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Conor Cunningham
Associate Professional Clinical Counselor (APCC)
Adult Assessment Support Specialist — Twice Exceptional & Late-Identified Adults
At a Glance
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Autistic, ADHD, and OCD — all three identified in adulthood, after decades of not knowing
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Assessed as a child and misread: high IQ became the explanation for everything else
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Twice exceptional — placed in Gifted and Talented Education (GATE), skipped a grade, and quietly struggled the whole way through
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Father of an autistic daughter diagnosed at three, now 20 and navigating college and driving
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Long-term recovery — more than five years, and a volunteer supporting people in early recovery since 2021
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Came to counseling after years in emergency response, hospital and laboratory settings, behavioral health, hospice, and blue-collar work
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Direct, plain-language, no jargon, and no expectation that you'll perform emotions on cue
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Trained in REBT, CBT, DBT, trauma-informed care, and certified in LIGHT therapy and hypnotherapy through UCSD
I Was Assessed at Six. They Got It Wrong.
My first-grade teacher noticed something before anyone else did. I was well-behaved, but I couldn't sit still at a desk when there was something more interesting happening across the room. I'd get up mid-lesson and go learn about whatever had caught my attention.
It wasn't long before I was in the school psychologist's office being asked whether school was boring. I remember thinking it was a trick question. Of course it was boring — there was so much else worth paying attention to.
What followed was months of testing. What came out of it was a high IQ score.
And from that moment on, every social and behavioral difference I'd ever shown got quietly filed under "smart."
Nobody looked any closer. The traits that would turn out, decades later, to be autism, ADHD, and OCD weren't just invisible — they were actively covered by academic performance. The assessment wasn't wrong, exactly. It just stopped at the first answer that made sense to the adults in the room.
That is why I do this work. An assessment can redirect the entire course of a person's life — for better or for worse. Mine did.
The Gifted Label That Hid Everything Else
There was no gifted program in my city yet, so the decision was made to move me ahead a grade. No preparation. No transition. Nobody asked whether I'd be able to handle it.
I was terrified. New material I had no idea how to do, a classroom full of kids I didn't know, and a fresh pile of expectations to live up to. That's where I learned to cheat my way through school rather than risk falling short — a habit that followed me for years.
My family later moved to a district that did have a Gifted and Talented Education program. More moves, more schools, more pressure to push through because it would "all be worth it someday." I got very good at compartmentalizing what I felt in service of achievement, and just as good at treating every trait that made me different as a personal failing to manage or hide.
That combination builds a strange, brittle kind of confidence — equal parts overconfidence and a deep, quiet fear of being inadequate.
If you were the gifted kid, you may recognize this. The label protected me and it cost me. It bought me approval while it hid the actual shape of my mind from everyone, including me. Twice exceptional adults are among the most frequently missed people in assessment, because the giftedness does the masking for you. You look like you're managing. Nobody counts what it takes.
What Happens When Nobody Looks Twice
I carried that for more than three decades. I didn't know why basic social interaction felt like decoding an alien language. I didn't know why the effort of being "normal" left me depleted, or why I needed so much recovery time alone. I assumed everyone else felt weird too, and was just better at hiding it.
I built masks for every context — one for school, one for work, one for family, one for the people closest to me. Each one was convincing, and each one took something from me. And I found ways to manage the weight of it that weren't good for me.
Things came apart before they came together. I went through periods without stable housing. I was hospitalized during a psychiatric crisis. I lost a child, which is a grief that doesn't leave and that clarifies very quickly what actually matters.
I say this plainly because I want you to understand the stakes of getting a real answer. What happened to me wasn't a character problem. It was the predictable outcome of being a neurodivergent man with no accurate understanding of himself and no support built for the way his brain actually worked.
I got sober. I've stayed sober for more than five years. I found recovery work and a faith community that steadied me. And then I finally got assessed properly, as an adult.
The Assessment That Finally Fit
When the autism, ADHD, and OCD diagnoses came in, my clarity exploded.
Not because I'd been handed a set of deficits, but because I'd finally been handed the actual architecture of who I am. The same wiring that made the masking so expensive is also the source of my focus, my precision, and my directness. Those aren't compensations for being autistic. They're part of it.
