these things often do, with my grandson. Beautiful, brilliant, baffling. A whirlwind of energy, obsession, noise, love, and—when overwhelmed—stillness so total it broke my heart.His mother, my daughter in law, had just been diagnosed with severe multiple sclerosis. Our family was reeling, and the task of care fell, in many ways, to me. Suddenly I wasn’t just a grandparent—I was his translator, his shield, his anchor.What does his Autism and ADHD mean?What followed was a strange kind of backward awakening. As I threw myself into understanding what he needed, I began reading, journaling, researching—and realizing that so much of what I was learning didn’t just describe him. It described me. It described us.Not just me, but other family members too—sisters, cousins, ancestors remembered as “difficult” or “daydreamy” or “wildly clever but odd.” Slowly, a lineage revealed itself. One diagnosis, then another. The family tree was no longer simply made of names—it was a map of neurodivergent lives, misunderstood for generations.Daily Life: Chaos, Creativity, and CareCaring for my grandson is both the most sacred and most exhausting thing I do. Our days are unpredictable—sensory meltdowns followed by sudden joy, hyperfocus on numbers or wheels or space, nocturnal lifecycles, terror of change, the need for his noise and not other people's.I keep journals, well podcasts actually, hundreds of recordings of fragments, feelings, observations. Sometimes they are practical: meal ideas, routines, triggers. Sometimes they are just a way to scream into the recorder when I’m too tired to speak. I experiment constantly as my grandson grows and our lives unpredictably entwine.And then there’s me.I’ve always been labelled intense, impulsive, scattered, “eccentric” in a flattering mood, “too much” in a less kind one. Mostly though, and this one always hurt, 'mad'. I have always created—art, music, ideas, endless projects—but struggled with focus, overwhelm, sensory sensitivities. The more I read about autism and ADHD, especially in women, the more I saw myself reflected back.I sought a formal assessment. I have not yet received it but I cried at being past the first hurdle and allocated a psychiatrist—not because I was sad, but because I was seen, and maybe, just maybe, after 62 years, I could understand who the heck I am.This Blog: A Place to Breathe, to Speak, to ListenSo here we are. A personal space, a digital hearth, where I can speak openly not just about neurodivergence but about living it—through care, through creation, through collapse and reassembly.This blog matters because I need it, and maybe you do too.I’ll be sharing:

• Excerpts from my daily journals
• Reflections on multigenerational diagnosis
• Strategies for navigating care roles with limited support
• Resources and reviews of sensory toys, apps, books
• Stories of resilience and rage, laughter and love
• Guest posts from others in the neurodivergent and carer communities

I’ll also invite dialogue—comments, messages, shared stories. There will be hard days, and hopeful ones. I want this to be a space where we don’t have to explain ourselves. Where we can hold space for each other’s contradictions and complexities.Looking Beyond: From Surviving to CreatingThrough all of this, my art and music remain lifelines. Creativity is where I metabolise the overwhelm, where I turn the dissonance of life into something beautiful. I will be linking my projects here too—from sensory art collections to soundscapes designed for regulation and release.Autism and ADHD aren’t barriers to creativity. They are often the source of it. They are lenses, filters, accelerants, fire.I hope this blog will shine a light on that—not in spite of the challenges we face, but because of the way we keep rising.With love and curiosity,
Sarnia
🖋️ Writer, Artist, Carer, Neurodivergent SoulP.S. You can subscribe for updates, follow our journey on social media, or share your own story in the comments. Let’s build something beautiful here. Together.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Finding my Way Autism, ADHD and the Threads that Bind
Us by Sannia de la maree Epharessa. I never imagined
I'd be writing this, not because I feared it, but
because for the longest time I didn't have the language,
or the time or the perspective. Life has a way
of flinging diagnoses at you like paint at a wall,
chaotic at first, overwhelming, and only later do you step

(00:24):
back and begin to see the whole picture forming. That's
what this blog is for, to reflect, to connect, and
hopefully to help. This is the story of how I
came to understand not just autism and ADHD, but the
way they pulse through my life like an invisible rhythm.
I'm only now learning to dance to the tragedy that
reframed everything. It started, as these things often do, with

(00:46):
my grandson, beautiful, brilliant, baffling, a whirlwind of energy, obsession, noise, love,
and when overwhelmed, stillness so total it broke my heart.
His mother, my daughter in law, had just been diagnosed
with severe Moula sclerosis. Our family was reeling, and the
task of care fell in many ways to me. Suddenly

(01:06):
I wasn't just a grandparent. I was his translator, his shield,
his anchor. What does his autism and ADHD mean? What
followed was a strange kind of backward awakening. As I
threw myself into understanding what he needed. I began reading, journaling, researching,
and realizing that so much of what I was learning
didn't just describe him. It described me. It described us,

(01:29):
not just me, but other family members too, sisters, cousins, ancestors,
remembered as difficult or daydreamy, or wildly clever but odd.
Slowly a lineage revealed itself, one diagnosis, then another. The
family tree was no longer simply made of names. It
was a map of neurodivergent lives misunderstood for generations. Daily
life chaos, creativity and care. Caring for my grandson is

(01:53):
both the most sacred and most exhausting thing I do.
Our days are unpredictable, sensory meltdowns, followed by sudden joy,
hyper focus on numbers or wheels or space, nocturnal life cycles,
terror of change, the need for his noise and not
other peoples. I keep journals, while podcasts actually hundreds of
recordings of fragments, feelings, observations. Sometimes they are practical, meal ideas, routines, triggers.

(02:20):
Sometimes they are just a way to scream into the
recorder when I'm too tired to speak. I experiment constantly
as my grandson grows and our lives unpredictably entwine. And
then there's me. I've always been labeled intense, impulsive, scattered,
eccentric in a flattering mood, too much in a less
kind one, mostly though, and this one always hurt mad.

(02:41):
I have always created art, music, ideas, endless projects, but
struggled with focus, overwhelmed sensory sensitivities. The more I read
about autism and ADHD, especially in women, the more I
saw myself reflected back. I sought a formal assessment. I
have not yet received it, but I cried at being
past the first hurdle and allocated as psychiatrist. Not because

(03:01):
I was sad, but because I was seen, and maybe,
just maybe, after sixty two years, I could understand who
the heck I am. This blog a place to breathe,
to speak, to listen. So here we are a personal space,
a digital hearth, where I can speak openly, not just
about neurodivergence, but about living it through care, through creation

(03:22):
through collapse and reassembly. This blog matters because I need
it and maybe you do too. I'll be sharing excerpts
from my daily journals, reflections on multi generational diagnosis, strategies
for navigating care roles with limited support resources, and reviews
of sensory toys, apps, books, stories of resilience and rage,

(03:43):
laughter and love, guest posts from others in the neurodivergent
and carer communities. I'll also invite dialogue, comments, messages, shared stories.
There will be hard days and hopeful ones.