Some stories take years to make sense — mine started to fall into place at 45.

For most of my life, I thought I was just a bit of an anxious mess. A little (or a lot) sensitive. Someone who never quite fit in but kept trying anyway. And lost.

Wanting to do all the things — but ending up overwhelmed, exhausted, and wondering why everything felt hard. How did others manage to function and look so put-together?

I was always running on empty (or fumes, really…). And I had so many feelings all the time.

When I was diagnosed with ADHD and autism (AuDHD) at 45, it was like someone had lifted back a curtain.

It turns out, I wasn’t broken. My brain (and body, to be honest) just worked differently — beautifully, chaotically, sometimes brilliantly, mostly exhaustingly, and sometimes just bafflingly!

Behind the Curtain

From the outside, I looked fairly successful. But behind the curtain, I was working twice as hard to maintain that illusion.

Every day was a game of mental logistics — keeping track of my keys, planning driving routes with built-in buffer time, not losing my laptop, managing the overwhelm that came with something as simple as running errands… and remembering to eat.

It wasn’t that I lacked discipline. I was managing executive dysfunction, anxiety, sensory overload, and trauma — all without knowing their names.

I was also heavily masking — after years of experience, conditioning, and messaging that told me to hide the real me.

I didn’t realise how much energy that took until I started to unmask… and finally felt how deeply exhausting it had been.

Before I Knew

Looking back, the signs were there; they were just hidden really well.

The endless lists. The constant mental noise.

The way I could be laser-focused on one thing for hours, but unable to start a “simple” task.

How I could lead complex multi-million dollar projects with confidence — but melt down from a sudden change in plans or too many competing priorities.

How much time, energy and effort I put into just getting somewhere while feeling riddled with anxiety – even if I knew the person I was meeting or had been there before.

At the time, I chalked it up to stress, sensitivity, anxiety, or not being able to handle stress. I thought if I worked harder, organised better, took antidepressants, or learned the next life hack, I could fix myself.

Spoiler: you can’t out-plan your neurology.

Diagnosis & Relief

For years, I believed that:

• “Too sensitive” was a flaw, not an insight.
• Productivity meant working at 200% all of the time.
• Rest was something you earned after you’d finished everything (which, let’s be honest, never happened).
• Taking a break = falling in a heap and getting sick.
• I wasn’t good enough, not interesting enough, not smart enough. Just not ‘enough’.

Getting my ADHD and autism diagnoses at 45 was equal parts grief and relief.

Grief for the years I’d spent feeling broken, for all the times I pushed past exhaustion, for the masking and fawning I didn’t even know I was doing.

And relief — because finally, things made more sense.

It was the first time I could look back on my life with compassion instead of criticism.

The Sensory Story

One of the biggest light-bulb moments was realising how deeply sensory experiences affect me.

The panic I felt in crowded shopping centres.

The way fluorescent lights, office chatter, and background radios made me feel like I was vibrating from the inside out.

The relief of soft fabrics, flowy pants, fluffy blankets, and buying the same top in five colours because comfort matters.

These weren’t quirks — they were my body’s way of saying, “This comforts and feels safe to me.”

Understanding my sensory needs has been one of the most life-changing parts of unmasking and finding peace.

Here are a few things I wish I’d known sooner

Productivity doesn’t have to hurt. It’s about learning when you work best, how your energy ebbs and flows, and finding something sustainable (with the occasional 200% hyperfocus burst).

Rest, structure, silence, and downtime aren’t indulgent — they’re essential.

And equally, there’s nothing wrong with craving diversity, spontaneity, loud music, and freedom.

Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

The right people won’t think you’re “too much.” They’ll get you.

My brain works differently — and that doing things differently is where the magic is. Systems, good boundaries and the right degree of structure can support freedom — not stifle it.

Sensory experiences are real and powerful — and honoring them isn’t indulgent, it’s essential.

Working With (Not Against) Your Brain

These days, I help other late-diagnosed ADHD and AuDHD adults do the same — learning how to build lives and work patterns that honour their brains, rather than fighting against them.

There’s a lot of compassion, curiosity, and laughter involved — sometimes a few tears — and always the occasional Freya-approved nose bump .

If you’re somewhere on that path — discovering, processing, learning to unmask safely, or just trying to make sense of it all — you’re not alone.

I see you.

If you’d like to explore what working with your brain might look like, you can book a free exploratory chat here or learn more about ADHD & AuDHD coaching here.

The post Some Stories Take Years to Make Sense appeared first on Janine Defontaine.

I recently turned 48.

For years, I wrote annual birthday blog posts – little time capsules of the lessons I was learning (checks notes – my last reflections post was when I turned 46). Somewhere along the way, life got busy, heavy, and complicated, and I stopped. I also misplaced my blogging mojo and, well, blogging changed.

But this year, I felt the pull to write again.

Finding Myself Again

I’ll be honest — this year I’ve wrestled with ageing.

After years of stress (okay, a decade’s worth), I noticed the changes in the mirror – lines around my eyes, muscle that seemed to vanish overnight, and the weight of it all on my face and body.

But here’s what else I’ve noticed since turning 48.

Those lines also tell a different story: a story of laughter, smiling, connection, and joy.

They’re proof of a life lived, not wasted.

And I like the woman who looks back at me now.

I wish younger me had the confidence, knowledge, diagnoses, and self-worth I carry today – but I look at her with kindness, and give her a hug across time.

Rebuilding Strength — Body and Mind

Over the last year, I’ve taken up reformer Pilates and strength training.

My clothes don’t fit quite the same, but my body feels stronger, more capable. It’s both uncomfortable and awesome.

My work has grown, too.

Both sides of my business — ADHD and AuDHD coaching, and marketing — have flourished. I’m lucky to work with the right people, and to make an impact that feels meaningful.

That’s something I don’t take for granted.

Living More Authentically

Personally, I’ve been unmasking more as an AuDHD woman.

It’s a process filled with grief – for the girl and woman I hid away, and for the years spent carrying the exhaustion of masking. But it’s also filled with joy and relief, as I learn to drop the mask in safe spaces and live more authentically.

I’m still learning what that looks like.

Some days it’s messy. Other days, it’s pure freedom.

And despite the hard parts, I’m still choosing joy

Small things. Daily choices.

Walks with Freya, shared laughter with my husband, conversations (and laughs) with clients, and the support of friends and colleagues who boost me up when I need it.

At 48, here’s what I know for sure:

Strength can be rebuilt, even after burnout.
Joy is found in the little things if you look for it.
Authenticity is worth the discomfort it takes to get there.
A good support team makes all the difference.

I don’t know exactly what the next decade holds, but I do know this: I’m looking forward to it – with more strength, more kindness, and more joy.

Here’s to living, laughing, and thriving — one season at a time.

The post Reflections on Turning 48: Strength, Joy & Living More Authentically appeared first on Janine Defontaine.