Autism & ADHD in Girls: The Ones We Keep Missing
If you have a daughter who walks through the front door after school and immediately dissolves into tears, or shuts herself in her room, or clings to you without knowing why — you’re not imagining it. This is one of the clearest patterns in autistic and ADHD girls. They don’t usually fall apart in front of their teacher or their classmates. They hold it together until they reach the one place where they can finally let their body drop.
And that moment — the crash — tells you more than any school report ever will.
The “Good Girl” Everyone Sees
At school, many neurodivergent girls are described with the same glowing phrases: well-behaved, polite, helpful, mature. They’re the child teachers rely on, the one who never causes trouble, the one who quietly gets on with things.
But “good” can be a mask, not a measurement.
While everyone else sees a girl who copes beautifully, home becomes the place where her overwhelm finally speaks. The tears, the irritability, the clinginess, the sudden silence — these aren’t signs of weakness. They’re signs of effort. Signs that she has spent an entire day trying to fit into a world that feels too loud, too busy, too unpredictable.
Masking: The Skill Nobody Teaches, But So Many Girls Learn
Masking is something girls fall into instinctively. They’re often highly observant, so they learn early on to study what other children do and copy it. They watch how their classmates laugh, how they join games, how they answer questions, how they greet the teacher. And slowly, they build a little script for themselves.
It’s not deception. It’s survival.
And it works — until the moment it doesn’t. Because masking uses a tremendous amount of energy. It’s mentally and emotionally exhausting, and it often leaves these girls completely wiped out by the end of the day. Parents see the raw version of the child the school never sees — because home is the only place where she feels safe enough to let go.
You can often recognise masking in the tiny things: the girl who seems cheerful all day but cries in the car; the girl who looks social but tells you friendships feel confusing; the girl who follows instructions perfectly at school, then shuts down over simple homework because her brain has nothing left to give.
Why So Many Girls Go Undetected
One of the biggest reasons girls get missed is that people expect autism and ADHD to look big and obvious. They expect disruption, hyperactivity, or intense, unusual interests. But girls often present quietly. Their interests look normal — animals, reading, baking, crafting — but they dive into them with a depth and intensity that’s easy to overlook.
They don’t often show distress outwardly. Instead, they internalise. Worry becomes their default setting. A tree slipping in the wind can set their stomach turning. A raised eyebrow from the teacher can linger for days. They’re not being dramatic — they’re carrying far more emotional information than most people realise.
Friendships can be especially tricky. On the surface, they might look social. But many girls feel like they’re guessing at invisible rules, or trying desperately to keep up with the emotional shifts of peer groups. They may feel lost even while smiling. They may cling tightly to one friend, or become the helper, the peacemaker, the girl who takes on everyone else’s feelings just to stay included.
And often, they do well enough academically to stay just under the radar. Not because school is easy — but because they’re afraid of failing, afraid of being seen as “too much”, afraid of letting anyone down.
For Parents: How to Support Her Softly and Steadily
What helps most is recognising that school takes more out of her than it takes out of other children. Not because she’s less capable — but because every social cue, every sound, every instruction, every group interaction requires more energy.
So the first thing she needs when she gets home is a soft landing. Sometimes that looks like a quiet room, a snack, a warm bath, or just being left alone for a little while. Sometimes it looks like curling up next to you on the couch and doing absolutely nothing. Sometimes it’s tears that come out of nowhere. Let them come. It’s release, not misbehaviour.
Let home be the place where she doesn’t have to perform. You don’t need to rush to fix anything. You don’t need to ask her to explain herself. Just giving her permission to be tired and telling her she is safe is often enough to let her body reset.
You can also help by gently naming the things she doesn’t yet have words for. “It felt too loud today,” or “That was a lot for your body,” or “It makes sense that you’re tired — school was full of people and instructions and noise.” These simple reflections help her understand her own experience with kindness instead of shame.
And if school says she’s perfectly fine? Trust what you see at home. Teachers see a snapshot. You see the whole child.
The Friendship Layer
Girls often tie their sense of worth to their friendships. For neurodivergent girls, friendships can be incredibly rewarding but also incredibly draining. They may become the child who comforts everyone but has no one who truly understands her. Or they may attach themselves intensely to one friend and feel lost when that dynamic shifts — which it inevitably does in childhood.
Helping her navigate this gently — by explaining emotional boundaries, giving her language to ask for space, and teaching her that not everyone’s feelings are her responsibility — can make an enormous difference. She’s not being clingy or dramatic. She’s trying to find her place in a system that feels confusing.
The Quiet Work of Believing Her
Perhaps the most important support you can give her is simply believing what she tells you — even when it contradicts what adults outside the home see. If she says it was too loud, too fast, too confusing, or too much, trust that she’s telling you the truth of her body and brain.
Children rarely have the words for overwhelm. They show us through behaviour. And behaviour is always communication.
What Happens When We Truly See Her
When a girl grows up being seen — properly, gently, without judgement — she doesn’t have to carry the same load into adolescence and adulthood that so many undiagnosed girls end up carrying. She grows up with an understanding of her needs instead of a fear that she’s somehow failing. She learns that rest is not a weakness, sensitivity is not a flaw, and asking for space is not “being difficult”.
She begins to grow into herself, not away from herself.
And that shift — that single moment of recognition — can change the entire shape of her childhood.
About the Author
Nicola Killops is a South African writer and neurodivergent-education specialist. She has spent many years supporting families, teachers, and young people — both professionally and through her own lived experience as the mother of a neurodivergent son. Nicola’s work focuses on helping parents recognise the quieter signs in girls and offering practical, compassionate ways to support them at home and at school.
