The NeuroDivergent Rebel Blog is a reader-supported publication. I’m creating a new community outside of social media on Substack (where I can have more control over my space), and I hope you’ll join me as a free member (but I also have paid subscriptions if you want access to bonus content).
My readers have told me they think I’m “awesome,” but I don’t believe that about myself.
That’s because I, like far too many NeuroDivergent People, have been traumatized to the point of being unable to see my own worth.
I want so much to be helpful, be useful, and make the lives of the people I touch better than when I found them. I want to feel like I am not a burden or an annoyance to the people I care about.
I (like all people) want to be seen, loved, and appreciated for who I really am, but I don’t know if anyone in this world will ever REALLY see me.
I’ve done so much work trying to understand people around me because I deeply long to be understood.
I used to think that if I could decode other people and show them I understood them, they would care enough to get to know and understand me, but lately, this hope has faded.
Online, where I shine, things seem rosy because I can communicate in text (how I think best), and the people who come to me do so with genuine curiosity. Unfortunately, the real world is more complicated.
In the face-to-face world, I hesitate to share because I cannot tell who cares to hear what I think (because most people I encounter do not wish to know my feelings – and will react poorly when I share them).
I’ve been rejected, scolded, and misunderstood so many times I’ve lost count.
Each scolding, invalidation, and piece of unsolicited advice adds up to many microscopic wounds that (if they were physical) would cover my entire body from head to toe. Tiny pinpricks, individually nothing to worry about, but in collection, the repeated rejections would be enough to leave me bleeding out on the floor.
I am wounded. I am broken.
I believe in others, but I don’t believe in myself. I see the worth in others, but I cannot see the value in myself, and because of this wound, I do not treat myself with the same kindness that I give others.
I DIDN’T KNOW MY VALUE when I started this blog seven years ago.
Even today, I still struggle to know my worth and speak up for my needs.
Seven years ago, before I started this blog, I believed so little in my value that I felt the world would be better off without me (a thought that comes to me less often these days).
I’ve only grown into and learned my skills and value over the past seven years because you’ve told me that my work has been helpful and valuable to your life.
This blog has given meaning and purpose to a life that had lost its will. You have saved me (because you see something in me that I do not see in myself), and I am forever grateful.
I can easily look around and see the values and skills of the people around me, but my perception of self has been tainted by repeated mockings, scoldings, and critiques of all the people who were “just looking out for me.”
After years of being repeatedly told that my choices, feelings, and what I want are wrong, it grew more arduous to stand firm in speaking up for what I want and need.
“You’re too sensitive,” “Those are your feelings. They’re not my problem,” and “Keep it to yourself” will forever haunt me, stifling and suffocating me whenever I try to share myself with the world.
You have made a huge difference in my life. No one can completely know another person, but David knows you and accepts you, that is huge. I don’t have that. You have touched, shared, taught multiple people. One post that hits home with one person is a major accomplishment, and I have no doubt that your words have probably saved lives too.
I’m honored to be part of your journey
I just want to say that I just found your blog while doing research before possibly launching my own blog on the topic of neurodiversity. The first article I clicked on was this one because the title really resonated with me, being a newer diagnosed ADHD’er and self-diagnosed Autistic. I feel every single word you wrote, and yet I know that even if I physically knew you in person, I would likely still not “see you” just as you likely won’t “see me”. We have such a similar longing, that I feel it is sometimes the universal burden of the neurotype we live with. Something I find comforting and helpful with continuing to learn and grow is the fact that there are more people like you who are willing and able to be real. We need more real people. Not afraid to be vulnerable and share the harsh reality, but also the positives of neurodiversity. So I say all this to tell you, THANK YOU. For every ounce of effort you put in and every word you wrote. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being a part of this community.