Robbie Williams recently revealed during a Q&A in London that he had been diagnosed with autism, alongside his existing ADHD diagnosis and one particular comment caught my attention.
“It is my get-out-of-jail-free card now, and all the weird shit that I do I just say, ‘Sorry, I’m autistic.’”
He also said: “I have ADHD, and I just found out I have a bit of autism as well, which I actually f*ing love because it explains so much.”
I get it. I really do. Getting a diagnosis does explain a lot, but it isn’t a free ticket.
I like Robbie Williams. I enjoyed his biographical movie Better Man and I love his music. There’s something deeply comforting about watching someone you’ve admired for years finally put a name to the thing that’s been making them feel different their whole life. That rush of “oh, that’s why” is intoxicating – I know, I’ve felt it. It’s validation after decades of wondering why you couldn’t quite do things the way everyone else seemed to.
But I think he’s wrong about this part.
Receiving a diagnosis of auDHD does not give us the freedom to do what we like and get away with it. In fact, I believe understanding how our brains work comes with responsibility.
It’s tempting, I admit, to fall back on a diagnosis to excuse our behaviour. We’ve spent years, sometimes decades, masking, compensating and exhausting ourselves trying to fit into a world that wasn’t built for our brains. So when we finally get an explanation there’s a rebellious little voice that whispers: You don’t have to try so hard anymore. Just be yourself. They can’t blame you now.
But for those of us who have been diagnosed later in life, the truth is a little more complicated.
We’ve already developed skills to manage some of our impulsive behaviour. We’ve learned, sometimes the hard way, that certain behaviours have consequences. We’ve built careers, raised families and navigated relationships while carrying an invisible weight that nobody else could see.
We’re usually left wrestling with the boring bits - time blindness, procrastination, hyperfocus that steals whole afternoons - and somewhere along the way we’ve learned how to function in the world around us, and there’s nothing too wrong with that.
But I think that having auDHD doesn’t give us a free pass - and it shouldn’t.
I’d be disappointed in myself if I acted impulsively in a way that disrupted or hurt someone else and then waved my diagnosis around like a shield. My ADHD explains why I might interrupt someone in a meeting, or why I forget a birthday, or why I need to fidget while I’m listening. But it doesn’t excuse me from apologising when what I do affects someone else. It doesn’t mean other people have to absorb the impact of my symptoms without question.
What a diagnosis gives us is something much more valuable than permission to stop caring.
It gives us a map. It shows us where the potholes are so we can navigate around them or at least pack a spare tyre. It helps us understand why certain environments drain us and why others make us come alive. It lets us stop blaming ourselves for character flaws that were actually our brains working differently all along.
For Robbie Williams, that might mean understanding why his brain fixates on intrusive thoughts at 30,000 feet, or why he can hyperfocus on creating images and funny things while the rest of the world falls away. That’s the beautiful part of knowing your brain. The creativity, the intensity, the ability to see patterns and possibilities that others miss.
But the responsibility part? That’s the price of admission.
If we’re going to ask the world to understand us better, we have to meet them halfway. We have to keep doing the work of managing the things that affect other people. We have to keep showing up, keep apologising when we mess up and keep building systems that support us without expecting everyone around us to pick up the slack.
Robbie’s enthusiasm is infectious, and I genuinely hope his openness helps more people seek answers about their own brains. He’s certainly done his bit to get people talking openly about mental health.
But the “get-out-of-jail-free card” framing? That’s where I disagree with him.
We’re not asking for a free pass. We’re asking for a fair shot at understanding ourselves and being understood by others.
And that, in my opinion, is worth way more than any get-out-of-jail-free card.
If you’re navigating your own late diagnosis and trying to work out what responsibility and self-compassion look like in equal measure, The Dandelion Clock is open. We meet on Zoom each month to explore topics like time blindness, rejection sensitivity and rest without guilt. Each week you’ll receive “This Week’s Seed,” a short email with a practical prompt, plus a workbook you build on through the month to create your own personal manual.
No hacks. No shame. Just a community that gets it.