The Neurodivergent Diagnosis Journey – A True Story Part 2 Burnout, Workplace Pressures, and the Fight for Validation

After eight months of trying to recover from what I now know is neurodivergent burnout, I found myself facing an ultimatum at work: provide medical evidence of being fit to return, in alignment with an employer-designed return-to-work plan, by a specific deadline—or face termination. The irony of being told this while being reminded it was my responsibility to manage my health was striking. To call this overwhelming during an already fragile time would be putting it mildly. It felt like navigating a storm without a compass.

What made it even harder was that I had been in regular communication with my boss, keeping her updated on every step I was taking to secure a diagnosis and create a management plan that would allow me to return to work safely and perform at my best. Despite my ongoing efforts, I was met with mounting pressure. It was disheartening, to say the least. Sadly, this experience isn’t unique—many neurodivergent individuals face diagnosis pathways that feel like navigating a journey through rugged terrain with no map.

At the time, my diagnosis journey was far from complete. After months of searching for help, I had secured a preliminary diagnosis from a psychologist that confirmed ADHD and recommended further evaluation by a psychiatrist. The first available appointment with a psychiatrist was still seven months away. Meanwhile, my employer arranged for me to be independently assessed by another psychiatrist. That assessment confirmed what I already knew: I wasn’t ready to return, and my employer was failing to meet its commitments to support me appropriately. The psychiatrist acknowledged my progress despite the challenges and validated my need for more time to recover, pursue further diagnosis, and finalize a management plan. On a personal level, this was incredibly reassuring. Unfortunately, it did nothing to ease the external pressures from my workplace.

The harsh reality of these demands highlighted how poorly neurodivergent individuals—and especially those experiencing burnout—are understood and supported in many corporate environments. The expectation to “prove” my readiness to return, as if it were as simple as flipping a switch, was not only unreasonable but also deeply demoralizing. I wouldn’t wish this position on anyone—caught between the sluggish gears of medical systems and a workplace that seemed to treat mental health recovery as a negotiable bonus rather than a necessity.

Being forced to provide evidence, along with receiving an employer-designed return-to-work plan that neither I nor my medical team had been consulted on, drained the last reserves of energy I had. For anyone who’s experienced burnout—neurodivergent or otherwise—this will likely resonate even the simplest tasks feel insurmountable during recovery, let alone battling the bureaucracy of workplace policies. Add to that the weight of sensory overload, executive dysfunction, and emotional exhaustion, and it becomes unbearable.

This chapter of my journey was one of the most difficult. There were days when I felt stuck in limbo, questioning whether I was making progress or if I’d ever feel “functional” again. But I clung to the small victories: moments of validation, support from loved ones, and every tiny step forward—even if that step was simply acknowledging how hard things were.

Thankfully, I had the financial stability provided by income protection insurance. I can’t stress enough how crucial this kind of coverage is, particularly for single women, which I was for most of my working life. My insurer, TAL, has been exceptional. They provided me with an independent return-to-work support officer—free of charge—who advocated for me during interactions with my employer. They also offered six free coaching sessions with an ADHD coach after my preliminary diagnosis. While the coaching hasn’t completely transformed my life—yet—it has helped me better understand emotional dysregulation and integrate small, everyday strategies into my recovery. Most importantly, it has helped me accept that I am a person with a neurodivergent brain—person first, diagnosis second.

Ultimately, this support gave me the courage to accept my employer’s offer of a six-month payout and resign. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made, especially after 22 years in the industry, but it was the right choice for me at the time. Without the added stress of the workplace demands and expectations, my recovery has progressed in leaps and bounds.

Reflecting on this experience, I can’t overstate how essential it is to reform workplace cultures around mental health and neurodivergence. Recovery from burnout—particularly neurodivergent burnout—isn’t linear. It can’t be rushed or forced. What I needed most wasn’t ultimatums or deadlines; it was compassion, understanding, and the space to heal.

If you’re navigating something similar, know that you’re not alone. Sharing stories like these matters—it’s how we can help others feel seen and advocate for better systems of support. If you’d like to connect or need help with your own diagnosis journey, feel free to reach out at elizabethdenniss@bigpond.com or 0456728961.