neurodiversity

Dear Friend,

It shouldn’t have ended.

All I wanted was to be heard.

But you left me

during a time when I needed you most.

Now I’m left grieving a friendship that still exists—but not in my life anymore.

There’s a pain that’s indescribable.

I feel a deep sadness having to grieve someone who is still there.

It’s hard to stop thinking about it—

because it consumes my every thought.

I remember our childhood.

The first day we met, we saw each other.

We grabbed hands on the first day of school

and silently told one another,

“We’ve got this.”

We can make it through together.

Countless sleepovers.

Soccer games.

Birthday parties.

We rarely left each other’s side.

There were years where we drifted,

but we always remained close.

We went through a lot together,

and I thought we understood one another.

The past six years, we formed a stronger bond.

We saw each other nearly every week.

And now, there’s an emptiness—

a hollowness without you in my life.

Discovering What Brings Me Peace

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Discovering What Brings Me Peace

You still shine in my eyes.

You still hold a piece of my heart.

And for that reason, I can’t let you go—

but I will if I must.

I’m sorry for my approach,

but I felt hurt by your silence.

I have a lot of big emotions,

and my sensitivity makes things harder sometimes.

I hope one day we can apologize to one another.

I hope one day you’ll have it in your heart

to have a conversation.

Until then, know this:

I love you, and I always will.

You were a great friend throughout the years,

and I could never replace you.

My love knows no bounds.

It’s endless, even for people who leave.

I’ll hold on to memories of the past

and be hopeful for the future.

“It is so hard to forget pain, but it is even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness.” — Chuck Palahniuk

#MightyPoets #MentalHealth #Grief #Neurodiversity #MightyTogether

There I am, sitting in a room where conversations are flowing, laughter is filling the air, and somehow, I was on the outside of it all. Sure, I nodded along, smiled, and responded when spoken to, but on the inside, I felt an ache—a loneliness that never seems to leave me.

It’s a feeling that tells me no one really sees me. For a long time, I’ve felt loneliness in the company of others. I could be with friends, with family, and still feel completely invisible. It feels like an internal emptiness that my mind feeds off of, and I spiral with thoughts that consume me. I think of the worst-case scenarios in most social situations, and it’s truly me that gets in my way.

I can’t help but feel lonely. I’ve spent most of my life alone. Sometimes I even enjoy the solitude. It gives me space, away from others, to just be myself and not have to mask all the time. I’m not going to lie—even with close friends and family, I still mask. It has always been my way of protection in such a loud world where I feel like I don’t belong. And sometimes, that isolation I’m drawn to becomes so lonely that it’s painful.

I’ve been used to being the listener, but I feel like I’m never the one heard. I’ve opened up, been vulnerable, and still got rejected. So now, I’ve built thick iron walls that are impenetrable. No one can get in unless there’s a level of trust.

When you feel invisible long enough, it changes you. Personally, I start to question my place in people’s lives. I start to think if my voice even matters at all. I’ll replay situations over and over in my mind, wondering if I was being too emotional. I have such big feelings, and it’s hard to manage them because I’ve been hurt so many times before.

I start to believe I’m just a problem. I’ve self-sabotaged because I make too many assumptions. I assume that people tolerate me. I assume that they don’t like me deep down. Overthinking everything is one of the loneliest places to be. You doubt yourself and start to feel like you are just an inconvenience.

Mostly, I’ve stayed quiet because it feels safer than using my voice. It makes me feel like less of a burden. I’ve convinced myself it’s easier that way rather than risk being overlooked again.

There’s so much noise inside my head when I’m with people. I keep wondering if being quiet is too uncomfortable for them, or if being too vocal is too much. I try to keep a balance between my quietness and my communication, but I still feel sensitive to nearly everything. My rejection sensitivity is heavy and eats away at me nearly every day.

It’s a constant disconnect between how I feel and how I’m perceived. And that’s where the loneliness lives. Heavy. Exhausting. Silent. Because I appear fine on the outside, but inside I feel like it’s a disaster.

I’m slowly learning that I’m not invisible. I do have people in my life who truly see me and don’t judge me. The right people don’t make you question your worth. They don’t make you feel like you have to fight to be acknowledged. They don’t leave you wondering if you matter.

