How to avoid autistic burnout and save years of your life

The stakes of burnout are high for everybody, but autistic burnout is truly something special. It’s not just about feeling tired or overwhelmed; it’s a profound physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion that can easily upend daily life, derail careers, and strain relationships. Unlike general burnout, which tends to stem from overwork, autistic burnout is uniquely tied to the chronic stress of navigating a world designed to benefit neurotypical people only.

It’s the cumulative result of making, sensory overload, and the relentless pressure to conform, leaving us depleted in ways that can feel almost impossible to recover from. One participant in a study from aptly describes the experience of autistic burnout as “having all of your internal resources exhausted beyond measure and being left with no clean-up crew.”

Autistic burnout doesn’t just impact productivity; it erodes self-esteem, intensifies mental health struggles, and can even lead to long-term health issues like depression or complex PTSD. The invisible nature of autism often exacerbates the problem, as external support systems might not recognize the signs or understand the toll it’s taking. Even worse, without intervention, burnout can spiral into extended periods of withdrawal, loss of independence, or the need for significant lifestyle changes to recover (more on that later).

But first…

What’s the difference between burnout and autistic burnout?

Despite the thousands of autists actively suffering from and publicly discussing symptoms of autistic burnout, academia’s psychology community almost entirely ignored the phenomena until roughly 2020. But, we made it, ladies: scientists are finally acknowledging autistic burnout in academic studies. The thing we’ve been suffering from for ages is “real” in western culture now!

Snark aside, the difference between burnout and autistic burnout largely boils down to severity and root causes.

Burnout (regular)

”Normal” burnout is normally attributed to the workplace environment and is usually caused by overwork, sustained lack of autonomy, perceived lack of support from colleagues or bosses, and putting in lots of of effort for little reward. These factors combined create fatigue and a deep cynicism for the work being done.

Add in difficulty concentrating, depression, and physical ailments like headaches and stomachaches came end up miring us inside and out, until the sufferer either gets some rest or gets the hell out of there. Workers burning out en masse is how quiet quitting was born.

Autistic burnout (spicy!)

**Autistic burnout **isn’t relegated to the office, projects, or school. We can essentially burn out simply by existing! Autistic burnout can be caused by any combination:

• Emotional trauma
• Pressure to fit into difficult situations
• The strain of masking
• Lack of accommodations in public environments, and
• Being overloaded with sensory stimulation and social demands.

Plagued with severe, unshakeable fatigue and a loss of executive functioning and communication skills, we often shut down or go into retreat into ourselves. The dishes pile up, sensitivity to sensory input and social interaction skyrockets, and some of us become more prone to what researchers call “autistic regression,” or a feeling of disconnection from ourselves and others. (Normally we’d just call that “dissociating,” but you know there’s always a weirdly pathologizing term waiting in the wings when it comes to autism research!)

Even though I experienced all of these symptoms in spades, like many autists I didn’t understand how much I was putting up with for years, assuming I was the problem; that something was inherently wrong with me as a person. Here’s what happened — and how, hopefully, you can avoid my fate.

How long does autistic burnout last?

Because each person’s case is so different, it can take anywhere from weeks or months, and in severe cases, even years to finally figure out how to recover from autistic burnout. The length of recovery is influenced by:

• The intensity of the burnout
• Access to support systems
• Time, space, and ability to rest and prioritize your own needs
• Environmental stressors like overwhelming sensory input (ie. consistently working, studying, or living in rooms that are loud, bright, or crowded)
• Lack of accommodations in social settings
• Pressure to constantly mask, suppressing your natural behavior for the comfort of others

So, how long does autistic burnout last? It depends on how many of these issues are constantly in your face, and how much autonomy you have to effectively manage them.

I didn’t know about any of this starting out, so take a page from my book on what not to do…

My experience with autistic burnout (or, how I girlbossed too close to the sun)

Back in 2016, I had just begun first real “big girl” job — with a salary and 401(k) and everything. A sweet summer child, I was undiagnosed, knowing absolutely nothing about autism, and had already taken on impostor syndrome and a needling feeling that I didn’t belong. This woman-led office that initially seemed so accepting and perfect also came with colleagues with Ivy League backgrounds, who did horseback riding in college and described their roles in accounting or copyright law as “dream jobs.”

Meanwhile I had struggled and ultimately dropped out of my Bachelor’s program, shared a rental home with five roommates I met off Craigslist, and fell into my new social media job by way of networking with a kind old dude who didn’t like tweeting. So I masked. Hard.

Masking to feel “worthy” intensifies autistic burnout

I threw my first few paychecks at Sephora and the highest-end clothes I could afford, and woke up an hour early every morning to press hair bone straight. If only those were the only tweaks I “needed” to fit in. After six years of struggling make ends meeting, I was desperate to be accepted, so I threw myself into my work and became the fastest-promoted employee at the company.

Barely one year later, I was already burnt. The more I accomplished, the more my colleagues expected of me. This was back in the era when companies were just discovering social media could be used to make money. My colleagues on the team would imagine grand campaigns that last all day long, including collaborations with organizations halfway across the globe. Then they’d pat me on the back and say “let us know if you need anything!” Over and over again. I was their beloved cash cow, and I never complained, because these were my coworkers. They needed me, and because they needed me, that must mean they appreciate me…right?

