The challenges of Neurodivergence

In an earlier post, I reflected on the joys, rewards and inspiration that being autistic or otherwise neurodivergent can bring. This time I’d like to focus on the flipside, as – like all things in life – neurodivergence comes with a “both…and” experience…

For me, it can be utterly challenging, paralyzing or painful at times. It all depends on the context, on my energy level, on the everyday demands and interactions I am facing. All those little (or big) things that touch, move or confuse me.

Why? 

I process deeply.

I feel deeply. 

I read the room.

I register, translate and interpret every ever so subtle social cue, verbal or non-verbal, trying to comple the ‚social narrative‘.

Every exchange, every conversation, every remark, every piece of information, every sound, every smell, every shift in energy… Every ever so tiny detail I perceive gets my full attention. 

It’s like my mind constantly generates images and videos in full HD – even if SD would be perfectly enough… Running them in countless loops, deciphering, connecting and shaping all those tiny fragments to form the bigger picture. On repeat. Like Sherlock Holmes on Duracell.

I love how deeply I process the world. I spot the little things. I connect the dots. I see beauty everywhere. I feel joy and gratitude, passion and unbridled enthusiasm. I love fiercely and wholeheartedly. It’s like having my life painted in neon colours. How could I resist having neon pink scattered all over the place?

But it is also draining.

It is also tiring.

It is also confusing.

Sensory or emotional overwhelm and meltdown feel paralyzing. I might be sitting on the living room floor, legs pulled up to my chest, crying burning tears – thoughts twirling in endless loops, re-running conversations and questioning my lovability.

Shutdown is exhausting. Sleeping 14 hours and still feeling knackered. Every move appears to be in slow motion. Every thought is slurring. Simple tasks seem unmanageable. 

The repeated pep-talk to get me up and going.

The visceral need for silence and quiet.

The weekend spent recovering in isolation.

The loneliness that comes with that.

If you were to peek behind the curtain of my vibrant neurodivergent reality, I guess this is the part that would remain hidden from your experience: the inner struggles behind closed doors, the invisible toll of being deeply present in this world.

If you have ever felt this way, I hope this resonates. And if you haven’t, I hope it offers a little understanding.