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There are a lot of rules to being human. The problem is that nobody gives neurodivergent folks the rulebook. We must have missed orientation.

Somewhere along the way, everyone else received a handbook on how to behave like a neurotypical (perhaps mine got lost in the mail!)

Neurodivergent folks are supposed to pretend.

We pretend we’re fine when someone asks, “How are you?

We pretend to be interested in conversations about things we don’t care about.

We pretend we understand why something is “obvious.”

It’s exhausting.

We’re also expected to “read the room.” In other words, the magical ability to walk into a situation and immediately determine: What is everyone thinking? What is everyone feeling? What am I supposed to say? What am I definitely NOT supposed to say? Is this person joking? Am I allowed to leave now? Was I supposed to laugh at that? Why did everyone suddenly get so quiet?

Apparently, other people can do this automatically. One of the strangest things about social communication is that people don’t always say what they mean. Many neurodivergent people on the other hand, can be very direct. It’s simply too exhausting to pretend. Constantly trying to figure out invisible rules can expend a lot of energy. Some neurodivergent folks spend enormous amounts of time studying social situations, rehearsing conversations, monitoring their behavior, trying to understand facial expressions, remembering social expectations, and wondering whether they’ve done something “wrong.” It’s not that they don’t care about other people. It’s quite often, the opposite. They care so much that they are working overtime to get everything right.

Please know, people with neurodivergence are trying their best. Patience and understanding can go a long way!

It is not uncommon for adults to learn they are neurodivergent, later in life.

A late diagnosis can feel like grief and relief all at once. Relief, because suddenly your whole life makes sense including the exhaustion after socializing, the meltdowns that were called “overreactions,” and the “scripts” you referenced while everyone else intuitively grasped life. Grief, because you have begun to realize all the years you spent thinking you were lazy, too sensitive, too much, and not enough. All the accommodations you never asked for because you didn’t know you were allowed to need them. I’m going to throw in a bit of frustration as well because had you known early on that your brain was built differently, perhaps you could have received the supports and services from the outset to prevent catastrophes later on.

Nobody warns you that getting answers with a late diagnosis can throw you through a loop. You expect clarity. You don’t expect to spend the next six months re-evaluating your own childhood like a detective, finding clues everywhere.

There’s also the identity crisis. Unmasking after decades of masking isn’t a switch flip. It’s slow, and some days you don’t even know which behaviors are “you” and which were armor.

Here may be the most important part to all of this: a late diagnosis isn’t a life sentence of what-ifs. It’s a new set of tools. You finally get language for what you’ve been doing intuitively for years. You get permission to stop apologizing for needing quiet, needing routine, and needing things spelled out.

Late doesn’t mean less real. It just means you’re starting the next chapter with better information. For the late diagnosed folks, be kind to yourself. You deserve it.

“Why do I overthink so much?” Do you ever find yourself replaying conversations, worrying about things that haven’t happened yet, or struggling to make even the smallest of decisions? If so, you may be caught in a cycle of overthinking.

Overthinking comes from a desire to stay safe, avoid mistakes, or prepare for every possible outcome. While it’s natural to think things through, constantly analyzing every detail can leave you feeling mentally exhausted and even more anxious.

We can’t predict or control everything (even though the neurodivergent brain may want to!). Breaking the cycle of overthinking takes time. Small changes can make a big difference. I have learned that taking a walk or putting my thoughts on paper or giving myself a time limit for making decisions, are simple steps that help me control overthinking. It helps shift the focus from endless worrying to taking meaningful action.

Many neurodivergent folks have learned early on that being authentic or honest can lead to rejection, misinterpretation, and insubordination. Masking becomes a common survival strategy. Being honest means dropping the mask which can be terrifying when the mask has been protecting you. 

In my opinion, surface-level relationships are built on masking which is exhausting. These types of relationships are expected in today’s fast-paced world. At work, masking is a must if you want to save your career and/or climb the ladder.

Being honest gives people the chance to actually know you.  Unfortunately, for many people with neurodivergence, honesty can come across as rudeness, bluntness, and insensitivity – even when it is not our intention. Many times, neurotypical honesty is actually just omission. We as neurodivergents struggle to read unspoken rules so we might say the true thing that everyone else knew to leave out…and then face the consequences without understanding why.

Neurodivergent people have been playing by life’s rules we did not write and cannot always read. Honesty exposes that gap in ways that can have real consequences.

