neurodiversity

For most of my life, criticism has felt more natural to me than comfort. It’s felt like an automatic reaction rather than something thought out. Immediate. Intense. Familiar.

My inner critic attacks my every thought, my every word, my every move. I’ve followed this pattern of negativity and self-hatred for as long as I can remember.

I think it stems from never feeling comfortable in my own skin. I grew up thinking there was something wrong with me because I felt so different from my peers. It felt like I didn’t belong. Like I never quite fit into the picture. And that feeling of loneliness made me ashamed of myself.

I judged myself for being too sensitive, too quiet, too distant. From the beginning, I made myself invisible by choice because I thought I wasn’t likeable or acceptable for my personality.

When I’m in a group socializing, I feel extremely awkward. Like I’m standing there incessantly rubbing my sweaty palms together, my facial expressions can often indicate that I’m unwell, and I have trouble speaking at all. I never know when to jump into conversation because I’m mentally preparing for what to say, how to say it, and how to act while doing so. And then, everything faulters. I end up staying quiet the whole time, just consciously in my thoughts, hating myself for not being “normal.” Why do I have to constantly put myself down when I do anything? It’s a question that’s boggled my mind for years.

I believed I was dull, boring, and rather plain. I felt like I just wasn’t good at anything—whether it was a hobby like art or making new friends. I would retreat inward and treat myself cruelly because of it.

There are so many times that great opportunities passed me by because of the intense negativity towards myself. I’d psych myself out of these opportunities telling myself that I’m not good enough, smart enough, or capable enough to handle something bigger for me. There were a couple of moments that I had interviews for dream jobs. One of them being a career in hospitality public relations.

I’ve always had a passion for gastronomy and tourism, and it was a job I really wanted to vie for. After hours, heck days, of mentally trying to prepare, I’d put myself down with those thoughts. I showed up to the interview (gave myself a pat on the back for at least walking in) and got through each question. But when I answered, my voice shook, my demeanor was unsteady, and my mind drifted, automatically criticizing my every word. Afterward, I immediately started crying and yelling at myself for being so awkward and so obviously uncomfortable.

There are times when I shrink myself so small that I literally believe every negative thought about me. I’ll sit there dwelling in certain scenarios from the past or the present and make myself out to be the enemy regardless of the situation.

What’s been difficult to realize is how unfamiliar gentleness feels to me now. It’s not because I don’t need it, but because criticism became the language I learned to speak to myself in.

Comfort can feel foreign sometimes. Even uncomfortable. There are moments where I try to reassure myself and immediately feel resistance, like my mind doesn’t fully believe I deserve kindness.

In most situations I’m generally uncomfortable. Like if someone compliments me, I’ll try my best to steer away from the compliment and continue the conversation. I shy away. I’ve never known how to receive them well because I genuinely don’t believe what someone is telling me because deep down I feel unworthy. And then I realize just how harsh my inner critic is. It won’t even let me accept a simple compliment. I’m noticing just how harsh my self-talk sounds out loud. I practically cringe at the thought.

I’m realizing that when you spend years tearing yourself apart internally, compassion doesn’t come naturally overnight. It has to be practiced repeatedly.

I’m trying to unlearn the idea that I need to earn kindness from myself.

For so long, I believed comfort came from rest after constant productivity. But the truth is, I’ve spent years withholding compassion from myself during the moments when I needed it most.

I’m noticing how quickly my mind moves toward blame when something goes wrong. How instinctively I criticize myself for being emotional, overwhelmed, anxious, or withdrawn. It happens in an instant and I barely realize I’m doing it.

It feels unnatural for me to experience kindness towards myself. Because when criticism has been your default for years, compassion feels almost suspicious.

But I don’t want my inner voice to keep sounding like someone I’m afraid of. I want to learn how to speak to myself with softness instead of shame. With understanding instead of punishment.

I’m still unsure how to go about it, but I know that with practice, patience, and learning to really love myself, I’ll get there.

