They say the Disability Community is one that a person can join at any time.
I’ve been a member of this community my whole life, though I did not know it for most of that time.
My differences were in my mind, hidden from those around me for 29 years—hidden just enough so that nobody, not even me, would know the true names of my differences.
I stood out just enough to draw the wrong types of attention (scorn, annoyance, anger, and disgust) but not enough for people to treat me compassionately or recognize that I needed help.
I knew I was different, and so did the people around me, but without the language to describe what was going on inside my mind (Hyperlexia, Autism, ADHD, Anxiety, recovering from a traumatic childhood), my disabilities were seen by outsiders as “behavioral issues” that needed to be squashed (instead of supported).
When I did not know I was NeuroDivergent, someone whose brain diverged from the normative average (which our society regards most highly), I blamed myself for struggling to keep up with everyone around me, not understanding that they were moving about this world like fish in water, while I was like a cow trying to walk on the ocean floor.
Other people, Neuro-Average People, swim through this world with ease (because the world we live in has been carefully crafted and tailored to suit their needs).
On the other hand, I regularly must step away to come up for air, recharge, and recover.
I cannot glide through our world (because many of my needs were not considered when it was designed).
The world of humanity has crafted one that drains me, scars me, damages me, and then blames and punishes me when I struggle.
When I didn’t know I was NeuroDivergent, I was blamed so frequently for my struggles that I eventually began to blame myself, believing that I was a flawed and broken individual.
I was like a mechanic, hired to work in a car shop but not provided with the necessary tools, blamed for being unable to do my job (when all I was provided with to change a tire was a butter knife).
What if everywhere a mechanic went, they were given only a butter knife to work on their projects?
Suppose enough people blame the mechanic for not knowing how to do their job with only a butter knife. Would the mechanic eventually believe themselves to be a failure (especially if the people around them are convinced changing a tire with a butter knife should be easy, thinking it is “the mechanic’s inability,” not a lack of proper tools and support, is to blame for the struggle to repair the vehicle)?
NeuroDivergent People are Often Blamed for Struggling
How can one reconcile when their best “isn’t good enough” for the people around them, when everyone asks you for “more” but you have no more to give?
I internalized this “not-enoughness,” working in over-drive on the impossible task of becoming enough, thinking that one day, if I worked hard enough on improving myself as a person, I, too, could be enough of a person to be worthy of kindness, compassion, and respect from other people.
My goal (to become more like the “typical” or “average” people around me) almost ended me.
Being diagnosed Autistic at the age of 29 saved my life, freeing me from my impossible goal of becoming more like the people around me.
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