How I Steered Clear of Autistic Burnout During a Chaotic Month
Over the last few weeks, I somehow didn’t end up a melted puddle of burnt-out brain goo on the kitchen floor. And trust me—there were several moments where it felt inevitable.
A few years ago, this level of chaos would have broken me. I would’ve spiralled into autistic burnout so deep it would’ve taken weeks to crawl back out. But not this time.
Something has shifted. I’ve spent the last two years learning how to recognise the signs of incoming burnout, understand my limits, and build strategies that actually work for my neurodivergent brain. This time, I saw it coming and was ready.
So if you’re currently clinging on by a thread—let me show you how I avoided burnout, and how you might be able to do the same.
What Happened?
Three weeks ago, I received some unwanted news that meant being involved in an event I really didn’t want to deal with. That alone was enough to make my brain start buzzing. Add to that:
- Our first ever camping trip with two sensory-sensitive children
- The end-of-term school chaos (you know the type)
- A massive London concert I’d been waiting for since January
Basically: it was the perfect recipe for full-blown autistic burnout. I was shaking, stressed, overstimulated, and ending each day with a glass of wine and a thousand-yard stare.
But this time, I didn’t let it spiral. I used everything I’ve learned and put a strategy in place—with help from my very patient husband.
4 Key Strategies I Used to Avoid Burnout
1. Daily Check-Ins and Flexible Planning
Every morning, I checked in with myself. How much energy did I have? What did I actually need to get done today? Some days I could handle more. Other days, I did the bare minimum and let that be enough.
🧠 Neurodivergent-friendly tip: Planning doesn’t have to mean productivity. It’s about awareness and choosing how to spend your energy.
You can read more about my flexible routine here: Finding Balance: Routine Strategies for Autistic ADHD Minds
2. Dropped the “Healthy Habits” Guilt
Yes, I usually try to move my body and eat in a way that supports my brain. But when burnout is looming? That stuff goes out the window.
If eating crisps and watching trash TV keeps me from falling apart—then that is self-care. Forcing yourself to keep up habits that feel impossible only adds more pressure. I’ll get back to them when I’ve recovered.
3. Alone Time = Essential Maintenance
I arranged with my husband for regular time alone in a dark, quiet room. Just 30 minutes with nobody asking me for snacks or climbing on my head made a huge difference.
🔕 If you feel like your brain is buzzing and nothing feels safe—prioritise even tiny windows of sensory rest.
4. Cancelled Anything Non-Essential
Social plans? Family outings? Nice-but-not-necessary activities? All gone.
There’s always guilt around cancelling plans, especially if you’ve already said yes. But I’d rather disappoint someone than completely break myself. Burnout is expensive—emotionally, mentally, physically. Prevention is key.
Read more about dropping the guilt over my needs here: I’m Not Being Difficult — I’m Autistic: Learning to Honour My Needs Without Guilt
Why This Worked
It might not sound revolutionary—but the biggest shift is this:
I listened to myself. I gave myself permission to slow down before everything crashed.
Instead of pushing through the chaos, I made recovery part of the plan. After the concert (my last big stressor), I’d already scheduled a nothing-weekend to lay on the sofa and recharge.
And it worked. I woke up today feeling… like me. Not a crispy, emotionally fried husk. Just me. And that’s worth everything.
You Can Learn to Dodge Burnout Too
Two years ago, I was living in a permanent state of autistic burnout. I didn’t even know that’s what it was. I just thought I was broken.
Now, I know my patterns. I know my warning signs. And I have tools.
You can too.
If you’re starting to notice the burnout clouds rolling in, pause. Check in. Cancel something. Hide in a dark room. Eat the crisps. Tell someone what you need.
Burnout is not your fault—but you can make space to stop it from taking you down.
You’re not lazy. You’re not dramatic. You’re just a human with a brain that needs care.
Give yourself the chance to recover before you collapse. You deserve it.
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