I know now that I was never meant to disappear just to fit into someone else’s world. My loneliness may make me question my place in the world, but it doesn’t define my worth. I’m still here—feeling, trying, and that alone counts for more than I realize.

When do you feel most invisible?

“Loneliness does not come from having no people around you, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to you.” — Carl Jung

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #AutismSpectrumDisorder #Loneliness #lonely

I finally spoke up…

and somehow I became the problem.

I knew you my whole life.

I showed up for you—every time.

Listened to everything.

Made space for you

like it was second nature.

But when it was my turn,

you weren’t there.

So I did something scary—

I was honest about how you hurt me.

And instead of listening,

you flipped it on me.

Blamed me.

Belittled me.

Made me question myself.

I sat there overthinking,

waiting for your response—

on your terms, of course.

And when it came,

it wasn’t care.

It was manipulation.

That’s when I realized:

I wasn’t losing a friend.

I was letting go of someone

who never knew how to be one.

“The friendship ended where silence used to live.”

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #MightyPoets

People-pleasing has always been a way of showing people that I care. It’s been my way of letting others know that I’m there for them when they need me, or that I’m readily available at any given time to listen, offer advice, and go along with anything that will bring them joy. This has happened my whole life, but I’ve realized just how much it takes pieces of me away.

My friends mean the world to me. I found them early on in life, and I haven’t let them go. We grew up in a very tight-knit group. We’d always be the teenagers walking around town, going to the park late at night, and spending countless hours hanging out at each other’s houses. We essentially became family. But even with that closeness, there still came insecurities, self-doubt, and worry that I’d be left behind. So whenever I was asked to do something or go somewhere I didn’t want to go, I’d stand up enthusiastically and say yes without a second thought.

Saying yes has brought me into a lot of unfamiliar situations that caused me intense overwhelm and anxiety. Most of the time, I say yes as an automatic reaction. I feel like I don’t have enough time to process and come to an answer, so I’ll just blurt out a “sure, whatever you need,” even in those moments that cause me internal strife. I just can’t seem to help it. It has become so natural for me now.

Sometimes people-pleasing isn’t about being kind. It’s about being so afraid of rejection that you abandon yourself in the process.

Recently, I was hanging out with a friend I’ve known since preschool. Over the years, we’d often not communicate for years, but would reconnect every once in a while. But I’d say over the past five years or so, we’ve been seeing each other nearly every week. We’ve always had an incredible bond. She’s neurodivergent too, so we get each other on a lot of different levels. There is a comfort there, knowing that someone truly gets you and sees you for who you really are. But even with that, she often makes me feel like my problems play second fiddle to hers.

All we ever talk about is her. Whenever I try to bring up a story or tell her about things going on in my life, it’s redirected toward her and her stories. I feel like she doesn’t care about what I have to say. The other day, I told her how upset I was that my therapist left the company I’m with, and her response was, “I’m sorry,” and then we moved on to talk about something entirely different. I thought she’d know how badly I needed to vent, or how much I needed a friend in that moment. But I didn’t get the same courtesy I always show her when she’s feeling down.

And the thing is, I’m on her schedule. We’ll hang out when she requests. And me? I follow along like a puppy dog, dropping plans to go be with her. We also never leave her house. We never go outside and do anything fun. She never invites me out anywhere. She’s a homebody, and I understand that, but when I see she goes out with other people on occasion, it leaves me feeling left out, stepped on, and just used for whenever she needs me.

The other day, we had planned a trip to go to the Getty Museum. One of her friends was performing there, so she wanted to go show support. She was very strict on the time, so I got to her house early to make sure I was there. I walked in, and I asked her if she was excited to go. She said yes and proceeded to get ready—got dressed, put on makeup, grabbed her bag and belongings. And then, the moment we were about to walk out the door, she pulled what she always pulls: “I don’t want to go.” Then she was like, “I forgot, I could watch it on YouTube.” So here I’m thinking, well, since she didn’t want to go, that leaves us time to hang out. And what does she do? Tells me she wants a nap. So I left upset and angry with her. I had gotten dressed up and pushed myself to go, even though I didn’t really want to in the first place. But I sucked it up because I told her I’d be there. So to all of a sudden be dropped like that made me furious.

