Being Neurodivergent: Embracing Who I Am

For most of my life, I was convinced I was broken. That I was weird. That something was wrong with me.

I carried that belief like a weight, trying to hide the parts of myself that felt different. I felt shame over things that seemed easy for others but were inexplicably difficult for me. 

An object could be sitting in plain sight, and I wouldn’t see it. 

Someone could be talking to me, but I wouldn’t hear a word because my brain was off somewhere else—perhaps mapping out an imaginary world or deep in a story I had yet to write. 

A routine task could take me ten times longer than others, but I could write an article, craft a story, or create a detailed event schedule faster than anyone I knew. 

I rocked back and forth when I got excited—sometimes even when I wasn’t. 

Multitasking often meant I’d forget something crucial—or worse, I’d end up working on something completely unrelated to what I started. 

When I thought no one was watching, I talked to myself, acted out stories, created imaginary conversations, and lightly rocked while playing out different scenarios in my mind. 

I couldn’t handle perfume. Bright lights felt unbearably harsh. Certain fabrics against my skin were maddening. 

A simple comment could stick with me for hours, even days. If I perceived it as criticism, I’d replay it over and over, dissecting every word. 

In high school, I could tell you every WWF World Champion, the year they won, the venue where it happened. I could list every Best Picture winner, recite the plots of every Stephen King novel, or break down the entire Crisis on Infinite Earths saga. But I struggled in many school subjects and often felt like I was failing at the things that were supposed to matter. 

I could write a thousand more examples like this. 

For years, I tried to fix what I thought was broken. I pushed myself to focus more, to be less sensitive, to be “better” at tasks that seemed effortless for others. I forced myself to multitask, convinced that was the key to success. I spent so much of my life believing I was failing at being a functional human. 

I see now how that belief fueled my depression, my insecurity, my self-doubt. 

But I was never broken. I was never a failure. I was never weird. 

I am neurodivergent. 

And for the first time in my life, I am learning to embrace that. If any of this sounds familiar to you, I want you to know: You’re not alone.