This is going to be a deeply personal post so, if you’d rather not know, now is your chance to click away.
Hi, I’m Alianne, and I’m neurodivergent. I’m what they like to call “high-functioning.” Which is another way to say, “We can get what we need out of you with minimal fuss.” It is what it is. As someone who’s only recently gotten this confirmed (without an official diagnosis on the books – see reasons below), I’m not bitter about it. I’m just looking back at my life so far and connecting dots that, in hind sight, should have been really freaking obvious.
A lot of things about me and my life make a lot more sense now, and I want to share my experience in case anyone out there is in a similar situation. Because even if all it does is help you understand yourself, I’ll tell you right now, that’s not a small thing. The world should be more accommodating. Often times, it’s not. And often times, we’re not in a position to demand it, so all we can do is understand our own needs and figure out how to accommodate ourselves.
Who decides what “normal” is?
Sometimes, I feel like social media algorithms may be on to something. Or maybe there’s some other universal force at work, and it resorted to beating me over the head with this concept in the loudest, most obnoxious way possible because I just wasn’t catching on. LOL I kept seeing reels on neurodivergence for months before I broached the topic with anyone. I saw myself reflected in those short clips, but kept brushing it off. I didn’t want to be one of those people who use their diagnosis, or worse, fake one, to excuse their bad behavior.
That’s a thing the world teaches you: There is a normal way to be, and if you can’t be that, there’s something wrong with you. It’s your fault. You need to work on yourself. The world shouldn’t have to bend over backwards to accommodate your feelings.
Well, the world is built to keep people overworked, overtired, isolated, and miserable, doing what they’re told, buying what they’re told, living as they’re told, and being grateful for the privilege of sacrificing more and more of themselves to enrich the already rich and powerful.
“Normal” is a scam.
And I’m not just saying that. A lot of the information I came across not even trying to do active research was about how neurodivergence isn’t a “glitch” or a disability (although it can absolutely be disabling). It’s actually an evolutionary mechanism that creates much-needed diversity of thought in a collective. When your tribe or clan relies on one another for survival, it’s to the benefit of the entire group to have individuals who are really good at figuring out different ways to do things.
For example, it turns out, ADHD is ideal for hunting. It keeps you on your toes. You engage only with what matters. Your attention goes to movement, disruptions in the landscape, so you can spot prey more easily.
Autism is great for pattern recognition and discernment. You notice when something isn’t working anymore. You don’t accept things as they are because you recognize there is a better way to get it done. You don’t conform when it doesn’t make sense to do so.
In a society that’s built around conformity and following orders, those strengths become liabilities. You can’t be used, so you become “useless.” You can’t be controlled so you become a “problem.” You don’t do things a certain way, so you get written off as incompetent.
You see what they don’t want you to see, you speak about what they don’t want to hear. Worst of all, you think differently, and that makes you dangerous. And the best way to neutralize danger is to discredit it, diminish it, and destroy it.
The conversation around neurodivergence is very young. It’s only recently that we started acknowledging it at all, after centuries of treating the symptoms as a defect that needed to be medicated or institutionalized. And it’s still used to target and scapegoat neurodivergent individuals today. You may come out to someone and have them take it in stride, or you may find yourself fired, divorced, or added to a registry that will eventually have you locked up in a lab or on some farm to do forced labor, since you’re clearly not good for anything else.
This is a legitimate concern, especially in today’s political climate. Being in any way different makes you vulnerable, and history has taught us that that vulnerability can be a life or death situation. Earlier this year, when the topic of autism tracking and registries came up in media, I was absolutely terrified, and I even advised people not to seek a diagnosis if they didn’t have to. It’s why I didn’t and still don’t want one on my record. It’s why I don’t talk about it much and just let people form their own opinion.
It took me a while after I said it to realize how awful that was to say. Silence only isolates us and makes someone else the alternate target. I’m not okay with that. So, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I spoke out of fear. I’m still afraid, to be honest, but there’s so much more to worry about now, I could spend several posts just listing all the ways in which we’re all are cooked. (Don’t worry, I won’t.)
*insert awkward transition here*
Sometimes, people just say things off-hand
You know how you can have a casual conversation with someone, and something they say makes you go, “Oh…. oh…” Yeah, that’s been me the last few months.
Last year, I got laid off from my job a few days before my 10th work anniversary. I took a 6-month sabbatical and then started a new job. I went from a long career in corporate hell to working for a small, local business with 7 employees, including the owner. The other day, I talked to my former coworker who still checks in with me every once in a while (she’s the only one). We talked about all the crap still going on at my old company, and then about all the great things at my new one. I was telling her how sweet and friendly, and nice my new coworkers are, which I only experienced for a brief few months at my old job. And my former coworker laughed and said, “Oh, so they’re normal.”
Cue me staring at a wall for five minutes.
I always knew that my old job wasn’t great, but the job before that had been worse, so I had no other frame of reference. I remembered how my coworker used to talk about her previous jobs and how much better they’d treated their employees, and how I’d just, uh-huh‘d through those conversations, thinking those days (of good employers) are long gone.
The thing about my particular flavor of ND is that I will tolerate a lot of shit before I break. I don’t speak up because, historically, it caused more trouble for me than it was worth. So I shut up, and keep going, until I literally can’t anymore. It’s not healthy. I’m working to unlearn those bad habits.
