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Life Changes When You Start Finding Your People
For the first time in a very long time, I am starting to understand something important:
Life changes when you start finding your people.
Not the people you perform for. Not the people you constantly edit yourself around. Not the people who love you conditionally, as long as you stay quiet enough, calm enough, serious enough, small enough.
I mean the people who see the real you and don’t immediately reach for the dimmer switch.
Recently, I went hiking with someone I had just met. We spent the day chasing waterfalls, walking trails, talking, laughing, climbing over rocks, and admiring the kind of beauty that makes you feel tiny in the best possible way.
A few days later, while we were talking, I made a comment about how my ADHD medication had probably worn off during our hike.
If you have ADHD, you probably know the feeling. My volume slowly rises without me realizing it. I become more animated, more expressive, more visibly excited about everything around me.
For most of my life, that realization would have filled me with shame.
Because growing up, and honestly even as an adult, I was constantly told to tone it down.
Be quieter. Act more serious. Stop talking so much. Calm down. Don’t say weird things. Don’t get too excited. Don’t embarrass yourself. Don’t be “too much.”
When you hear those messages long enough, especially as someone with ADHD, you start learning how to perform instead of simply existing.
You learn how to monitor your voice. Your body. Your facial expressions. Your enthusiasm. Your joy.
You become a social chameleon without even realizing it.
People talk a lot about “masking” in neurodivergent communities, but before I ever knew that word, I used to describe myself as someone who automatically adapted to whoever I was around. I didn’t even know I was doing it. It became survival. I learned how to edit myself in real time to make other people more comfortable.
So when I mentioned my medication wearing off during our adventure, I jokingly said that they probably noticed the difference.
And they responded so casually, so kindly, so naturally: “All I noticed was your love for waterfalls.”
I don’t think they realized how deeply that sentence hit me.
Because they didn’t describe me as annoying. Or loud. Or too hyper. Or too intense.
They saw my joy.
And maybe that sounds small to some people, but for me, it felt healing.
For one moment, I didn’t feel like someone people needed in smaller doses.
I felt safe. I felt unmasked. I felt accepted without needing to perform first.
That’s what finding your people starts to feel like.
I think many neurodivergent people spend years believing we are fundamentally “wrong,” when in reality, we may have simply been surrounded by people who only knew how to appreciate quieter streams.
But some of us were never streams.
Some of us were waterfalls.
Big feelings. Big excitement. Big curiosity. Big wonder. Big love for the things that make us feel alive.
And yes, waterfalls can be loud. They can take up space. They can overwhelm people who prefer stillness and control.
But they can also be breathtaking.
Lately, I’ve been trying to find my people by joining hiking groups and putting myself out into the world more. And honestly? It’s scary. When you’ve spent years masking, being fully yourself can feel incredibly vulnerable.
But little by little, I’m discovering something hopeful: There are people out there who do not want you smaller.
There are people who will see your enthusiasm as passion. Your intensity as sincerity. Your excitement as joy. Your differences as humanity.
People who will not make you feel like a problem to solve.
And if you are someone who still feels alone, who still feels misunderstood, who still feels like you have to constantly shrink yourself to be accepted, I want you to know this:
Your people exist.
Sometimes finding them happens slowly. Sometimes it happens on hiking trails. Sometimes it happens through hobbies, support groups, online communities, volunteering, classes, art, books, gaming, music, or shared interests.
But life really does begin changing when you stop asking, “How do I make myself easier to digest?” and start asking, “Where are the people who will let me flow naturally?”
Because waterfalls were never meant to apologize for making noise.
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