Here are some ways we can make the world more honest-friendly:

• Seek out communities, either in-person or online, where directness is valued

• Name your communication style upfront. Tell people early on, “I tend to be pretty direct, please tell me if I need to soften something.”

• Ask for the same honesty back. Relationships where only one person is being direct are unbalanced. Invite reciprocal honesty.

• Repair openly when honesty lands badly. Own it and apologize.

• Push for neurodiversity training that goes deep. Most workplace “neurodiversity awareness” is surface level. Real change means training people to recognize that communication style ≠ character, and that directness isn’t aggression.

As spring gets into full swing here in the Northeast, U.S of A, people are leaving their hibernation nests and venturing outdoors for sun and socialization. Running into neighbors and strangers is the norm.

I have always been intrigued by small talk. As someone who is painfully introverted, it amazes me when people strike up conversations at random.

Small talk is perplexing because it seems to be built on rules that are implicit and indirect.   Trying to guess the “real purpose” of a conversation can feel exhausting and confusing. It’s hard to wrap my head around a conversation that has no intended purpose. For example, talking about the weather when both parties already know the weather can seem inefficient and fake. It is equally confusing to attempt to figure out how long a conversation will go on for, what the other person’s intended purpose is, and how to make a polite exit. These rules are absorbed intuitively for the neurotypical brain but for the neurodivergent brain, it can be emotionally draining.

I realize humans are social creatures and small talk is how people stay connected. Small talk reinforces social norms and belonging. Perhaps I should get into the habit of being okay with not owing authenticity to everyone. A surface-level chitchat could be just that and nothing more. Fake the smile, get through the interaction with a few short blurbs, and be on my way. A brief exchange with a stranger is sufficient to keep the wheels of societal expectations turning. If we as a society treat small talk interactions as the default communicative mechanism, I may want to practice being more flexible and adapting to this norm.

Questions: Do you enjoy casual conversations with strangers? How do you feel about social events where you don’t know anyone?

Not too long ago, I interviewed for a job which would have been working with populations impacted by disabilities. The job description explicitly stated they were seeking candidates with lived experience. I thought it was unusual that this employer was so open about the type of candidate they were looking for. It is not every day that an employer actively seeks candidates with lived experience. I jumped at the opportunity to apply.

When I applied to the position, I never disclosed my disability in my cover letter or during the interview itself. However, a simple internet search would reveal that I have been a part of the disability advocacy movement for more than a decade. A review of my resume would show the type of work I have engaged in. In other words, it would not take a rocket scientist to figure out what type of disability I have.

The job interview went well until the very end when the interviewers began asking me if speaking in front of large groups of people would be an issue. I replied that it would not be an issue (I wasn’t totally truthful. It would in fact be an issue). However, the interviewers asked me again if I was absolutely sure. They emphasized the word “sure”, with a change in tone, as if assuring themselves of any doubt. I assumed they were asking this question to all candidates as it was clearly tied to the essential functions of the job. However, to me, it was how the question functioned in context. They asked the question after they inquired about my lived experience and what it would mean for the position. To me, their repeated questioning about large crowds was based on a stereotype that people with certain disabilities are unable to speak publicly. They may have been partially correct in their assumption about my perceived disability yet I still felt singled out. I ultimately withdrew my application, not because of the public speaking, but because of the extensive travel requirements.

We hear a lot about diversity and inclusive hiring practices nowadays. As someone who has been on the receiving end of said practices, I have come to the realization that many of these endeavors are developed with good intentions but have little follow-through. Or they are strictly performative. They are “buzz words”. Tokenism is real and it is harmful. Disabled people should not be treated as symbols or quotas at the expense of who they are as human beings and what they can contribute.

Ableism is deeply embedded within our society. It is incredibly hurtful to thousands of job seekers whose skills, knowledge, and determination make them excellent employees, but whose awkwardness scares off even the most seasoned of staff.

For people like myself, our professional and educational experiences seem to be held to different standards. Employers either unconsciously raise the bar and scrutinize our abilities to reassure themselves that we can handle the job or they minimize them because there is no possible way a neurodivergent individual could achieve the level of success as their neurotypical counterpart.

It appears there is a lack of willingness on the part of employers to fully educate themselves on the benefits of hiring disabled people. Ableism fosters a power imbalance. 