After that little off-hand jokey comment, though, I had to acknowledge that my old workplace was incredibly toxic, it wasn’t normal, and I stayed there far longer than I should have because I didn’t believe I could do better. It’s a weird place to be when you know you can do so much, and you realize not everyone can, but you still feel less-than. Self-awareness doesn’t always translate into self-esteem.
I think it legitimately traumatized me because the reason I told my old coworker about my new job at all was because I still don’t trust that it isn’t too good to be true. 3 months in, I’m still internally questioning, “What’s the catch? Why are you all being so nice? What are you setting me up for?” Kind of like when people leave a toxic relationship and don’t know how to handle a healthy one. To have my former coworker just shrug it off so easily really opened my eyes.
I told my best friend about this conversation and she responded with another off-hand, eye-opening comment: “Well, yeah, you’ve always been like that. Ever since I met you, you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.” She then followed this up by telling me that back in the day, when we met in a fandom group, she would defend me to people, and prune them out of the group for behaving badly toward or about me. Something I never noticed, and she never told me about. This happened over 15 years ago…
Quirks vs. symptoms – it makes no difference
So here’s the thing. I have always known that I am an “acquired taste.” I might not have known why, but what does it matter if the end result is the same? I learned early on that there aren’t a lot of people I can trust with my vulnerability. I learned that people don’t stick around if they don’t have a reason to, and that reason is usually not me as a person.
I learned that hard work should be its own reward, excellence is expected, and giving my all at all times is the baseline. I learned that the greatest achievement I can get at work is when I exceed other people’s expectations, but it’s a personal achievement, not a formal one for which I should be rewarded or even acknowledged, because to do any less was unacceptable and subject to punishment.
When you don’t have another frame of reference, those lessons just become a part of life. It is what it is. And again, I say, I am not bitter about it. I’m actually grateful. These experiences have taught me a lot. The greatest lessons I learned are as follows:
- I am who I am. I don’t know any other way to be, and wouldn’t want to if I did.
- Being quiet and reserved gives other people a lot of chances to show me who they really are. And the people worth being friends with won’t switch up on me or fade away.
- Every new skill I pick up going above and beyond is a feather in my hat and a star after my name. None of it is wasted effort. Knowledge truly is power.
I am an intelligent, flexible person with a lot of general knowledge that makes it incredibly easy for me to learn and do things many others struggle with. It comes at the expense of things other people take for granted. I am painfully aware of my limitations as a person in this world, and the fact that all of the above are the reasons why I am very much still an “acquired taste.”
Understanding the reasons doesn’t change who I am, or how I live my life. It just frees me from the guilt of, “I should have known better.” or “I’ll never be enough.” It gives me permission to believe that my achievements mean something, and deserve to be acknowledged. I am allowed to be different, to take up space, to make noise and speak my mind.
I don’t always fit in, but it’s only because I’m not meant to. I’m still learning how to convince myself that it’s okay to speak up, and walk away from things and people that aren’t good for me, but I’m working on it.
I am incredibly honored to have the friends I have. My circle is small but, to the last, every person in it is an amazing soul whose work and life experience humbles me. I feel lucky to have landed the job I did and, even though I’m still skeptical about it, I now know that “better” exists, and I can and should demand it. And I am blessed to have this endless creative streak that gives my mind and soul a safe, warm place to go when the world keeps getting darker and colder. I now know that not everyone is lucky enough to have this kind of outlet, but I hope that my creative works provide some solace and comfort to others out there.
If you’re reading this and some part of it struck a chord, if you’ve been wondering whether you might be neurodivergent yourself, maybe try to look into it. There are lots of resources online that can give you a decent idea of whether or not it’s something to bring up with your primary care doctor or therapist. Whether or not you choose to get a formal diagnosis is up to you. I’d be lying if I said there isn’t still a stigma associated with neurodivergence; that it won’t cause backlash in some way, shape or form, whether it’s in your personal life or your professional one. I’d be a hypocrite if I encouraged you to do something I’m not brave enough to do myself. And I hate that less than a year ago, my opinion on this would have been a lot different.
But knowledge is power. And the most powerful thing we can do is understand ourselves and those around us. Sometimes, just knowing for sure makes a huge difference. Weigh the pros and cons, and do what’s right for you in your situation. In the end, that’s the most important thing any of us can do.
Until next time!
PS…
As it turns out, I’ve written some neurodivergent characters into my books without intending to. Here are a few you can check out if you’re into romance in fantasy and sci-fi settings:
His superhuman pattern recognition kept him alive and won Snow White her kingdom back. But he can’t seem to catch on to the fact that the woman he’s secretly in love with is flirting with him. If that ain’t the ’tism…
She’s an awkward, quirky recluse who can’t seem to be able to make friends no matter how hard she tries or how much they need what she has to offer. Yeah, that sounds like she has a touch of the ’tism.
She’s a bookworm with a hyperfixation on magic who doesn’t fit in anywhere and will infodump on the unwary until they literally walk away. No one likes her… But her specialized knowledge literally saves the kingdom. ‘Tism.
For trauma, PTSD, CPTSD or disability representation, check out the Blood & Shadows series, especially the second half, starting with book 4. There isn’t a character there who hasn’t gone through some stuff.
Happy reading!