“It’s not our differences that separate us; it’s our inability to recognize, accept and celebrate these differences.” ~Oudre Lorde
For most of my life I asked myself a quiet question:
What’s the problem with me?
I didn’t say it out loud. I didn’t have to do that. It was sewn into how I moved the world – hyperaware, self-correction, and always just a bit. I knew how to “pass” with the correct settings, but not without effort. Under all that, I was tired of my usual daily performance.
Looking back, it’s clear where it started.
I grew up in a house marked by emotional confusion and unpredictability. Like many children with developmental trauma, I became fascinated before I had the word of it. I learned to track mood changes, tones of voice, and silence between words. I was reading the room while the other kids were absorbing math lessons.
In primary school, I was not a loud kid, but an over-a-chiaver in the front row. I was the quiet person in the middle row. I wasn’t as bold as I was before people might see me, and not as rebellious as risking my back as “bad kids” were called out, punished or ignored. I learned early on that safety means staying in the middle. It looks good enough to avoid trouble and is invisible to the point of not being visible.
I didn’t know what the lesson was. But I knew who the teacher supported and who was not there. Someone who spent a rough night at home. Who was trying so hard? People who checked out. And who was as quietly hurt as I did.
I was always not paying attention, not the way the teacher wanted me to.
I also fantasized. always. I lived in a world of fantasy that I created in my head, with characters, backstory and dialogue. I wasn’t trying to avoid reality – I was trying to survive it. And those imaginary worlds were often more kinder than the worlds I was stuck in.
So when people say things like, “That kid is so distracted,” I want to pause them.
Sometimes what you see is not a disability. Sometimes it’s a child who adapts to a world that feels unsafe.
What we call disturbed may just be another kind of wisdom
As I grew older, I began to realize that a lot of what we do pathologically, especially women, nervous people, and trauma survivors, are in fact adaptive or even talented traits. But we call them broken because they don’t fit the dominant mold of “healthy” look.
Let’s make this clear. Whatever is different does not mean a hindrance. And even if you need support, that doesn’t mean you’re short on the person.
Take ADHD. It is often reduced to confusion and forgetting, but for many, it reflects the brains of fast-paced pattern jumps that long for stimuli and thrive in a space of high infringement. That same brain may struggle in school, but is lit up by entrepreneurship, art, crisis work, or skill.
Take away your anxiety. Yes, that’s overwhelming. But beneath it is a sensitive nervous system that is usually tailored to energy, risk and nuance. In trauma survivors, they often reflect the ability to read between lines. Feeling that is not being said, preparing for all possible outcomes. They keep themselves and others safe by looking at risk before bad things happen.
Take autism, especially girls and women. Labeled as rigidity or social awkwardness may actually be the deep authenticity, the true-to-truth glow of a world filled with noise and social masking.
Even depression can be a form of wisdom. The body is a body that demands rest, a soul that refuses to continue performing, and a nervous system that ultimately says “sufficient.”
What NeuroDivergence really means
Neurodivergence is not just one thing. It’s a big umbrella. The following conditions are included:
Differences in learning in ADHD autism (such as dyslexia and discal clearing) Differences in sensory processing Mood disorders (occasionally) PTSD and C-PTSD (especially when causing long-term brain changes)
For some, it’s hardwired. For others, it is traumatic. And for many of us, it’s both.
In my own family, NeuroDivergence runs deep.
My mother had bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. My eldest son has added and worried. My youngest is autism, has intellectual disability, and lives with ADHD. I have carried complex PTSD, anxiety, depression – and honestly, perhaps undiagnosed additions are also diagnosed.
We are not broken. We’re not that much.
We are a deep, sensitive, different wired human line that seeks to survive in a world that doesn’t always recognize the sparkle of our kind.
I know it will be exiled.
I saw my mother be alone. Her bipolarity and schizophrenia made people uncomfortable, and she was judged and misunderstood by her own family, who was rejected by society. I saw my youngest son also fall alone. He has autism and has an intellectual disability. And I know that the world might have crushed him if I hadn’t chosen to cherish his wiring. For a while, it did.
But this kid plays drums like anyone’s business.
He is more intensely protective, extremely loyal and emotionally intuitive than anyone I have ever met.
And sometimes he’ll say that he’s so specific, so strange, so true, I swear he’s reading my mind, or someone else.
I don’t talk enough about this kind of intelligence. A type that does not appear on standardized tests or IQ charts, but is present in bone. With music. By knowing.
NeuroDivergence simply means that the brain functions in a way that branches out from the norm. That’s not bad. That is essential. Because “norms” were never built with us all in mind.
The whole picture
We live in a culture that rewards identity. Carefulness to maintain linear emotions, tidy emotions, learning that occurs on schedule.
But real life is even more troublesome than that. And the real people are more complicated.
Some of the most powerful thinkers, healers, leaders and artists I know live with labels who would have been bystanders on them if they had not learned to translate their differences into power.
What’s different is not taken away from the conversation. It will be added to that.
And then pause when you wonder if something is “wrong” with you.
What if that part of you isn’t broken?
What if it’s misunderstood?
What if the world is trying to show you something that you forgot how to hear?
About Allison Briggs
Allison Janet Briggs is a therapist, author and speaker dedicated to helping women heal from codependent, childhood trauma and emotional neglect. She blends psychological insight with mental depth, leading clients and readers to self-confidence, boundaries and authentic connections. Allison is the author of memoirs about upcoming realities. Heals the mind of female codependentness and shares reflections on healing, resilience and inner freedom at on-being-real.com.
