Every few years a study comes along that quietly shifts the ground beneath psychiatry. Not with a headline like “We’ve found the ADHD gene” (we haven’t), but with something more unsettling:
| What if the way we divide mental health conditions doesn’t match how the brain actually works?
A recent Nature paper did exactly that. It analysed genetic data from over a million people, across 14 psychiatric conditions, and asked a deceptively simple question:
What is shared, and what is truly distinct?
The answer was… uncomfortable. In a good way.
The big finding (without the jargon)
Instead of finding neat genetic boxes for ADHD, autism, depression, anxiety, schizophrenia, and so on, the researchers found layers of overlap.
They identified five broad genetic dimensions that explain most of the inherited risk across these conditions:
- A Neurodevelopmental dimension (ADHD, autism, Tourette’s)
- An Internalizing dimension (depression, anxiety, PTSD)
- A Compulsive dimension (OCD, anorexia, tics)
- A Substance-use dimension
- A Psychosis–bipolar dimension
On top of that sits a general vulnerability factor—often called the “p-factor”—which reflects how easily a nervous system tips into distress, dysregulation, or mental ill-health overall.
The striking part?
For most conditions, the majority of genetic risk was shared, not unique.
In plain terms:
The brain doesn’t seem to care much about our diagnostic boundaries.
So… is ADHD really a “thing”?
Yes. And also no.
(Stay with me.)
ADHD clearly shows up as part of a neurodevelopmental pattern. It shares deep genetic roots with autism and Tourette’s, especially around early brain development, attention regulation, and timing.
But ADHD doesn’t sit in isolation. It often overlaps with:
- anxiety,
- mood difficulties,
- substance use,
- compulsive traits.
Not because people are “collecting diagnoses”, but because these traits emerge from overlapping biological systems.
This is where the informal idea of “AuDHD” starts to make sense—not as a trend, but as a reflection of reality. Many people don’t have “ADHD or autism”; they have a configuration that draws from both.
Why this matters (especially for adults)
If you were diagnosed late—or not at all—you may already know this intuitively.
You might recognise yourself in ADHD descriptions and autistic ones, without fully fitting either box. Or you might respond brilliantly to one treatment and terribly to another, even though you share a label with someone else.
The study helps explain why.
Instead of neat categories, think dimensions. Think gradients. Think patterns.
A different way of seeing it: the “hologram”
Here’s the metaphor I find most useful.
Imagine the mind not as a set of switches—ADHD on/off, autism yes/no—but as a hologram. (A concept that stuck with me from a book I read decades ago - The Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot)
In a hologram:
- The whole pattern is distributed.
- No single point contains “the answer”.
- What you see depends on where you’re standing and how the light hits it.
In this view:
- ADHD, autism, anxiety, and related traits are different projections of the same underlying system.
- Each person occupies a unique position within that system.
- Labels are snapshots, not blueprints.
Two people can both be diagnosed with ADHD and yet sit in very different places in this “neurodevelopmental hologram”—which helps explain why:
- one thrives on stimulant medication,
- another finds it intolerable,
- one struggles mainly with focus,
- another with overwhelm, rigidity, or emotional intensity.
Same label. Different configuration.
What this doesn’t mean
This isn’t an argument against diagnosis. Labels still matter. They open doors to support, language, and understanding.
But labels are starting points, not explanations.
The genetics suggest that treatment, coaching, and accommodation should be guided less by what you’re called and more by:
- how your attention works,
- how your nervous system responds to stress,
- how your brain regulates motivation, emotion, and energy.
Where this leaves us
The study doesn’t give us a test or a cure. What it gives us is something subtler—and more powerful:
Permission to stop pretending that human minds fit into tidy boxes.
A dimensional view doesn’t make ADHD or autism disappear. It makes them make sense.
And it gives us room to ask better questions—about identity, treatment, and what it really means to support neurodivergent people in the real world.
Key takeaways
- Large-scale genetics show shared biological foundations across many mental health conditions.
- ADHD and autism appear as part of a broader neurodevelopmental dimension, not isolated categories.
- Concepts like “AuDHD” reflect real overlap, not confusion.
- A dimensional—or even “holographic”—view helps explain why experiences and treatments vary so widely.
- Labels are useful, but they’re not the full story.
A closing reflection: managing ADHD in a holographic world
If ADHD is better understood as a position within a holographic space rather than a fixed category, then management stops being about correcting a defect and starts becoming about working with a configuration.
The question shifts from “What does someone with ADHD need?” to “Where is this person situated in the right now, and what would change the projection?”
This creates space for a more humane and realistic approach to ADHD management—one that accepts variability over time, context, stress, and development.
Medication, coaching, environmental scaffolding, identity work, and community support are no longer competing explanations but different ways of subtly altering illumination, angle, or interference patterns in the same underlying system. The hologram doesn’t need to be flattened into a single image; it needs to be understood as dynamic, responsive, and deeply individual.
Used this way, the holographic concept becomes a quiet but powerful anchor for future musings: a reminder that ADHD is not something to be solved once and for all, but something to be continuously oriented to, with curiosity rather than correction.