Autism/ADHD

We need ADHD medication parity NOW

Essy Knopf Leave a comment
Essy Knopf ADHD medication
Reading time: 2 minutes

Accessing ADHD medication isn’t just about filling a prescription—it’s a constant battle. Unlike many other mental health challenges where medications are more readily available, ADHD medication is burdened with extra hoops to jump through. These barriers disproportionately affect those who rely on stimulant medications, leaving many without the treatment they need to function.

The process is exhausting: prior authorizations, frequent refill requirements, and the stigma surrounding stimulant medications all contribute to the problem. Add to that the ongoing stimulant shortage, and what should be a simple, routine healthcare matter becomes a frustrating and even disabling ordeal.

ADHD Medication Shortages: A Crisis with No End in Sight

For several years now, the U.S. has been experiencing a shortage of medication like Adderall and Ritalin. The reasons are complex, involving manufacturing limits, increased demand, and regulatory constraints. But the outcome is simple: ADHDers are left scrambling to find their prescribed medication, often having to switch to alternatives that may not work as well or even going without entirely.

Imagine needing medication daily to function, only to be told month after month that your pharmacy is out. For many, this can lead to worsened executive dysfunction and a severe drop in quality of life.

Insurance and Prescription Barriers

Even when ADHD medication is available, insurance restrictions can create additional roadblocks. Many ADHDers must navigate:

  • Prior authorizations, where doctors have to prove the necessity of ADHD medication before insurance covers it.
  • Quantity limits, requiring multiple pharmacy visits for a single prescription.
  • Frequent reassessments, even for adults who have had a stable diagnosis for years.

These barriers assume that ADHD medication is inherently more dangerous or prone to abuse than other mental health treatments, reinforcing stigma and making care unnecessarily difficult.

The Call for ADHD Medication Parity

Other mental health conditions do not face these same restrictions. If someone with anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder can access their medication without excessive red tape, why should ADHDers be treated differently?

Parity means equal treatment. It means that ADHD medication should be covered and dispensed as easily as any other psychiatric medication. It means that stimulant shortages should be taken seriously as a public health issue, not dismissed as a minor inconvenience.

Essy Knopf ADHD medication access challenges

What Can We Do?

The fight for ADHD medication parity starts with awareness and advocacy. Here’s how we can push for change:

  • Call on policymakers to enforce parity laws and remove unnecessary restrictions on ADHD medication.
  • Raise awareness about the impact of ADHD medication shortages and advocate for improved pharmaceutical regulations.
  • Support ADHD advocacy organizations that work to improve healthcare access for neurodivergents.

Final Thoughs

If you’ve struggled to access ADHD medication, you’re not alone. It’s time for healthcare systems to recognize ADHD as a legitimate medical challenge deserving of equal treatment. Let’s demand ADHD medication parity—because no one should have to fight this hard for basic care.

Autism/ADHD Identity

The cost of conformity: What my sci-fi novel reveals about neurodivergent masking

Essy Knopf Leave a comment
Essy Knopf neurodivergent masking
Reading time: 3 minutes

What if survival meant becoming someone else—every thought filtered, every gesture rehearsed, every word chosen to match what others expect of you?

That’s the world Shayan lives in. He’s the protagonist of Nepo, my new YA sci-fi novel. But for many of us—especially those of us who are autistic or ADHD—it’s not fiction. It’s our lived experience.

Nepo is the book I needed as a teen. It’s also the book I needed as an undiagnosed neurodivergent (ND) adult—someone trying desperately to understand why the world felt like it wasn’t made for me.

The Mask We Wear to Survive

Like many NDs, I learned early that being “different” meant being misunderstood. I walked funny. I spoke differently. I was obsessed with bugs, then words, then fiction. Social cues felt like an invisible game with constantly changing rules—and I was always one move behind.

I learned to mask. Masking meant smiling when I was in sensory overload. It meant pretending not to care when I was excluded. It meant hiding the parts of me that didn’t “fit.”

So when I sat down to write Nepo, I wasn’t just creating a sci-fi story—I was creating a mirror. One where a character like Shayan, forced to perform for his survival, could give voice to something deeply personal: the unbearable weight of never being allowed to just be.

From Hollywood Glamor to Dystopian Control

I spent seven years in Los Angeles, working in film and media. I saw the curated personas, the constant pressure to stay “on brand.” Celebrities weren’t just people—they were products.

That’s what inspired Nepo‘s world. Shayan isn’t just any clone—he’s bred to replicate a long-dead Hollywood icon. His every move is scripted. One misstep, and he’s discarded.

Fame in Nepo is a cage. And for NDs, the pressure to perform—to meet neurotypical (NT) standards—is often a cage, too. One lined not with gold, but with shame, anxiety, and burnout.

A Future That Feels Familiar: Enter Neuropunk

I call Nepo “neuropunk.” It’s a subgenre I’m helping shape—one that centers ND experiences in speculative fiction. Think cyberpunk, but instead of focusing on tech, neuropunk focuses on how ND minds resist systems built to control or erase them.

