The Neurodivergent Therapist and Self-Care

Annabelle Denmark, MA, LPCC • September 10, 2024

Navigating Burnout When You Can’t See It Coming

Self-care is a term we hear constantly, especially in helping professions like therapy. For therapists, self-care is not just a trendy buzzword; it's essential to avoiding burnout. But for neurodivergent therapists—myself included—it’s a more nuanced and challenging task.

I recently took a week off, not because I felt I needed to, but because those around me kept insisting that I did. Friends, colleagues, even family were urging me to take a break, and honestly, I couldn’t understand why. I love my work. I don’t experience that classic "I need a break" feeling, but that's part of the problem: I often struggle to notice the subtle cues my body sends me. Things like hunger, fatigue, or emotional exhaustion tend to slip under the radar. It’s not uncommon for me to realize only at the end of a long day that I haven’t eaten properly or checked in with how I’m really feeling.


This is partly due to ADHD. Between impulsivity, hyperfocus, and time blindness, I find it hard to slow down enough to recognize what my body or mind is telling me. Alexithymia—the difficulty in identifying or describing emotions—adds another layer of complexity. It's not that I don't have emotions; it's that I don’t always know what they are or how to interpret them. I become so engrossed in a task that time seems to vanish, and my needs take a back seat. By the time I notice, I'm already past the point of needing to resource.

For a neurodivergent therapist, self-care can be an elusive concept. The job itself is demanding, requiring emotional energy and mental resilience. Add ADHD into the mix, and it becomes harder to disengage from work. Hyperfocus—where I lose track of time, sometimes for hours—means I skip breaks or work longer than I intend. The drive to be "good enough" or even to overcompensate can lead to pushing myself harder than I should, especially when I don’t recognize the warning signs.

So, what’s the solution when you’re not always aware of your own needs?


Rituals. Rituals become crucial. Even when I don’t think I need a break, I need to build in routines that force me to pause and check in. Whether it’s scheduling time for lunch, setting timers to remind myself to get up and move, or creating a wind-down ritual at the end of the day, these habits provide structure. They act as external prompts to help where my internal ones sometimes fail.



Community. This is where friends, family, peers, and supervisors come in. Having a community that can gently (or not so gently) point out when you’re overworking is invaluable. They become your external feedback loop when your internal one is on the fritz. Often, it’s easier for those outside of us to notice when we’re nearing burnout. I’ve come to trust the people who care about me to help me recognize when I need a break or when I’m slipping into unhealthy work patterns.


In a world that doesn’t always make room for neurodivergent ways of working, it’s crucial to lean on these supports. Self-care, for us, isn’t always intuitive, but with rituals and community, we can build systems that work for us—even when we can’t see the need for it ourselves.


Next on the blog : Rituals and tools to sustain your energy and presence as a neurodivergent therapist



June 20, 2026
As a therapist, I have heard some version of this question more times than I can : " Why do I always attract the wrong type of people? People who take and take and never give back. People who ignore me. People who treat me badly." And here is the honest answer: you don't know any better yet. Not because you're broken or oblivious — but because your nervous system is doing exactly what nervous systems do. It's keeping you in familiar territory. Familiarity Beats Safety. Every Time. This is the piece most people miss. Your nervous system isn't wired to seek out what's good for you. It's wired to seek out what's known to you. So if all you've ever known are relationships where love was conditional, where you had to earn your place, where being neglected or disrespected was just... Tuesday — then that's what your system registers as "normal." And normal feels safe, even when it isn't. Here's where it gets interesting. A lot of people who grew up in those environments discovered a workaround: give more . Give enough, and people like you. Give enough, and you stay in control. The more you do for people, the more you're needed — and being needed feels like belonging. The problem? That vibe attracts people who need to receive but can't reciprocate. And being given to ? Being truly cared for? That feels downright threatening, because it's unfamiliar. Familiarity beats safety. Every time. So How Do You Change the Template? You don't change your relationship patterns by finding better people. You change them by changing what feels normal to you. Here's how: 1. Notice what happens when you receive. Pay attention to how you feel when someone gives you a compliment, does something kind for you, or offers help. Really notice it. Most people who grew up giving first, last, and always feel deeply uncomfortable in that moment — fidgety, dismissive, quick to deflect. That discomfort is data. It's telling you that your nervous system has spent decades turning away from receiving and toward giving. 2. Start asking for things. Ask for help. Ask for support. Ask for care. And then sit with how hard that is. This isn't about becoming needy — it's about practicing something your system has been avoiding for a long time. 3. Build your tolerance for receiving, slowly. When the discomfort shows up (and it will), don't run from it. Notice it. Sit with it. Send it a little curiosity instead of judgment. If you do parts work, this is a great place to get curious about the part that goes stiff when someone is kind to you — where do you feel it in your body? Does it have an age? What does it need? Give it some compassion. It's been working very hard to keep you "safe." 4. Orient toward the people who actually show up for you. This one's simple but not easy. Start paying attention to people who offer care without expecting anything in return. Notice how it feels to be around them. Watch how they treat others. And here's the key shift: focus on who you are when you're with them — not what you can do for them. Follow the discomfort. The people who make you feel slightly squirmy because they're just... genuinely kind? Those are the people worth your attention. 5. Let it become your new normal. The more you orient your energy toward people who care for you without keeping score, the more familiar that starts to feel. Slowly, effortlessly, your template shifts. You stop scanning for ways to be useful and start noticing how you feel . That's when you know something real has changed. The Bottom Line You're not cursed. You're not a magnet for bad people. You're just running an old operating system that was built to keep you safe in an environment that wasn't. And like any operating system, it can be updated. It takes time. It takes discomfort. And it takes being willing to let people actually care for you — even when that's the scariest thing of all. That's the work. And it's worth it. Annabelle is a Licensed Professional Counselor and the owner of Renegade Counseling, a telehealth practice specializing in complex trauma, dissociation, and neurodivergent-affirming care. She works with adults across Colorado and Washington.
a small wooden mannequin
By looka_production_137487489 February 25, 2026
A look at how Christina Applegate’s approach to naming her body parts mirrors parts work and Pain Reprocessing Therapy—helping people with chronic illness reduce fear, reframe pain, and rebuild a compassionate relationship with their bodies.