Divergence in the Typical World

By Deputy Features and Opinions Editor Luca Oakman

When thinking back to childhood days, many remember the simplicity of primary school and the excitement of secondary school. Rainy day lunches inside, assemblies sat on the long benches in the hall, yearly school trips, communions and confirmations and walking out of the school gates everyday after three to meet one of your parents outside. Those eight years of primary school were really simpler times, when we wanted nothing more than to grow up and be the big kids in secondary school. Then suddenly, that’s exactly what happened. The class you grew up with was divided as everyone went to different schools and your new school was now bigger and more daunting than you could have ever imagined. 

The excitement of moving from class to class, making stops at your locker, going to buy your lunch and hiding your phone from the prowling teachers. Secondary school was where we all grew in our own individualities, we were officially teenagers who faced a whole world of changes. That awkward middle stage between being a child and being an adult. This is an experience that most, no matter where they grew up, can relate to. However this is not always the reality that some people face.

When I think back, I remember nothing much but anxiety, loneliness and the dread that everyone was looking at me and judging. I, of course, had many happy memories but even under the happy ones where I was laughing with friends, I distinctly also remember that creeping thought that despite the joy and laughter, I was being annoying and they were secretly thinking less of me. I struggled to make myself sit down in the evenings to study or do homework, everything I did for school was done at the last minute. I couldn’t understand why my interpretation of school life didn’t match up to others around me.

I could never figure out why everything felt so difficult for me, why I couldn’t concentrate in silence, why going to new places I was unfamiliar with filled me with dread, why if my routine changed, my mood for the entire week was affected. I would watch in awe as people around me would strike up conversations with strangers while the thought of it left me frozen in fear.

I could never figure out why, so I ignored it. I figured that this must be the norm for everyone. Until I got to college that is. I made so many friends, met so many new people who I suddenly connected with over shared experiences and I didn’t feel so alone anymore. I didn’t put much thought into afterwards, that was until I was talking to a friend about how I hated that crammed, loud places full of people sent me into a panic, that if I am there too long, I start to feel like I want to break down and cry. I said this thinking that this was completely normal. My friend then in response said something along the lines of “That is a trait of being Neurodivergent. You know that, right?”

Neurodivergent. That was something I hadn’t heard of before. My friend explained that those who have neurodivergent traits often get diagnosed with Autism or ADHD as well as other medical conditions, learning disabilities or other attention deficit disorders. I was surprised. Surely if I had a condition that classified me as neurodivergent, my teachers would have caught it in my early years in education. So I did what most do, I turned to google and the more I read the more I could relate to, but I didn’t understand. My experiences ticked every box for both ADHD and Autism, but how did no one notice? I spoke to so many people, in person and online, asking them to share their journeys and I found myself agreeing to everything they said. 

Suddenly, my life somehow made sense. My early education made sense, my relationship with study, with work and even with how I went about daily tasks, it all made sense but I couldn't get my head around it. Over 18 years of feeling alone and being left out and isolating myself around others. How did no one ever see it? I had convinced myself that what I was feeling was normal. 

I had seen ADHD represented in the media but I didn't really know what that meant. I just knew that it was more socially accepted. Something that I had to make myself come to terms with was the fact that I was autistic. That was something that was a bit more taboo, not in the world that I lived in, not in my social circle, but in my own head. Everyone who knew of my autism was accepting and kind but I couldn't get past my own thoughts. I couldn't get past the fact that I thought there was something wrong with being autistic. That it made me stand out. ADHD didn't have the physical responses to loud noise or how I physically reacted to a horrible sensory sensation or just a sensory overload. I used to hide these physical and vocal reactions that I would do because I was taught, not by anyone, but by society, to hide the fact that I was stimming, a repetitive motion or sound that brought me comfort. This method of hiding, I later found out, was masking and I had unknowingly taught myself to mask so as to be presented as a completely normal neurotypical functioning person.

The worst thing about coming to terms with my self-diagnosis is the realisation that to get governing authorities to recognize that I have an impairment that I would like help with, I would need to go to the doctor, which seems like the right way to go about it. I thought that going to a doctor to get the help that I need would be the easiest thing in the world but when I got there, it was anything but. My experiences and everything that I had detailed to the doctor was suddenly inconsequential and everything was blamed on the fact that I had a menstrual cycle. I was told that these are all effects of my monthly cycle, but I knew what I was being told was wrong.

Doctors saw the fact that I was born female and they made presumptions without knowing me or my experiences. Most people who are late diagnosed are born female because of what society knows about ADHD and autism, and how it presents is based on the way people born male present it.

I didn't know that trying to get a proper diagnosis and help was going to be so hard and it's frustrating that professionals won’t acknowledge what I already know.

Despite the struggles, I'm so thankful to have an amazing support group around me. These people, who accept me despite all my little autistic quirks. Because of them, I know who I am. I am a neurodivergent person, one of many who are left to navigate the ways of the typical world.