(In the interests of transparency there is an affiliate link in this post. Just me trying to make a bit of money from my neurodivergent blog)
When I was growing up, presumably neurodivergent – oh, so long ago. There were the following possibilities, options, or realities to present your neurotype: normal. What I mean by that is, sure, there were kids out there who acted strangely, but they were like, really strange. Clearly, they were not going to manage in any way to be ‘normal’ as I was expected to be.
Be Exceptional, but not Twice-Exceptional
The focus with me was: not to be such a problem, don’t be so whiney, if you do things, in a certain way, then we’re gonna laugh at you, or roll our eyes, or some such thing. In fact, I would go as far as to say that normal wasn’t going to be enough. It had to be exceptional, and not in the twice-exceptional kind of way; which I could do just fine. The one thing I did get praised on, and didn’t earn me shower of derision was my intelligence. It’s not a bragging thing, it was just a safe way I could be a part of who I am, that didn’t bring on any hurtful reactions.
The Neurodivergent is Getting Hot in Class
So, two days ago I found myself in my language class again, after a week’s vacation. The particular teacher, that night, is very keen on practicing the language situation by mingling around the class. I now have a theoretical understanding that I’m quite like my kids, that I need to, what I thought was ‘warm up to people’ before being comfortable around them. It’s not really needing to ‘warm up’, it’s more like: for each person I need to learn the specific rules for interacting with them, to learn how they react, to learn how their vibe is. So, here we were, everyone walking around the class, except I, who remained frozen, standing behind my chair, seemingly horrified.
They are all really nice people in this class, from all over the world; having a go at a dream. Everybody, who I normally don’t interact with, seemed genuinely happy to have the chance to practice the language with me. In my body, I noticed something really strange was happening. It felt like a fever. I was getting hotter and hotter.
In a very controlled manner, I did the classwork, looked people in the eye (noticeably by forcing myself), smiled, passed myself off as capable of it. All the time I was thinking, “If I tell the teacher I have a fever, I can go home. Yay!”
Neurodivergent Hell: Trying to Cry in a Toilet Where a Meeting is Going On.
In the break time, I usually go for a quick walk outside the building, to get some quiet, away from people. This time I noticed lots of tears coming on. So, I headed for to a rarely visited toilet, locked myself in a cabin and prepared to open the floodgates. It didn’t work out though. An office worker, it could have been a boss, came into the cubicle next to mine, to do his business. A subordinate of his stood outside the door, and they carried on their business discussion. Impressive! In that situation, I can only concentrate on one kind of business.
The Dingy Neurodivergent Room with the Crappy Toys
Anyway, I’m going astray. On my walk home from the subway station a voice popped up in my head. “This is just social anxiety, you’re not neurodivergent”. I battled with it for a while, but I guess it won. Here’s the thing: The project for me, for so long, was to be ‘normal’. I suppose this is what we would now regard as striving to be neurotypical; masking and coping, as explored in Dr. Devon Price’s informative book. For a while, over the past few months, the possibility of being neurodivergent was a big weight off my shoulders. A get-out-of-jail-free card, a massive self-forgiveness. Here came the kickback.
There is certainly a reluctance to own my neurodiversity. It feels like I will only get to play in the dingy room with crappy toys, and never go to the big sparkly, glittery, neurotypical room. I’m feeling the social and professional disadvantages of a social and professional system designed to fit neurotypicals like a glove, and me like a bag of nail-spitting, scratch rats. I don’t know if that metaphor fits, but it gets the feeling spot-on.
Does Typical and Traumatised Trump Divergent and Disabled?
So, I’m opting for the neurotypical psychological disorder of social anxiety, because I’m wrongly thinking that to be ‘normal’ but ‘traumatised’ is going to give me better options. Once again, I’m dumping on myself, to fit in; without a colleague outside the door to egg me on.
You Can’t Turn an Orchid into a Rose
I’m going to have to be strong on this one. The right, and empowering thing to do is to own the neurodivergent that I really am, despite this nagging doubt that if I can wing it as normal, I could go further in life. But for decades that has been such a draining struggle, to gain the privileges and acceptance of a neurotype-group who largely don’t know that my type of people exist, have little or no interest to find it out, and even less interest to give up any advantage it affords them.
An Illusory Majority? My Duty to Be Authentic
Neurotypical people don’t really need to bother with matters neurodivergent. They are presumably in the majority. Even if it turned out that they are not the majority, there might be enough people like me, still fighting to play-along, that supports the illusion of that majority.
How do any of you wonderful readers, who are neurodiverse, experience this need to thrive in the same way neurotypical people do, and experience this identity battle?