How Do I Human? And Other Questions I Can't Answer

Throughout my working life, people have described me as “a bit bipolar” (yep, that old gem). One week I’m fired up, enthusiastic, and firing on all cylinders—the most productive human alive. The next? I’m sluggish, sullen, and struggling to type a few coherent sentences.

At first, I thought this was just the way I worked. Now I understand: this is the effect of burnout. But not just your standard “I need a nap” burnout—this is the full tidal wave of autistic burnout. And it doesn’t just knock me down temporarily—it wipes entire chunks of me out.

When Burnout Feels Like a Hard Reset

For me, burnout isn’t just exhaustion. It’s a complete reset of my operating system. One day, I have processes, tools, habits—systems that I have excitedly built over weeks or months that make me feel capable and organised. The next, it’s like none of those things ever existed. I can’t remember how I functioned before.

It’s more than brain fog. It’s more than fatigue. It’s amnesia. I rediscover old tools weeks later like I’m reading someone else’s notes. I find myself thinking, Wow, this is genius! …only to remember it was mine all along. Combined with the alexithymia it can feel like I am a stranger in my own head.

The Beach Metaphor: How Routines Get Washed Away

Here’s how I picture it: my autistic and ADHD brain is like a beach.

• The boulders are the deeply-ingrained routines that never shift—getting comfy in my favourite spot, how I take my tea, the way I wind down at night.
• The pebbles are those newer habits I’ve been nurturing over the last couple of years — exercise routines, morning checklists, small work processes. They might roll around a bit but I can usually get them back in place.
• The stick-drawn lines in the sand are the newest, most fragile routines—maybe a new way of logging tasks, a meal plan that finally works, or a coping tool for social overwhelm.

And then along comes the tsunami of burnout.

That wave floods the whole beach. The boulders stay. The pebbles shift a little. But the sand lines? Gone. Vanished. All trace of those brand-new helpful tools has been erased—and I don’t even remember they existed.

The Emotional Toll of Forgetting Progress

This part hurts the most: the loss of progress. When burnout hits, it feels like I’m back at square one. Useless. Lost. I find myself wondering, How could I forget something that helped me so much?

But I’m learning to reframe this. I’m not useless. I’m not inconsistent. I’m just someone with a brain that, when it becomes overwhelmed, has to prioritise survival. It only clings to the oldest and strongest routines—the boulders and pebbles—and lets the rest be swept away.

My New Tool: A Burnout Recovery Guide

So, here’s what I’m doing: I’m in the process making myself a Burnout Recovery Guide. A real, physical book full of:

• My current eating patterns and foods I find comforting (but are still relatively healthy)
• Work processes that help me stay productive
• Daily check-ins and mental health tools that have been helpful
• Lists of sensory-friendly activities and rest routines
• Project ideas that make me feel excited and purposeful
• Reminders that alcohol makes me feel bad and social interactions are more exhuausting than I anticipate

Basically, it’s a way to “store the pebbles” in a place that burnout can’t wash away. Something to turn to when I feel blank, so I can rebuild faster and remind myself that I do have a system. It just needs reactivating.

I hope that one day this will also help my 6 year old in his journey. We are already experienced in navigating burnout with him and I don’t want him to suffer like I have over the years.

Would This Help You?

If you struggle with autistic burnout too, maybe this could work for you. What would you put in your own Burnout Recovery Guide? What routines or tools do you wish you could hold onto?

Let me know—I’d love to build a little beach-care movement for brains like ours.

---