Loneliness

I’ve struggled with many fears throughout my life. The fear of public speaking. The fear of failure. The fear of change. So many things that have truly held me back. And to be honest, I still haven’t fully gotten over those fears. But one that I’m proud to say I’ve slowly started to accept—and even appreciate—is myself.

Growing up, I never seemed to fit in the way that other people did. Social interactions felt harder. I was constantly analyzing myself and wondering why I couldn’t just be like other people. So, I did what a lot of people do when they feel different. I adapted. I adjusted to a life that didn’t feel like mine, but I had to push through anyway because that was expected of me.

Looking back, I can see how much energy I spent trying to blend in. I would try to act like other people. I paid close attention to what people liked, what they didn’t like, and what seemed tolerable. Without realizing it, I spent years trying to become someone who would be easier for other people to understand.

I remember taking on everyone else’s interests as my own because I thought that I would be more likable. More accepted. I pretended to like Barbie dolls at a young age because that was the trend and my friends were really into them, even though I wasn’t. I acted like a girly-girl for certain friends who were that way, even though I wasn’t. Acting became second nature.

But as for my interests? I kept them hidden. I felt like no one would care or take notice of them. Growing up, I was interested in things like baseball, rock collecting, painting, writing, and an obsession with pop culture, especially films.

But, I felt like my interests were boring compared to other people’s. I just never felt comfortable talking about them because I didn’t want to be too much or talk too much.

Still to this day, I keep my interests hidden because of the fear of criticism, even though people have definitely caught on to them.

Right now, I have four main interests—the Dodgers, the same music I’ve listened to over and over again for years (Linkin Park), being a hardcore foodie and cook, and of course blogging and writing.

My friends know me well. They send me Dodgers videos, Linkin Park videos, and new recipes.

It’s nice to know they see those parts of me, even though it still makes me a little uncomfortable sometimes.

It shouldn’t bother me, but it does for some strange reason—I still haven’t figured out why.

But even with my interests being well received, I still adapt to other people’s interests more than I’d like to because I still feel that I won’t be accepted in some way.

And the funny thing is, it wasn’t just my interests that I hid.

I stayed quiet when I had something to say. I laughed when everyone else laughed, even when I didn’t get the joke. Basically, I hid every part of myself—my struggles, my sensitivities, and the parts of me that felt too different. At the time, I thought I was protecting myself from rejection (probably my biggest fear). Because deep down, I worried that if people saw the real me, they wouldn’t like what they found.

And for me, that’s been a constant echo in my mind—that people will never like me for me. That’s why I can’t say I’ve gotten over the fear of rejection, because I’m still very much consumed by it.

Little did I know I was walking around with an invisible illness. One that would eventually give me the answers I had spent years searching for. The things I had spent my life criticizing myself for finally had context.

My struggles weren’t personal failures. My brain just worked differently. And that realization didn’t erase all of my insecurities, but it did give me understanding. And with understanding came self-compassion.

Instead of seeing my differences as imperfections, I began seeing them as a part of who I am. And with that realization came clarity. For the very first time, I felt a part of me embrace myself.

I hugged that little girl who was so confused, the teenager who was so angry and frustrated, and the adult in me, reassuring myself that it’s okay to be authentically yourself.

Now, there are still moments when I worry about being misunderstood. There are still moments when I wonder if I’m too quiet, too sensitive, or too different. But those thoughts don’t control me the way they used to.

My goal was never to become someone else. My goal was to become comfortable being myself. And honestly, that has been one of the most freeing things I’ve ever experienced.

If overcoming a fear means learning to live without letting it make your decisions for you, then I think this is a fear I’ve overcome.

It’s not because the fear never visits me anymore. It’s because it no longer gets to decide who I am.

Have you ever hidden parts of yourself in order to fit in or feel accepted?

“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” — Oscar Wilde

#MentalHealth #ADHD #Autism #AutismSpectrumDisorder #Anxiety #Depression #Loneliness #Neurodiversity

Self-confidence?

What’s that?

I say that jokingly now, but for most of my life, confidence was something that never really stood by my side.

I grew up incredibly insecure. Everything I considered a flaw—my quietness, my shyness, my awkwardness—always felt like proof that I wasn’t good enough. Like I couldn’t match other people’s energy, their charisma, their overall presence and the way they portrayed themselves to the world.

I lived in constant self-doubt and low self-esteem. I watched so many other people around me grow and flourish in ways I could never match up to. Putting yourself down day after day, year after year, does something to you that truly makes you your own worst enemy.