“Talk to yourself like someone you love.” — Brené Brown

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #Depression #ADHD #Anxiety #GeneralizedAnxietyDisorder #Autism #MightyTogether

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on my life—past events, current situations, and future plans—and it’s made me question if I’m truly moving forward or just existing in a state of stagnation. I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be present in your own life versus simply going through the motions, and whether I’ve been living with intention or just functioning out of habit.

Most of my life I’ve operated on autopilot. It feels like waking up and doing the same thing every single day without even thinking about it. It’s become routine, ordinary, and repetitive. I’m merely just functioning, not truly living. And that’s something that I want to change.

I’ve lived my life by my own set of rules. I always have. Personally, I never like to be told what to do, when to do it, or how to do it. Generally, I like to figure things out on my own without any help. I can be stubborn that way.

Embracing Life Lessons: A Letter to My 100-Year-Old Self

But sometimes, I feel like I need a little guidance, a sense of direction because so far, my rules haven’t helped me achieve the things I want out of life.

I feel like my life is passing me by. I’ve become so functional, so operational, that I forget there’s a whole other life to live. I’ve become somewhat of a hermit. I rarely leave my house unless I have to. But that’s a very lonely space.

More often than not, it’s hard not to compare yourself to others when you notice how full their lives look. Those impressions you get through personally knowing someone or seeing it via social media. Social media is a dangerous rabbit hole to go down if you’re looking to uplift yourself. It just isn’t going to happen.

But right now, I just feel like my life isn’t going anywhere. I feel like I’m just existing. There’s such an emptiness there.

For the past few years, I would say that I’ve been in a mental fog. A dissociative state if you will. I’ve felt out of touch with my emotions in the sense that they don’t hit me fully until later on, when I least expect it.

I want a life where I don’t just feel functional. I want a life that I can fully and wholly be a part of. I’m done sitting back and watch time go by. I’ve learned just how precious time can be because right now it feels like I suddenly woke up after years of hibernation.

Years flew by in a flash. All I know is that I was twenty years old yesterday, but today, let’s just say a lot of time has passed since. I feel old without being old. I feel like I missed out on so many opportunities and experiences because I was in such a state of disconnection for so long.

I’m starting to pay more attention to this and trying to find ways to help myself get out of this bubble I’ve been in. I need change, and I need it now. That’s truthfully how I feel. So, I’m beginning to take more action instead of staying still.

It’s strange to realize how long you can be functioning without really being present in your own life. And what’s sitting with me most is not just that it’s been happening, but that I didn’t fully notice how far I had drifted until now. I don’t know what comes next, but I do know I don’t want to keep existing in a way where I feel this far away from myself.

When was the last time you felt truly present in your own life—not just functioning through it?

“Lost time is never found again.” — Benjamin Franklin

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #Autism #Depression #Anxiety #MightyTogether

I didn’t realize I was using self-care as a way to fix myself. Until I kept trying—and nothing ever stayed.

Trying to fix myself

For a long time, I genuinely thought that self-care was going to fix me. Like if I just found the right routine, the right flow, the right version of myself then things would start to feel easier. I thought that things would be more manageable, clearer, and more together.

So, I tried everything in the book. I bought journals, wrote out the routines, and told myself, this time I’m going to do it right. But it never stuck.

I remember one time being so motivated to really set a schedule and keep up with it. I was in my early twenties and back then, things seemed more capable and achievable. A friend and I set out to make our lives a little healthier by exercising regularly and cutting back on sugar. So, we joined a gym, made lighter meals, and leaned on one another for support.

We both made great improvements during our trips to the gym, eating better, and focusing on maintaining balance and clarity. I must say that exercise, even though I despise it at times, genuinely does improve your mood, your energy, and your mental health. But still, it wasn’t a routine or lifestyle that lasted very long.

