I Love It When a Diagnosis Comes Together: My Neurodivergent Life

The past few weeks have been eye-opening. Since my ADHD and autism diagnosis, so much has started making sense—things I struggled with or felt ashamed of my whole life. 

I always rocked or rubbed my legs, which most people probably noticed. But almost no one knew that I talked to myself—sometimes acting out conversations and stories—except maybe my parents and wife. I used to be embarrassed by it, trying to “fix” it. Now, I know it’s a form of stimming, and it’s perfectly fine. 

I used to wonder why my mind would drift off to imaginary stories or wrestling cards during long conversations or sermons. Now, I understand—it’s just how my brain works. 

I can write a story in seconds, memorize lines for a play with ease, or create a summer camp activity schedule on the spot. But loading a dishwasher properly? Remembering more than one task at a time? Talking while stirring soup? Those things have always felt impossible. 

Certain smells, clothing textures, and bright lights drive me crazy. If I’m deep in a task and someone asks me a question, or if there’s background noise at the wrong frequency, my focus shatters—and it takes forever to get back on track. 

For years, I thought these struggles meant I was broken, weird, or not trying hard enough. Now, I know better. 

I’m not broken. I’m neurodivergent. And that’s okay. 

Some “simple” things will never be simple for me. But my “different” brings value to the world. If you’ve ever felt this way, you’re not alone.