Learning to Work with My Neurodivergent Brain Instead of Against It

For over 40 years, I’ve been battling my brain, trying to ‘fix’ myself. I thought I needed to be different—to fit into a mold that would make life easier, smoother, and more ‘normal.’ 

But my brain had other plans. 

And for the longest time, I didn’t understand why. 

If someone showed up unexpectedly at my door or used the side entrance instead of the front, it felt like the world was about to explode. Sudden changes felt like an assault on my entire system, as if reality had glitched. 

I couldn’t sit still. If my body was at rest, my mind wasn’t. It was off wandering through the frozen landscapes of Hoth or down the Yellow Brick Road to Munchkinland. Daydreaming wasn’t just a habit—it was a full-time residence. 

I’ve been told countless times: “You’re obsessed!” “You waste too much time on this!” And so, I wrestled with how to like things ‘normally.’ But what is ‘normal,’ anyway? 

I double- and triple-check instructions, convinced that this time, I’ll get it right—only to miss something because my brain has already taken a detour to Narnia. 

I keep scrapping projects because they don’t match the perfect vision in my head. Next time, I tell myself. Next time will be different. Next time will be right. But that perfect ‘next time’ never arrives. 

“I could write a short story… but what if I expand it into a graphic novel? Or turn it into a book series? What if I build a whole website around it? A podcast! A short film!” My mind spirals through endless possibilities until the mountain ahead feels insurmountable, and I freeze before I even begin. 

Every day, I run through a mental checklist: Pack lunches. Pick up kids. Make dinner. Take out garbage. Walk the dog. Each task should be simple, but starting and transitioning between them feels like stepping into quicksand. 

I talk to myself—a lot. I act out stories, imagining conversations, gestures, and emotions. Then, someone walks in and stares at me, and I suddenly wonder if I’m losing it. 

I take over conversations, thoughts rushing so fast that I blurt them out before I lose them. Then, I spend the rest of the evening worrying I annoyed everyone. 

I’ll be deep in the zone, crafting an article that needs every ounce of my focus, and then—“Hey, Dad, can you get me a snack?” Next thing I know, I’m making pancakes. 

For too long, I thought all of this meant I was broken, odd, or incompetent. But it’s not true. I know I keep writing about my neurodivergence, but for years, I felt alone, trying to ‘get better.’ Trying to force my brain to work like everyone else’s instead of embracing how mine works. 

Through therapy and support, I’m learning to work with my brain instead of against it. And I’ve realized something else, too: There’s nothing wrong with me. Yes, my brain works differently. But that difference fuels my creativity, imagination, empathy, and unique perspective. It allows me to see the world in ways that others might not. 

And I know I’m not alone. If any of this sounds familiar, you aren’t alone either. I see you. We are not broken—we are just wired differently. 

And that’s okay.