Isobel Lepist //“I was diagnosed with Autism and ADHD at 52 – now I’m on a mission to help other women like me”

For most of her life, Stockport-based Isobel Lepist appeared calm, capable and quietly driven. Yet beneath the surface, everyday life often felt markedly more overwhelming, more confusing and more exhausting than it seemed to for those around her.

From early childhood to her senior roles in international organisations, she carried a deep sense that she was working twice as hard as others just to keep up, without ever understanding why. It wasn’t until just before her 53^rd birthday, when she was finally diagnosed with both Autism and ADHD, that those lifelong struggles began to make sense.

“The moment I started reading about ADHD and Autism in women, the hairs on my arms stood up. It was like someone had been watching my whole life and taking notes. Suddenly all the things I’d blamed myself for weren’t character flaws, they were neurodivergence.”

Now 55, the mum-of-one is sharing her story to help others, like her, who have spent years navigating life without answers, unaware their challenges have a name, and that support exists.

Growing up in the 1970s and 80s, Isobel’s differences were easy to overlook. She was the child who could draw to an exceptional standard at the age of six, and wrote a novel at nine, yet had no idea what the teacher was asking unless the classmate beside her quietly translated each instruction. Her curiosity and sensory seeking often led to memorable mishaps.

“I once took apart my mum’s leather court shoes with a seam ripper because I wanted to make a rounders ball. Another time I cut up our curtains with razor blades just to see how they were made, and I’d sit sticking needles into hot water bottles because the texture and sound were irresistible. Nobody realised it was sensory seeking, they just thought I was naughty.”

At school, the misunderstandings intensified. When she swept her maths book onto the floor in frustration, a teacher told her that “children who behave like this end up in prison”. From that moment on, any meltdown happened behind closed doors.

At nine, she lost her father suddenly. With limited emotional support and no framework for processing grief, she did what autistic girls so often do, masked harder, hid her feelings, and tried to appear unaffected.

“I didn’t know how to process it, so I acted as if nothing had happened. I genuinely thought my inability to cope was just me being ‘weird’.”

High school added new challenges for Isobel. She struggled to navigate the building unless she attached herself to a classmate. If she found herself alone, she hid in the toilets rather than arrive late after getting lost. School discos and Christmas parties were unbearable.

“It was my worst nightmare. The noise, the unpredictability, the pointlessness. I used to make myself sick just to avoid them.”

Adulthood mirrored many of these early difficulties. She misread intentions in relationships and found herself in unsafe situations. In the workplace, she excelled externally while privately feeling out of sync.

“Imagine walking into a global boardroom but internally feeling about 12-years-old. That’s what it was like. I mirrored the people around me so well that no one saw how much I was burning out behind the scenes.”

Despite this private turmoil, Isobel built a successful career in the global energy and logistics sectors. She worked across the UK, Berlin and The Hague, collaborated with more than 90 nationalities, and earned awards for innovation.

Daily life brought its own unseen obstacles. She wore the same clothes until they fell apart, ate the same foods for years, and often found supermarkets debilitating.

“I would walk out of ‘Big Tesco’ on the verge of tears, with none of the items I needed. Now I understand that was sensory overload, the lights, the noise, the choices. I now won’t go in without noise-cancelling headphones.”

Isobel describes herself as “a swift that never lands”, constantly moving to avoid the intensity of her internal monologue. Christmas was the rare exception, when she could lose herself for hours in thousand-piece jigsaws with old films playing in the background.

“I can remember exactly which part of the jigsaw I did during each scene. It’s one of the few times I can be still without feeling guilty.”

By 2023, worn down by decades of confusion, anxiety and overcompensation, Isobel began reading about ADHD in women. Within minutes, she recognised herself. Autism explained the rest.

In November 2023, she received a formal ADHD diagnosis, with clinicians confirming she also met criteria for Autism.

“I cried with relief and grief in equal measure. Relief because my life finally made sense. Grief because I’d spent so long thinking I was failing at things everyone else found easy.”

With clarity came a shift for Isobel. Rather than continue the career path she had known, Isobel recognised that her diagnosis had opened a new direction, one where she could use her lived experience to support others.

Isobel retrained as an ADHD coach and founded At the Millpond, supporting neurodivergent adults, mostly women aged 18–80, to build executive functioning skills, emotional regulation and self-understanding. Her work helps clients navigate time blindness, overwhelm, motivation, communication and sensory challenges, while also exploring the influence of sleep, hormones, trauma and environment.

“Many of my clients arrive feeling broken or scattered. Once they understand their brain, everything changes. They stop blaming themselves. They start building strategies that work for who they actually are, not who they’ve been pretending to be.”

Alongside coaching, Isobel consults with organisations on neuro-inclusive recruitment, workplace adjustments and leadership education, advocating for cultures where neurodivergent employees can thrive without masking or fear.

“There’s still a huge gap between what employers say about inclusion and what neurodivergent people actually experience. So many are burning out not because of their neurodivergence, but because the workplace isn’t designed for different brains.”

For Isobel, At the Millpond is both a new chapter and an act of realignment.

“I can’t change what I went through, but I can help make the path shorter and kinder for others. Coaching isn’t a luxury, for many, it’s the first time they’ve felt hope. And hope changes everything.”

For further information about At the Millpond and Isobel’s work, including ADHD coaching and neuro-inclusion consultancy, please visit www.AtTheMillpond.co.uk