In Nepo, society is split between the privileged “enclavers” and the oppressed “endis”—a mostly neurodivergent underclass whose labor sustains the city but whose identities are erased.

It’s dystopian, yes. But let’s be honest—it’s not far from reality.

Shayan’s Realization: The Egg Cracks

Shayan doesn’t know he’s “endi.” He just knows he feels…wrong. Like something doesn’t add up. That feeling of disconnection? Of not knowing why you’re always the odd one out? That’s familiar to many ND readers.

Eventually, Shayan discovers the truth—he’s not broken. He’s just different. ND.

It’s the “egg crack” moment. The moment so many of us experience when we finally get the language to describe our brain. When the mask starts to slip and we realize—maybe we never needed it in the first place.

That realization is liberating. But it’s also complicated. Because unmasking doesn’t erase years of shame. It doesn’t instantly rebuild your identity. And it doesn’t stop the world from demanding conformity.

Masking Hurts—But So Does Being Real

One of the questions Nepo asks is: What happens when the mask becomes who you are?

That’s what makes masking so insidious. Over time, it erodes our self-concept. We lose track of where the performance ends and where we begin. We internalize the idea that our real selves are unacceptable. That survival means self-erasure.

I’ve seen this pain in my clients. I’ve lived it myself.

And I wanted Nepo to hold space for that grief. To say: You’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re reacting to a world that hasn’t made space for you.

Storytelling as Resistance

Speculative fiction gives us the distance we need to tell the truth.

Nepo isn’t just about one clone’s rebellion. It’s about systemic oppression, identity, and the radical act of self-acceptance. It’s about choosing authenticity in a world that punishes it.

And at the heart of the story is a plea: Let us be real. Let us be whole. Let us be seen.

Representation That Goes Beyond Stereotypes

I didn’t see myself in books growing up. Autistic characters, if they existed, were usually emotionless geniuses or comic relief. Rarely were they nuanced, messy, real.

I wrote Nepo for the readers like me. For the weird kids. The hyper-focused teens. The stimmers. The ones who got in trouble for being “too much.” The ones who’ve spent years trying to figure out why they feel alien on their own planet.

Shayan isn’t a trope. He’s a full person—conflicted, hopeful, and worthy of belonging. Because all of us are.

A Free Gift (And a Small Request)

If this story resonates with you, I’m offering Nepo as a free digital download for a limited time. All I ask is that you leave a review—let me know what spoke to you, what challenged you, what stayed with you.

I wrote Nepo because I believe stories can heal. And I hope it helps you feel just a little more seen, understood, and unmasked.

Have you ever felt like your life was a performance? Have you had your own “egg crack” moment?

Autism/ADHD Identity

A psychologist compared my autism to a fatal condition

Essy Knopf Leave a comment
Essy Knopf ableism psychologist
Reading time: 3 minutes

When I decided to pursue an autism diagnosis, I was hoping for clarity, self-understanding, and maybe even a bit of support. What I wasn’t expecting was to have my neurodivergence compared to a fatal, degenerative disease.

The psychologist I spoke with didn’t offer validation or encouragement. Instead, he presented a hypothetical scenario involving Huntington’s disease, a terminal neurological condition. “Would you even want to know?” he asked, as if discovering I was autistic would be akin to receiving a death sentence.

My stomach sank. I wasn’t calling for a philosophical debate—I was trying to book an appointment for my autism diagnosis.

The Harm of Medical Ableism

Experiences like mine are, unfortunately, not uncommon. Many autistics face skepticism, dismissal, and outright ableism from medical professionals when seeking an autism diagnosis, especially later in life. This can take the form of:

  • Gatekeeping autism diagnoses by making the process unnecessarily difficult or discouraging individuals from seeking answers.
  • Invalidating autistic experiences by questioning the legitimacy of self-identification or framing autism as an inherently negative condition.
  • Perpetuating harmful stereotypes that paint autism as a tragedy rather than a natural variation of neurodivergence.

The psychologist’s comparison to Huntington’s disease wasn’t just offensive—it was wildly inaccurate. Autism is not a degenerative illness. It is not a death sentence. It is a different way of experiencing and interacting with the world. Yet, the way some medical professionals handle autism diagnoses can make it feel like a burden rather than an empowering revelation.

Why an Autism Diagnosis Matters

For many, receiving an autism diagnosis is not about seeking a label—it’s about gaining access to understanding, accommodations, and community. Knowing I was autistic allowed me to:

  • Identify my sensory sensitivities and social communication differences as valid, rather than as personal failings.
  • Advocate for my own needs in work and social settings.
  • Connect with other autistics who shared similar experiences.

Not knowing, on the other hand, often leads to years of struggling with unidentified challenges, self-doubt, and unnecessary hardship. An autism diagnosis can be a transformative moment, allowing individuals to understand their experiences in a new light.