Despite the progress and the mood shift, I just couldn’t keep up with it any longer. There was too much pressure I put on myself to go every day, eat the same things that didn’t fill my appetite, and just too much effort at the end of the day to keep doing a routine. It became tiring, mundane, and emotionally overwhelming.

I became very down on myself for not keeping up something that helped both my mind and my body. Why couldn’t I just make this a part of my lifestyle? Why couldn’t I just stick with something for once in my life? Plain and simple, I lost the gusto—the motivation to keep going and pushing through the discomfort of actually following through with the plans. My friend and I both stopped going about a month or so into it.

The thing is, I know that it would help me in the best way, but still I sat there frozen by the idea that this was what the rest of my life would look like. And that made me feel miserable. Truthfully, I hated the gym because of sensory issues. I hated eating smaller portions and nuts and berries all the time. I missed my old way of life, even if it wasn’t conducive.

The pattern I couldn’t escape

There have been so many times in my life where I would set out goals, hopes, passions and make them into something fruitful. But more often than not, nothing would work out the way that I intended. My routines always fell to the wayside after a few days. I guess I would just lose interest quickly. And I always felt this shame, this guilt for not being able to follow through on even the simplest of tasks.

I just remember being so excited to get out my journal and start writing out a structured routine to keep me on track. I’d highlight, color code, and make it look aesthetically appealing. But it often gathered dust on my desk for weeks, even months after. I just couldn’t follow through. It really did make me feel like something was wrong with me.

That I just didn’t have discipline, or consistency, or whatever it is people seem to naturally have. It wasn’t like I didn’t care. I cared a lot actually. I wanted to feel better, have more structure, and wanted to be someone who could follow through on the things I set out to do.

But every single time something didn’t stick, it felt like I was proving the same thing over and over again—that I just couldn’t get it right.

The shift

And that’s when something started to change for me. I had small realizations like… what if it wasn’t that I couldn’t stick to anything? What if I was trying to force myself into things that didn’t actually fit me?

Because when I look back, a lot of it didn’t feel natural.

The routines felt rigid. The expectations felt heavy. And the structure felt like pressure instead of support. And I was trying to push through all of that like that’s just what you’re supposed to do. Like if something is “good for you,” you just force yourself to do it no matter how it feels.

But it didn’t feel good. All of that pressure was actually working against me. Because every time I couldn’t keep up with it, I didn’t think, maybe this isn’t for me. I thought, I’m the problem.

And that’s what I’m starting to unlearn now. That just because something works for someone else doesn’t mean that it works for me. And just because something is labeled “self-care” doesn’t mean it actually feels like care.

What self-care looks like now

Now, self-care looks completely different.

For me, it’s not a routine I follow to the tee. It’s not something I stick to everyday. Not structured or aesthetic most of the time. It’s something I do when I can.

Some days I have more energy and some days I don’t. Some days I can cook something simple and feel okay. Other days when I’m overwhelmed, hungry, irritated, and standing in the kitchen with no capacity to decide, I just choose whatever feels easiest. I used to judge myself for that. For not trying hard enough. But now I see it differently.

Self-care is about choosing what feels manageable. It isn’t about pushing myself past the point where I know I’m going to shut down. It’s quieter than I thought it would be. It supports me in a way those routines never did.

I still have days where I overthink everything. Days where I feel off for no reason. Days where even the smallest things feel a heck of a lot harder than they should. But it helps me stay present in the moment I’m in. It helps me stay with myself instead of completely shutting down.

My self-care looks like

• Taking a walk outside, even if only for a few minutes, just to move a little and smell the fresh air. I stay indoors a lot, so going outside is something I need to do at least twice a day to help me feel a little more alive.

• Taking hot showers at night to soothe my aching muscles. I experience a lot of tension in my shoulders. It’s where all of my stress goes, and let me tell you, I’m stiff as a board. So I need something to release a bit of that pain.

• Organizing my desk at home. For me, I need tidiness and organization when it comes to writing. I need a clear space in front of me to let out the messiness inside of me. I write all the time, so it’s essentially my main form of self-care.