Shutting down is a sign to dial back responsibilities

I inevitably started to fall short, missing deadlines as a sense of dread crept in. Bright overhead lights gave me headaches, and the open office setting encouraged interruptions. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was constantly overstimulated.

When I finally did start asking for help in 2018, And of course, if I wouldn’t do it, they would “find someone who will.” This translated in my head to, “Stop complaining, unless you want to be homeless again.”

I became extremely attached to the small, cozy, dark phone pods littered around the office, which gave me a sensory reprieve I desperately needed. One day when I was working peacefully in a phone pod, someone knocked at the door: it was manager. She opened the door, sat in the cramped room across from me, and informed me that she went to every single pod in the office looking for me to remind me that I’m required to sit in the debilitating, bright open office space, because it harms her reputation to not see, as she said, “butts in seats.” From then on I found myself occasionally booking entire conference rooms, locking them for up to 15 minutes, just to cry.

With no relief in sight, executive dysfunction fills in

One holiday season I was so distraught, I took two weeks off of work to escape to my long-distance partner in London without a second thought to my actual responsibilities, returning home to pay the rent a week late with a pissed-off roommate in my ear. I felt better in the moment, only to sabotage myself down the line.

By 2019 I had burned out completely. Dead-eyed and dissociating (or shall I said, “autistically regressing”), my managed insisted I take a week off to “reset.” I went to New York with my partner. My stomachaches and dissociation magically vanished for five glorious days, returning with a vengeance the weekend before returning to work. That’s when I finally realized something was horribly wrong.

They ended up hiring four new people to divide up the work I could no longer do, proving that I was, in fact, doing five different jobs at once for three years. But even with more space and fewer responsibilities, I was never the same after. I struggled to accomplish even basic tasks for several more years before I was finally “invited” to take my severance and bounce. By then I’d been to therapy, learned more about autism and the sensory accommodations I should have had, and hoped for a fresh start elsewhere.

If this were regular burnout, I’d have been okay after leaving this company. So why did it take until 2025 for me to finally start feeling like myself again?

In short, it wasn’t just the job. I also had the demands of my partner, my roommate, my friends, and everyday life. I had the needling feeling that I would never be good enough, the pressure to conform, to not embarrass anyone by being “weird” (also known as myself) in every social situation. Cutting out the worst offender lessened my stress, but it never quelled it.

At my next communications job, when I saw the same dynamics cropping up, the same slow isolation and inevitable machine-like scope creep of my responsibilities, I decided I was going to quit my job, sell almost everything I owned, rent a cheaper apartment, and drop out of every relationship that made me feel like a servant. (My full plan was to uproot my life and move to Europe, but wouldn’t you know it; that didn’t pan out!)

Am I broke now? Yes. Has my mental health considerably improved? Hell yes. If you’re gainfully employed I don’t recommend quitting your job without a backup plan, but I don’t regret taking the nuclear option.

“It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society;” by forcing myself to mask for hours a day, deal with constant sensory overload, and ignore my own body and mental health to make other people happy, I was girlbossing my way to an early grave.

How to recover from autistic burnout

The strongest and best cure for autistic burnout is prevention, so if you want to avoid autistic burnout altogether, look out for these warning signs:

• Struggling to maintain your hygiene and relationships
• Going outside at all begins to feel like a massive, unnecessary chore and/or terrifying
• Constantly looking for an escape from overstimulation (hyperfixating on hobbies and special interests, doom scrolling, sleeping too much or too little, dissociating)
• You can’t keep up with your regular lifestyle (forgetting to pay bills, do basic upkeep, finish assignments)

That said, if you too girlbossed too close to the sun, start by doing everything you can to slow the deluge of demands on you.

• Reduce sensory input as much as possible. Weighted blankets and headphones can help with reducing sensory input.
• Don’t be afraid to ask for support. If you have family who are able and willing to support you financially, be honest about your situation and ask for help before the situation becomes too untenable.
• Minimize spending and delegate any responsibilities you can. If you’re uncomfortable delegating, ask a bossy friend or family member (or better yet, DM me and I’ll be bossy for you!)
• Find an autistic therapist! My therapist saved my life. For Americans on a budget, there are free and low-cost clinicians out there on state-funded insurance plans.
• Find a local support group. Online is great, but community opens up in a really special way when you can find fellow NDs in your metro.
• Negotiate to work from home, or find an advocate or mentor who can help you.
• Get comfortable demanding accommodations. You likely have a special skill set that employers and academic programs would be honored to make us of, so don’t sell yourself short. Practice advocating for what you need early and often!

Autistic burnout is nasty work. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but it is preventable, and there’s a path to recovery even when you get caught up in it. Now that research and knowledge is readily available to avoid this hellscape entirely, you’ll never have to spend years of your life on healing like I did. But understanding the influences that cause burnout is key to creating supportive environments that reduce your susceptibility. Good luck out there!