The Importance of Perseverance

After my frustrating encounter, I didn’t give up. I kept calling around until I found a professional who was willing to listen. Eventually, I got my autism diagnosis—and it was life-changing. It validated what I had known deep down but had struggled to articulate.

If you are seeking an autism diagnosis and face similar roadblocks, don’t let one dismissive professional deter you. Your experiences are real, and your struggles deserve recognition. Keep pushing forward. The right support exists—you just have to find it.

Essy Knopf benefits autism diagnosis

The Need for Change

That said, medical professionals must do better. They need to:

  • Approach autism diagnoses with compassion and respect.
  • Recognize that autistics are the best experts on their own experiences.
  • Dispel outdated, harmful misconceptions about autism.

Autistics shouldn’t have to fight for their autism diagnoses, nor should they be made to feel like their existence is a tragedy. Neurodivergence is a part of human diversity, and it’s time the medical field treated it as such.

Final Thoughts

An autism diagnosis is not a label—it is a tool for empowerment. It helps autistic people navigate the world with greater understanding and access to the support they need. By fostering a more inclusive and neuroaffirming approach, medical professionals can ensure that autistics are met with dignity, respect, and the care they deserve.

If you have been met with resistance or ignorance in your pursuit of an autism diagnosis, know that your experience is valid. Your struggles are real, and you are not alone. Keep advocating for yourself, seek out supportive professionals, and remember—your neurodivergence is not a flaw. It is a part of who you are, and you deserve to be seen and heard.

Have you faced challenges in getting an autism diagnosis? Share your story in the comments.

Autism/ADHD Identity Wellbeing

Why I hate going outside as an autistic ADHDer

Essy Knopf Leave a comment
Essy Knopf sensory overload
Reading time: 2 minutes

For many autistics and ADHDers, stepping outside isn’t a simple task—it’s an exercise in endurance. From unpredictable noises to overwhelming crowds, the world outside can be exhausting and even painful. Here’s why sensory overwhelm makes going out so difficult, and how it impacts daily life.

The Unseen Battle of Going Outside

For neurotypicals, stepping outside might seem effortless. For me, it’s a calculated risk. The moment I leave my house, I brace myself for a wave of sensory overwhelm—the bright, flickering lights, honking cars, and the endless chatter of people.

It’s not just annoying. It’s exhausting.

Every sound, smell, and visual detail seems to crash into my brain at once, with no filter. My ADHD means I struggle to tune out irrelevant stimuli, and my autism makes everything feel too much, too fast, too loud. The result? I burn out before I even reach my destination.

The Chaos of Public Spaces

Public spaces are an unpredictable sensory minefield. One moment, I’m fine. The next, a sudden noise—an ambulance siren, a child screaming, or harsh sunlight—sends my nervous system into overdrive.

Shops, train stations, and crowded streets all come with their own brand of overstimulation. The sheer number of people moving unpredictably about can be stressinducing.

I’m constantly on edge, trying to manage the discomfort while also masking—pretending I’m “fine” so I don’t stand out. But masking takes energy, and before long, I’m mentally and physically drained.

The Exhaustion of Social Expectations

Going outside also means navigating unspoken social rules. Eye contact, small talk, dodging people on sidewalks—it’s all an exhausting mental game. Unlike neurotypicals, who instinctively follow these social norms, I have to consciously process every interaction.

If I miscalculate—speak too bluntly, react too slowly, or misread a situation—I risk being judged. The stress of trying to “act normal” adds another layer of exhaustion on top of the sensory overwhelm.

Managing neurodivergent sensory needs

Why Staying Inside Feels Safer

At home, I control my environment. I can keep the lighting soft, the noise minimal, and avoid unpredictable social interactions. There’s no pressure to mask, no overwhelming sensory input, and no need to constantly adjust to a world that wasn’t built for me.

But the downside? Isolation. Avoiding the outside world means missing out on experiences, friendships, and opportunities. It’s a constant tug-of-war between self-preservation and the desire to engage with life.

Finding Ways to Cope

While I can’t change the world, I can adapt. Here are a few ways I manage:

  • Noise-canceling headphones – Blocking out overwhelming sounds helps me focus and stay calm.
  • Sunglasses or tinted lenses – Bright lights are a major trigger, so I reduce the strain however I can.
  • Planned outings – Knowing exactly where I’m going, when, and for how long helps me prepare mentally.
  • Sensory-friendly breaks – Finding quiet spaces to recharge mid-trip prevents burnout.

Final Thoughts

Going outside as an autistic/ADHDer isn’t a simple task—it’s a sensory endurance test. From chaotic public spaces to social expectations, every outing requires energy that I don’t always have.

If you relate to this struggle, know you’re not alone. It’s okay to set boundaries, to take breaks, and to advocate for environments that support neurodivergent needs. When feeling dysregulated, consider trying some of these self-care techniques.

Do you experience sensory overwhelm when going outside? How do you cope? Let’s talk in the comments!