Recently, while walking through a nearby park I visit often, I stopped to look at a tree I’ve passed dozens of times. A few weeks ago, its leaves were a vivid, fiery orange; full, expressive, and impossible not to miss. I took a picture at the time because it felt too striking not to capture.
Today, those same branches stand completely bare – stripped back, still, and quiet against the sky (of course, I had to take a comparison picture) and yet, even without colour or movement, it was still beautiful. Not lacking, not unfinished. Just different.
Observing that transition sparked something in me, because it reflects what it feels like living as an autistic person with ADHD: two forms of neurodivergence that can sometimes feel at odds with each other, yet in truth coexist in balance — just like the trunk and the leaves of a tree.
The Trunk: Stability, Predictability, and Autistic Grounding
For me, the autistic part of my identity feels like the trunk — solid, structured, essential, and represents my need for routine, predictability, clarity, and familiarity.
Not a preference, a need.
This part of me holds my days together. It offers:
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Rhythm
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Certainty
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Familiarity
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Repeatable systems
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Clear expectations
Even when the world feels chaotic or unpredictable, that internal structure supports me by grounding me in something steady.
Without that trunk, everything else becomes harder.
The Leaves: Curiosity, Novelty, and the ADHD Flow State
Then there are the leaves; the shifting, expressive, seasonal parts.
This is the ADHD side of me.
It holds my curiosity, creativity, spontaneity, and hunger for novelty. It’s the part that lights up when something new, exciting, or challenging presents itself, or when there’s something to solve, explore, or dive into completely.
Tasks changing, ideas evolving, interests rotating — to some, these may look like inconsistency or lack of commitment.
But for my brain, they’re how engagement, motivation, and momentum happen.
And when the energy comes?
I’ve learned to use it because I never know when that wave will return!
Those hyper focused bursts can be deeply productive, meaningful, and full of momentum.
But they are also seasonal, just like the leaves.
Both Parts Belong — Neither Cancels the Other
People often ask me:
“How do you manage both autism and ADHD? Aren’t they opposites?”
And yes, sometimes they pull in different directions.
One part craves sameness.
One part craves change.
One part wants everything planned.
One part wants to leap without looking.
One part thrives in structure.
One part thrives in spontaneity.
But the reality is: they’re not opposites.
They’re internal collaborators with each providing something the other can’t.
The trunk gives shape.
The leaves give expression.
Both are necessary.
Both are mine.
And this metaphor has helped me see that these differences don’t need fixing or resolving — they need understanding and space.
Seasons, Not Failures
Like the tree, I realise that I also move through phases:
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Times where I’m vibrant, motivated, and full of energy.
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Times where I’m quieter, conserving energy and needing rest.
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Times where I’m transitioning, feeling like I’m not quite here, not quite there.
And now I understand something I never used to:
These are seasons, not shortcomings.
Trees don’t apologise for bare branches.
They don’t cling to summer leaves out of fear.
They don’t rush spring.
They trust their cycles.
Maybe I can, too.
This won’t be the last metaphor I find in the world around me, because noticing patterns and meaning in ordinary things is something I do instinctively. Sometimes it’s just for me, and sometimes it becomes a way of helping someone else understand themselves with more gentleness.
So if you’re someone navigating autism, ADHD, or both, maybe this can be a reminder:
You don’t have to feel the same every day.
Your energy doesn’t have to be linear.
Your identity isn’t inconsistent, it’s layered.
You are rooted.
You are growing.
You are allowed to change.
Just like the tree.