• Reading always helps me to calm my mind. Sometimes I feel pressure to read because friends and I read the same novel together, but I never force it. I let it come naturally when I feel like I’m in the mood for a good story.

• Light cooking helps me feel like myself again. Cooking has always been a passion, and a way for me to focus on something when my mind needs stillness. Making something simple yet creative makes me feel good about myself.

Small things like that are my self-care. Plain and simple. It’s what grounds me, and what makes me feel like myself. It might not be anything extravagant, but it’s tailored to my specific needs.

Conclusion

This is what helps me get through the day to day. And I no longer feel guilty that my self-care doesn’t look like my gym days. I feel more comfortable with the smaller aspects of what makes my life feel more manageable.

Because self-care didn’t fix everything. But it helps me stay.

What if self-care isn’t about fixing yourself, but about learning how to stay with yourself?

“You don’t have to fix everything to be okay.” — Unknown

#selfcare #MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD

Personally, I had a rough week. It was filled with unexpected stressors, negative thought patterns, and low energy with minimal movement. I'm not going to lie, I've felt rather lonely during this time, but a friend reached out over the weekend and made me feel a little better just knowing that someone wanted my company given that i was so down the past few days. It cheered me up a bit.

Did you have any moments that brought you joy? Let me know!

#MightyTogether #MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #Depression #ADHD #AutismSpectrum #Anxiety

A personal reflection on overthinking, emotional shutdown, and slowly understanding the patterns behind CPTSD.

The other day, I sat there for way too long trying to decide what to eat. It sounds small, but it didn’t feel that way in the moment.

I kept going back and forth—opening the fridge, closing it, just standing there like the answer was going to magically show up. I thought about cooking something, but even that felt like too many steps. Too many decisions stacked on top of each other. And the longer I stood there, the more irritated I got.

Not at anything specific. Just… everything. At myself. At the situation. And at being stuck in something so simple that I couldn’t get through it.

It felt like my brain just shut off over something that should’ve been easy. I ended up closing the fridge and going back upstairs because I couldn’t deal with it anymore. I went to bed hungry, irritated, and completely drained over something that shouldn’t have taken anything out of me.

And moments like that happen more than I like to admit.

It’s not just food.

It’s the same feeling when I’m writing and I keep re-reading the same paragraph over and over, changing things, changing them back, getting stuck in it instead of just moving forward.

My mind does this a lot. I replay conversations, pick apart tone, wording, timing—trying to figure out if I said too much, if I said the wrong thing, if I missed something. It’s exhausting.

Lately I’ve also been sitting with a decision I made recently. I don’t want to get into specifics, but I keep thinking about how I handled it, whether I went too far, whether my emotional state played a role. And it’s brought up a lot—especially around rejection, criticism, and feeling misunderstood.

And then I spiral into old thoughts about myself. Everything starts feeling personal. Everything feels like it says something about who I am.

I’ve noticed how quickly I turn things inward—how I blame myself even when it’s more complicated than that. How I apologize for things I wasn’t fully responsible for. How I carry things that were never all mine to hold.

For a long time, I thought this was just me.

So I pushed through it. Minimized it. Told myself to “get it together” even when I was clearly overwhelmed underneath everything.

But it wasn’t helping.

That’s when I came across Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder).

I don’t say that like I fully understand it. I really don’t. But when I started reading about it, something about it felt uncomfortably familiar—like it was describing patterns I’ve been living in without having the language for them.

When people talk about trauma, it’s usually tied to something big and singular. That’s how Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) is usually understood.

But CPTSD didn’t feel like that to me.

It felt quieter. Less like one defining moment, and more like patterns that build over time.

Not what happened once—but what kept happening. The environments. The emotional tone. The way you learn to read everything and adjust yourself without even realizing it.

Over time, your body just starts living in that state.

And I think that’s the part I never really understood about myself.