If there is any kind of message that I can convey it would be to educate yourself on what ableism is and how to combat it. Recognize the difference between internal and external bias. To the brave souls who are comfortable with feeling uncomfortable, you are the ones who will ultimately prevail when you take the plunge and look past a disability when extending a job offer. Hire for the actual experience and education. Don’t just hire because you need to fill a statistic or a checkbox.

Question: What ways can employers better combat ableism?

February 2026

To self-disclose or not to self-disclose. That is the question.

In the age of constant information, it is easy to become influenced by others who make a case for self-disclosure of a disability. Context here is important. Disclosing a disability at work is different than disclosing to your best friend. 

I can say with confidence that I am wholeheartedly against self-disclosure in the workplace. I used to be on the fence about it but after I disclosed my disability in a promotional interview before being promptly rejected, I realized there are times when keeping things to yourself will serve you well.

It’s a shame that we live in a world where we cannot always be our authentic self. Self-preservation gets put ahead of taking risks. Choosing not to disclose is a rational choice since we live in a society that frequently punishes differences. It’s a strategic move.

How do we change the mindset of disclosure in the workplace?

When I think about structural change, especially in making workplaces more accommodating, I tend to think about cost. The most important thing to a company is their bottom line. Hiring someone with a disability may seem like a liability.  One way workplaces can navigate this is by asking a standardized question up front to all job applicants by asking if they require accommodations to do their work. I would rather have an employer normalize asking about needs rather than for them to seem burdened by what they are legally obligated to do anyway.

Another strategy can be for companies to make disclosure low risk by backing it with consequences. In a workplace that actually cares about leveling the playing field, discrimination is not discouraged but penalized. Retaliation is named and punished. Promotions and performance evaluations are audited for bias.

Naturally, it is more difficult to hide a visible disability in the workplace than an invisible one. Visible disabilities can invite questions and curiosity. Having pre-set responses may be helpful in these instances. For example, stating, “I’d rather not get into that, but I appreciate the concern,” could be simple enough. Or factually stating, “Yes, it’s a disability – I’m covered on accommodations. Thanks for checking.”

Attitudes shift when employers view disability as a human condition not a niche identity. Disability is part of the human life cycle. It is something that can happen to anyone. Reframing disclosure helps employers move from “otherism” to “relatability”.  

Questions to ponder: Do you support disclosure in the workplace? Where do you think employers get their information about disabilities? What would make you feel safe disclosing a disability at work? What responsibilities should employers have to make workplaces more accessible?

January 2026

Imagine waking up in another country whose language and culture you are not familiar with. You didn’t choose to visit willingly but somehow you arrived. You must quickly adapt to the environment for basic survival as you try and find your way home. It becomes an anxiety-fueled nightmare. 

The above paragraph describes my life in a nutshell.

The world is not built for people like me. To survive, we learn to hide our traits, imitate others, and suppress our needs. When we have conversations with others, we process the information all at once while figuring out what the context of the interaction is and what the “right” response is supposed to be.

For me, I routinely survey the environment but I am not a mind-reader and don’t know if I will say something that may be interpreted as offensive or weird. It is a constant guessing game. I envy the person who can easily pick up on social cues and respond with ease.

When we don’t have clear rules to rely on, our brains stay in high-alert mode during interactions. After they are over, that heightened state doesn’t just switch off. The anxiety lingers.  

Question: Do you find yourself frequently replaying conversations you’ve had with others, attempting to analyze and learn? I’m guilty of doing this. Embarrassingly, at times I have found myself talking out loud as if I were back in time rehashing the entire conversation.

For those of us with neurodivergent brains, it may be common to search for mistakes, missed cues, and even positive aspects of an interaction. This allows us to be better prepared for the next time. Unfortunately, with me, and perhaps yourself, this process of reflection can quickly turn into rumination. When we judge past interactions using imaginary social standards, it may lead to frustration and anger toward ourselves for not saying or doing the right thing.

I will admit that I am afflicted with a proclivity for self-criticism. This self-criticism typically comes from internalized pressure to perform socially. I am holding myself to an unreasonable standard and outcome that is never truly in my control. In a sense, if we can always predict with 100% accuracy how another person will react to us, we may never learn to “think on our feet” and embrace the unpredictability that life throws at us.

People with neurodivergent operating systems tend to work very hard to keep themselves safe and understood in a world that doesn’t always communicate clearly. Recognizing this can be a first step toward replacing self-deprecation with compassion for the effort we’re putting in.

Until next time.