Embracing the peaks, the valleys, and the power of spiky neurocognitive profiles

Reading time: 6 minutes

Have you ever found yourself feeling like two different people in the same day: hyper-focused and inspired one minute, frozen and unable to function the next? Maybe you can deep-dive into a topic with laser focus for hours, but forget basic things like eating, replying to a text, or what day it is.

If that resonates, there’s a good chance you’re living with what psychologists call a “spiky neurocognitive profile”, a term that might sound clinical, but describes a very real and human experience for many autistics and ADHDers.

Rather than having “evenly distributed” cognitive abilities across all areas, people with spiky profiles experience dramatic highs and lows. Think of it like a jagged mountain range: towering peaks of strength alongside valleys of challenge. These are indicators of a brain that processes the world in its own vivid, nonlinear, and deeply personal way.

This post is about naming that reality. Not to fix it. Not to flatten it. But to understand and embrace it with strategy, compassion, and pride.

Why “Spiky” Isn’t a Flaw

In a society that prizes “well-roundedness” and consistency, living with a spiky neurocognitive profile can feel like a constant mismatch. You might be told you’re “too sensitive,” “too intense,” or “not living up to your potential.” But the real issue is that the world wasn’t built for your kind of brilliance.

These profiles mean you can excel in certain areas. Perhaps you write with startling clarity, have a photographic memory, or intuitively understand systems and emotions. But you may also struggle intensely with executive function, sensory input, or navigating unspoken social rules.

This variability can be frustrating, especially when others only see your peaks and assume the valleys are laziness or lack of effort. But spiky neurocognitive profiles are less a design flaw than a different design altogether.

In fact, they reflect how many neurodivergent brains are wired to function. The peaks often show us where our values, interests, and deepest motivations lie. The valleys often point to where we need support, accommodations, or healing from environments that misunderstood us.

So instead of asking, “Why am I like this?” maybe we can start asking, “What is this trying to show me?”

The Gifts in the Peaks

For those of us with spiky neurocognitive profiles, the peaks are often areas where our brains light up, our confidence kicks in, and our sense of flow comes alive.

Autistics, for example, are often hyper-systematizers: deeply attuned to structure and patterns across a wide range of domains. This might show up in how we organize physical spaces, decode emotional dynamics, or pick up on language cues that others miss.

This connects with another peak: deliberative thinking. Many autistics process slowly and thoroughly. We don’t rush to conclusions; we sit with complexity, ask hard questions, and make decisions rooted in depth, not impulse.

Then there’s hyper-empathy, an often-overlooked peak in both ADHDers and autistics. You might feel someone’s sadness before they say a word. You might weep at commercials or carry the emotional residue of a friend’s pain long after the conversation ends.

And let’s not forget authenticity. Many of us—especially those who’ve stopped masking or never learned to—communicate with refreshing honesty. We tell it like it is because we value truth.

When nurtured, these gifts transform relationships, workplaces, and communities. But to fully harness them, we have to stop apologizing for them. We have to name them for what they are: gifts, not glitches.

The Weight of the Valleys

For every dazzling peak in a spiky neurocognitive profile, there’s often a corresponding valley; a space where things just feel stuck, heavy, or impossible.

Imagine trying to start a simple task—like sending an email or getting out of bed—but feeling like your body and brain are locked in place. You want to do the thing. You know it’s important. But the initiation switch just won’t flip. That’s executive dysfunction.

For ADHDers, this might look like chronic procrastination, time blindness, or bouncing between tasks without completing any of them. For autistics, it might show up as inertia; feeling trapped in a routine or frozen when a plan changes unexpectedly. Both profiles can lead to intense emotional fallout, especially when tasks pile up and shame kicks in.

And speaking of shame, valleys are often made heavier not by the experience itself, but by the story we tell about it. “I should be able to do this.” “Everyone else can.” “What’s wrong with me?” These thoughts are the voice of internalized ableism, echoing years of societal messaging that says productivity equals worth.

In environments that don’t understand spiky neurocognitive profiles, our valleys get misread—labeled as defiance, disorganization, irresponsibility. And when we’re told those labels often enough, we start to believe them ourselves.

We end up in a vicious cycle: hit a valley → blame ourselves → push harder → burn out → repeat.