There’s a way I move through the world where I’m always slightly on. Always scanning. Always thinking ahead before anything even happens. Even when things are calm, there’s still this tension in me that doesn’t fully go away.

On the outside I function. I get things done. But internally, it’s a different story.

It’s overthinking that doesn’t stop. It’s feeling like I need to get everything right even when no one is asking me to.

And I didn’t really understand why I was like that for a long time.

What I’ve started to realize is that CPTSD doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it just looks like patterns you think are normal because you’ve always lived inside them.

For me it’s decision fatigue that turns into irritability, then shutdown. It’s something as small as choosing food becoming overwhelming. Simply saying yes when I actually want to say no, and only realizing after how drained I feel.

It’s feeling disconnected sometimes—like I’m there, but not fully there.

It’s being hyper-aware of people’s energy. Tone shifts. Small changes. Things that aren’t said out loud but still feel loud to me anyway.

And it’s wanting connection, but also feeling unsure once it’s there.

It’s exhausting in a way that’s hard to explain because nothing about it looks big from the outside. But inside, it is.

I think this is where things overlap for me in a way I’m still trying to figure out.

Growing up I was always a little out of sync. Quiet. Observant. In my head a lot. I learned early how to read everything around me—people, moods, reactions—just to figure out how to exist in it.

I adapted without even realizing I was doing it.

But that doesn’t just go away. It stays with you. It becomes how you move through everything—always adjusting, always thinking ahead, always trying not to get it wrong or take up too much space.

And then even simple things start to feel heavy.

Even standing in front of a fridge, trying to decide what to eat.

What I’m slowly learning is that these aren’t just random reactions or personality flaws. They’re responses. Things my mind and body learned over time just to get through stuff.

It doesn’t fix everything. It doesn’t stop the overthinking or the overwhelm. But it does change how I see it.

Instead of immediately turning on myself, I’m starting—slowly—to pause and ask something different.

Not what’s wrong with me… but what is this connected to?

And I don’t really have a perfect answer for that yet. I don’t think I need one right now.

But I am starting to understand myself in a way that feels a little less harsh. A little less like I’m the problem. And more like I’ve just been carrying things I didn’t really have words for. Maybe I’ve just been reacting to things that my body never learned how to let go of.

When do your “small” moments actually feel like something much heavier happening underneath?

“Trauma is not what happens to you, but what happens inside you as a result of what happens to you.” — Gabor Maté

#MentalHealth #ADHD #Autism #AutismSpectrum #Neurodiversity #PTSD #MightyTogether

Silence has never been unfamiliar to me. I’ve always been someone who sits in quiet spaces with comfortability. Personally, I don’t like if there’s constant noise or distraction because it feels too overwhelming. So, silence is where I stay. It’s where I feel the most like myself.

Silence as comfort and early solitude

For the most part, I grew up alone. I’m an only child, so I learned early on to entertain myself—playing solo games, writing stories, reading fun mystery novels.

I remember going to the toy store with my mom and being brought little projects for me to do. I remember getting science kits, fun fill-out books like “about me” or Mad Libs, and board games like Operation that you could play alone.

Of course, there were moments I felt lonely. But I grew comfortable and used to being solo that it didn’t affect me the way it may have others.

I think it’s because I choose silence over noise because of my anxieties and fears. I noticed that I didn’t need constant background sound or distraction. It was easy to sit in silence in peace. I was okay with it.

To me, silence has always been my form of rest.

I just always craved time alone. Time to be by myself because I could just be freely authentic without any outside unwanted judgment. When I’m doing things that I genuinely love to do—my hobbies, my interests—I rarely ever feel alone.Silence, identity, and relationships

I’ve been fortunate enough to always have friends by my side. They became my social lifeline and a place of feeling acceptance. They saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself at the time.

I’ve always been hard on myself, so the fact that I actually had friends often boggled my mind.

I’ve always considered myself to be too quiet, too shy to make friends. But people naturally gravitated towards my quiet nature. They saw me as reliable, kind, and perhaps even fun.

