When Skills Slip and Words Fail: Understanding Autistic Burnout
Over the past three years, I have learned more about myself than I ever thought possible.
Discovering that I am autistic and have ADHD completely shifted how I live and interact with the world. I have learned to say no, set boundaries, and honor my needs. I have worked hard to create an autistic-friendly life — one where I can thrive, not just survive.
Moving to Oklahoma from my hometown in Georgia was transformative. For the first time, I realized I could live independently. I grocery shopped, cooked, went to the gym, and even ate out on my own. I proved to myself that I could sustain my life alone — a skill I had long doubted. That independence was hard-earned, and I am proud of it.
Since moving to Utah, however, I have felt immobilized. I rarely leave the house outside of the gym or grocery store, and the mountains I had imagined exploring often feel unreachable. The heat is overwhelming, and without a structured daily routine that forces me to act independently, I find myself retreating. I feel like I have regressed. All the progress I made through years of therapy seems to have vanished.
It was in my weekly neurodivergent support group that I first heard the term “skill regression.” Someone mentioned experiencing it during severe autistic burnout. Suddenly, it clicked. This is what I have been feeling. Skill regression is not failure. It is a temporary reduction in abilities caused by stress, exhaustion, or environmental change. It explains why tasks that once felt easy, like communicating in a group, now feel impossible.
Speaking, whether in a support group, class, or social setting, can trigger a freeze I cannot control. I want to speak, to share, but the words do not come. My thoughts feel taped or sealed, and the frustration and sadness of being unable to express myself builds inside. I feel like a shaken-up Coke bottle, full of pressure but unable to release it.
Now, I realize this is not laziness or social anxiety. It is a nervous system response shaped by years of masking, trauma, and fear of being devalued. I worry that I will speak incoherently, too long-windedly, or be perceived as inept. These fears are rooted in childhood experiences where my existence and voice often went unnoticed.
Even writing this is difficult. I have spent decades minimizing myself, editing every word, and fearing judgment. It is no surprise that communication feels nearly impossible at times. This is not a moral failing; it is my brain and body protecting themselves during overload.
Understanding skill regression and communication freeze has been liberating. It allows me to reframe these struggles not as personal shortcomings, but as temporary, situational responses. Recovery is possible. Independence can return. Communication can return. For now, it is enough to recognize the patterns, be patient with myself, and honor my limits.
For anyone who feels their skills slipping or struggles to speak even when they want to, know this: you are not failing. You are experiencing a protective, temporary state your brain and body use to survive overwhelming conditions. Understanding it is the first step toward reclaiming your voice, your confidence, and your independence.
Practical Takeaways:
Recognize and name the experience: labeling it as “skill regression” or “communication freeze” can reduce self-blame.
Honor your limits: retreat or rest when needed, and give yourself permission to avoid social pressure.
Use small, low-demand settings to practice communication and rebuild confidence.
Plan ahead for challenging situations: scripts, time limits, and predictable routines can reduce anxiety.
Celebrate small successes: leaving the house, speaking up once, or completing a task are signs of progress.
Come as you are, take what you need. I’ll be here.