Breaking this cycle starts with understanding: your valleys are not moral failings. They are invitations. Signals. Areas where your brain is asking for scaffolding, not shame.

And when those valleys are supported with compassion—internally and externally—they inform you. They help you understand how your brilliant, complex, nonlinear brain truly works.

The Role of Context

If you take nothing else from this post, let it be this: spiky neurocognitive profiles exist in context.

Imagine trying to thrive as a visual thinker in a noisy, chaotic office with constant interruptions. Or navigating a rigid school system as a multi-passionate ADHDer who learns best through movement and exploration. Now imagine being told your struggles in those environments are a personal failing. Sound familiar?

When your peaks are unsupported and your valleys are misunderstood, life starts to feel like one long uphill battle. But it’s not your brain that’s the problem—it’s the fit.

This is where the social model of disability comes in. It tells us that people are disabled by environments that fail to accommodate their brains and bodies. And that changes everything.

Because instead of asking, “Why can’t I function like everyone else?” we start to ask, “What would help me function like myself?”

For a sensory-sensitive autistic in a loud workspace, accommodations like noise-canceling headphones, soft lighting, or a private office can make the difference between survival and thriving.

For an ADHDer student, allowing assignments to be submitted in creative formats—or offering flexible deadlines—can unlock passion and performance that rigid systems suppress.

These are acts of equity that level the playing field so our actual abilities can shine.

But when accommodations are denied—or when we internalize the belief that we shouldn’t need them—we start contorting ourselves to fit the system. We mask. We overperform. We burn out. And the longer we do it, the more it chips away at our self-worth.

This is why understanding the role of context is so crucial. It lets us shift from blaming ourselves to advocating for ourselves.

So the next time you find yourself stuck in a valley or struggling in a space that doesn’t make sense, ask: Is it me? Or is it the room I’m being asked to perform in?

Often, the answer will be loud and clear: it’s the room.

Reclaiming Your Profile with Compassion

Once you begin to recognize that your brain is not broken—but different—the path forward changes. You stop trying to “fix” your spiky neurocognitive profile, and start learning how to live with it. That’s what reclaiming looks like.

It begins with reframing. Instead of seeing yourself as inconsistent, start seeing yourself as specialized. You have a brain that excels in specific domains and struggles in others, not unlike an elite athlete who dominates their sport but needs a coach, nutritionist, and physical therapist to function at their best.

Your needs aren’t extra. They’re real. And they deserve to be met.

Start asking yourself gentler, more curious questions:

• Instead of “Why can’t I do this simple thing?”, try “What’s getting in the way for my brain right now?”
• Instead of “I should be able to focus!”, ask “What does my focus need in this moment—novelty, structure, or rest?”
• Instead of “I’m just not good at adulting,” try “What tools could help this part of adulting work better for me?”

Once you reframe, you can strategize with supportive scaffolding that honors your profile.

If you hyper-focus, build in guardrails like timers, hydration reminders, visual breaks. If you’re multi-passionate, give yourself permission to move through seasons. You don’t have to pick one forever thing. You just have to pick the next right thing.

If executive dysfunction trips you up daily, start externalizing your memory: sticky notes, visual checklists, recurring alarms, “launch pads” by the front door. Ask for body-doubling or gentle accountability.

And if you’re feeling the burn of internalized ableism—the voice that whispers, You’re just making excuses. You should be able to do more—pause. Breathe. Then say back: “I deserve to feel safe, even when I’m struggling.”

That’s how we begin to reclaim the narrative. We name the reality of our spiky profiles without shame. We meet our needs without apology.

Final Thoughts

Living with a spiky neurocognitive profile means carrying contrasts within you: being both wildly capable and deeply overwhelmed, often in the same day. It’s confusing, exhausting, and yes, sometimes painful.

The fact the world wasn’t designed for spiky brains means the systems around you need to grow. And as you start to understand your profile—where the peaks are sharpest, where the valleys dip lowest—you build a kind of inner map. A guide for thriving on your own terms.

Gradually, you can learn to honor the truth of how you function, how you flourish, and what you need to feel whole.

So if you take anything from this post, let it be this: your profile is a way of being that deserves care, not correction.

Do you recognize parts of yourself in this post? Do you experience the peaks and valleys of a spiky neurocognitive profile?