I’m so grateful to have had a social life from an early age because that’s what made me feel less lonesome.

When silence becomes heavy

But sometimes, being alone in the silence too much creates an overwhelming discomfort.

My thoughts get so loud that emotions surface and my anxiety goes haywire. I’ll start overthinking everything in my life. I start doubting myself and shrink in the process.

That’s why I don’t need outside noise—I have enough of it going on in my mind.

Emotions rise when things get louder.

Lately, I’ve been feeling isolated. I haven’t really left my house much and I’ve been disassociating—being there but not fully being there.

Whenever I do leave my house, I feel so much anxiety that it’s nearly hard to breathe.

There have been moments where I’ve felt overwhelmed in ways I didn’t immediately understand until later—when everything quieted down and I was left sitting with it.

When I do go out, my emotions are high. If something or someone irritates me or triggers me in some way, my emotions come out all at once. I think it’s because I have so many buried feelings that they all come to a head at that point.

Internal processing and emotional buildup

I sit with things for a long time instead of expressing them. My thought process is quiet and internal.

I had a recent experience where I held things in too long that I couldn’t hold them in any longer. I made the decision to face the situation head on and be upfront and honest with my feelings. Needless to say, they were shut down.

This made my rejection sensitivity intensify to limits I had never reached before. I became angry, frustrated, and quite frankly hurt.

That’s why I feel more comfort in silence because I’ve learned vulnerability can often be detrimental.

But over time, I realized that I shouldn’t live my life in fear of opening up and that I should let things out before the tension builds.Reflection on silence

I’m starting to understand that silence hits differently for me. It holds comfort and clarity but can also hold heaviness and disconnection.

But if you were to ask me if I prefer silence or noise, I’m always going to choose silence.

I’m an introvert and I love to be alone. It’s my space for recharging my social battery, engaging in things I love, and sorting through my thoughts on my own time, no pressure.

And through the heaviness that comes along with it, I can manage it more easily when I’m in my own space quietly.

What does silence feel like for you—comfort, heaviness, or a mix of both?

“Silence is a source of great strength.”— Lao Tzu

#MentalHealth #Anxiety #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #Autism #AutismSpectrumDisorder #AutismSpectrum #Depression #Neurodiversity #MightyTogether

Embrace the Unseen means learning to love the unique parts of yourself.

It means taking pride in your existence, even if the world hasn’t always made you feel like you should.

To me, it’s a space for the quiet ones, the deep feelers, and the sensitive souls—people who have spent most of their lives feeling overlooked, misunderstood, or invisible. Embrace the Unseen also means bringing that invisibility to light.

For most of my life, I’ve felt overlooked. Physically present, but rarely in anyone’s mind. Existing in the background while others were noticed, chosen, included, or remembered. I was there but not always seen.

I’ve always been quiet, shy, reserved, deeply empathetic, emotionally sensitive, and an overthinker. For a long time, I stayed in the shadows—too afraid to step into the light. Scared of judgment, rejection, dismissal, or misunderstanding. So I stayed quiet. And in many ways, I’ve carried that habit with me ever since.

I know I’m neurodivergent, and I know being an introvert adds layers to that. My shyness, awkwardness, and the way I move through the world connect to my neurodivergence, but sometimes it feels even deeper. It feels tied to years of shrinking myself, hiding parts of who I am, just to feel safe.

That’s why I created Embrace the Unseen.

The intention behind this group is to create a space where people can feel seen. A space where you can read my reflections, relate to them, and maybe feel a little less alone in your own inner world. Because for me, knowing there are others out there who also struggle with invisibility somehow makes me feel seen too.

I write about my personal experiences on my blog Embrace the Unseen. Feel free to check out my website.

#MentalHealth #Anxiety #Depression #ADHD #AutismSpectrumDisorder #AutismSpectrum #Neurodiversity #MightyTogether