For a long time, I thought confident people were just born that way. They seemed so comfortable speaking up, trying new things, and putting themselves out there with the utter hesitation I would feel. My life has been spent questioning myself and worrying too much about what others thought of me.

I remember one time when I was in college taking a speech course. It was a requirement in order to graduate. This class terrified me even before I started taking it. I had put it off for a long time because I just wasn’t ready for the obvious humiliation waiting for me. But eventually the time came where I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had no choice but to face my biggest fear head-on.

I had done my research and picked a class that only required you to do four speeches throughout the semester. I’d seen other classes where you’d have to get up and speak every day, and that sounded like the worst thing on the planet, so I chose the “easier” route.

I’ll never forget the first speech I gave. It was choosing one song that you felt represented something significant to you. I chose Nirvana’s “All Apologies.” A perfect song to communicate how I felt internally. “What else should I be? All apologies.” It was a song that truly spoke to me.

I remember writing out my 3–5 minute speech perfectly. I’d rehearsed it over and over again so I’d have it memorized. And I did. But when it came time to get out there and perform, I completely froze. I’d lost all feeling in my body (I’m surprised I didn’t pass out). My voice rattled and shook so much that I could barely get through a sentence. My face was flushed. My eyes were nearly welled up with tears. My heart was racing faster than it ever had before. I just remember standing there feeling so incredibly exposed. Looking at everyone just stare at me, watching me fail line by line. Those were some of the most difficult moments I’d ever faced.

I rushed out of class afterward and cried hysterically from all of the embarrassment. I couldn’t get over the humiliation. I couldn’t stop caring about what other people might’ve thought. It was pure torture for me. It still stays in my mind to this day as one of the worst experiences of my life.

But when I reflect back on it, I realize how much I learned about confidence. I noticed that I was prepared and put a lot of hard work and effort into that speech. I might not have delivered it perfectly, but the substance, the depth of what I was trying to communicate, was there. I was just so encumbered by fear, anxiety, and the thought of rejection that it psyched me out before I even gave the speech.

Confidence?

It might not have been there in the obvious sense, but it was there all along underneath it all.

I realized that I got through the hard part. I pushed myself when I was terrified, but I got up there and did it. That shows some sort of confidence, right?

I think one of the biggest misconceptions about confidence is that you need to feel confident before doing something scary.

In reality, the opposite is true.

Think about learning a new skill. Nobody starts out feeling completely capable. Confidence develops through repetition, practice, and experience.

Every time you do something uncomfortable, you gather evidence that you can handle more than you thought.

Even if it doesn’t go perfectly, you’ve proven that you’re willing to at least try.

When I first started blogging, I was terrified to put myself out there. I knew that I wanted to share my experiences growing up neurodivergent and how I could possibly help others feel seen in a way that I hadn’t for so long.

When I finally got my diagnoses a few years ago, I suddenly found a confidence in myself that I never knew existed. It was like an epiphany for me. I realized I was introduced to the real me for the very first time. And even though there was a lot of heaviness in that, knowing I’d spent my whole life undiagnosed, there was also clarity and understanding.

I look at where I’m at right now and I’ll tell you I’m shocked to see the person before you. Never in a million years did I think I would actually tell my story. Never did I think I would be vocal and share my opinions on social media. And never did I think I would be this vulnerable.

But wow, here I am.

This newfound confidence gave me a little nudge to be more vocal and stand up for myself. I used to let people walk all over me like a doormat. I thought that they would only accept me and like me if I gave a little more of myself to them. So I did. I did anything and everything that was asked of me. I stayed in the background and supported them while they succeeded. I stayed behind because I thought I had to. But now, it’s so much different.

Now, I put myself first. If I don’t like the way I’m being treated, I stand up for myself and I’m very vocal about it. Almost too vocal. It’s like suddenly this fear, this anxiety of speaking up had vanished. If someone attacks my character, I’m right there ready to defend myself. If someone rolls their eyes in a subtle way when I say something, I call them out. I think it’s because I’m so fed up with being mistreated, misunderstood, and a second thought in other people’s minds.

Don’t get me wrong, I still get nervous, I still doubt myself, and I still have days when those old insecurities come back. But the difference now is that I trust myself more than I used to.

Confidence isn’t believing you’ll never fail. It’s believing you’ll be okay if you do.

It’s trusting that one awkward conversation, one mistake, one rejection, or one setback doesn’t define who you are.

What is one moment when you realized you could do something even while feeling scared?

“Courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.” — Nelson Mandela

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #Loneliness #MightyTogether