That's the difference between an assessment that categorizes you and one that explains you. One tells you what box you're in. The other hands you the manual you should have gotten decades ago.
If you've spent your life sensing that something about your experience doesn't match the story you were given about yourself — a "just anxious," a "just gifted," a "just lazy," a diagnosis that never quite fit — I'd take that instinct seriously. In my experience, people are usually right that something has been missed.
Watching My Daughter Get It Right the First Time
My daughter was diagnosed autistic at three, after a traumatic birth that left her globally developmentally delayed.
I watched her go through the early intervention system while I was still years away from understanding my own neurology. I fought for her services. I was her translator and her advocate. And what that taught me is something I now say out loud to every adult I work with: the institutions were not designed with either of us in mind. They were built for a neurotype most of us don't fit.
Once you actually know that, you can stop blaming yourself for not fitting — and start building what does serve you.
Our whole family collaborated to support her over the years, and she's now 20, in college, driving, and becoming herself. She's what early, accurate identification makes possible. She got at three what I got at forty-something. That contrast sits behind everything I do in an assessment room.
Why I Take Assessment So Seriously
I bring the same care to your assessment that I wish someone had brought to mine: curious rather than reductive, thorough rather than convenient, and focused on giving you the clearest possible picture of how your own mind actually works.
That means I don't stop at the first plausible explanation. I look for what a lifetime of masking, compensating, and high performance may be hiding — especially in gifted adults, in people who have been in and out of the mental health system with diagnoses that never quite landed, and in people whose neurodivergence has been tangled up with substance use, trauma, or crisis.
I work from a neurodivergent-affirming, non-pathologizing lens. I'm not evaluating you against how well you perform being neurotypical. I'm trying to describe what's actually there.
Who I Work With
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Adults exploring whether they're autistic, ADHD, or AuDHD — diagnosed or self-identified
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Twice exceptional adults whose giftedness masked their neurodivergence for decades
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Adults who were assessed as children and given an answer that missed the point
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Late-identified adults processing the relief and the grief that arrive together
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Adults with co-occurring autism, ADHD, OCD, and anxiety trying to work with their neurology instead of against it
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People in recovery from substance use who are discovering the neurodivergence underneath it
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Men navigating late diagnosis, masking exhaustion, and rebuilding after things fell apart
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Parents who are pursuing their own answers while advocating for a neurodivergent child
What to Expect in Session
I'm direct. Sessions are conversational but structured. I'll ask you specific questions, and I'll listen to how you actually answer them — not how I expect you to answer them.
You don't need to edit yourself or soften your communication style. If you're literal, we'll work in literal terms. If you need time to process, I'll give you that time. Movement, fidgeting, reduced eye contact, and written summaries are all fine here.
Neurodivergent accommodation isn't extra. It's baseline. I will never ask you to function as a neurotypical person in this room.
"Unmasking doesn't mean you suddenly become neurotypical. It means you stop setting yourself on fire to keep everyone else warm."
Assessment Specialties
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Autism and ADHD assessment support for adults with long masking histories
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Twice-exceptional assessment — gifted adults whose neurodivergence was filed under "smart"
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AuDHD and complex, overlapping presentations
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Adults previously assessed, misdiagnosed, or given an incomplete answer in childhood
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Co-occurring OCD, anxiety, and trauma alongside autism and ADHD
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Neurodivergence discovered through or alongside substance use recovery
Personal Background
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Associate Professional Clinical Counselor (APCC) #19221 — California Board of Behavioral Sciences
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All sessions are virtual. I work with therapy and assessment clients in California, and coach clients worldwide.
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Supervised by Dr. Harry Motro, #53452
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Employed by New Path Family of Therapy Centers
Education:
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Master of Science, Clinical Mental Health Counseling — Walden University
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Bachelor of Arts, Human Services — Columbia College
Clinical Training & Modalities:
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REBT, CBT, DBT, Trauma-Informed Care, Somatic-Informed, Motivational Interviewing, Substance Use Disorder Treatment, Neurodivergent-Affirming Practice
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LIGHT Certification (Light-Induced Guided Healing Therapy) — UCSD
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Hypnotherapist Certification — UCSD