I said to myself that I wasn’t going to talk to her for a good while because I realized just how much I’ve been used. I think she only invited me in the first place because she never likes to go anywhere alone, and she knew I was the only friend available. And the thing is, I know she would’ve gone if it was someone other than me. It makes me feel like she doesn’t understand my neurodivergence and how badly I experience rejection sensitivity. Because at the end of the day, I was, in fact, rejected. I would think she’d see that and understand it. But like I said, she’s very self-absorbed.

I’m not sure why I put up with it, or why I’m so fearful of even talking to her about it. I don’t like confrontation, and I certainly don’t want her to think differently of me. She’s pretty much the only friend I have out here. All my other friends live out of state. So perhaps that’s why I fear bringing it up. I don’t want to lose her and be stuck without a lifeline to the outside world.

I know that silence about it isn’t the best way to go about healing, but it’s really hard for me to express how I’m truly feeling because of that fear of rejection.

That’s why I always say yes. Yes makes it so much easier than no. But I’ve realized, mostly ever since I was diagnosed, that it only hurts me in the end. I’ve learned that saying no is a strong stance, and by saying it, it’s not only courageous, but also a step toward healing the parts of me that I neglected over the years by being too much of a people-pleaser.

I still struggle with this, no doubt, but as each day passes, I worry less about what other people think. In fact, regardless of how scary it might be, I told my friend that I needed to talk to her about the things that have been bothering me. Something that I’d never do, but my hurt has been stretched for far too long, and it’s time for me to speak my truth.

I think I might always struggle, but I know that little by little, I’m getting stronger every day.

What do you think will happen if you say no? Be honest about the hard parts, but also consider what saying no might protect, preserve, or heal in you.

“Sometimes people-pleasing isn’t about being kind—it’s about being so afraid of rejection that you abandon yourself in the process.”

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #Anxiety #SocialAnxiety #AutismSpectrumDisorder

Had a lot on my mind since yesterday and had to find a distraction so I can get some rest. Did pretty good if I must say so myself. #ADHD #Anxiety #Neurodiversity

What’s a secret skill or ability you have or wish you had?

There’s a part of me that most people don’t see right away. It’s quiet, observant, and always noticing what’s happening around me. If I had to name a secret skill I have, it would probably be reading people really well.

I’ve always been super observant. I notice body language, facial expressions, glances, behaviors—all of it. Most of the time, I can tell how someone is feeling just by looking at them. I pick up on things easily. For example, I can tell when a friend is forcing a smile, even if they say they’re fine. I can sense tension in a room before anyone speaks, or know when someone is holding back something they really want to say. Honestly, I think that’s a gift.

It helps me see people for who they really are. I’m usually able to tell when someone is genuine and when they’re not. In a lot of ways, that ability has always protected me. It’s helped me keep my distance when I need to and guard my heart. But it’s also made me really sensitive to other people.

I can usually tell when someone is upset, overwhelmed, or hurting, even if they’re trying hard not to show it. Maybe that’s because I know what it feels like to hide what’s going on inside. So, when I notice that in someone else, I want to comfort them and make them feel seen. Sometimes it’s as small as listening quietly while they talk, or noticing when someone needs space before they ask for it.

If there’s one skill I wish I had, though, it would be better communication.

For someone who notices so much, I’m terrible at getting my own thoughts out. I stumble over my words constantly. Sometimes I have something I want to say, and it just disappears before I can get it out. Other times, I mutter a response no one can hear because I’m too afraid to say it aloud or worry it’ll be judged. Most of the time, I have an important point I want to make in a group conversation, but by the time I try to speak, the moment has passed. As a result, there are countless opportunities I miss to share my voice at all.

I’m a nervous person, and meeting new people has always been hard for me. I can do small talk, even though I hate it, but after that, I never know what to say. My mind just goes blank. I overthink everything. Even when I do have something thoughtful to say, I usually keep it to myself because I’m scared it’ll come out wrong or sound stupid. So, I stay quiet.

My ability to read people and my struggles with communication have shaped my relationships. I’ve been able to support friends when they needed it most, but I’ve also missed chances to speak up for myself. It’s a constant balancing act, learning to notice and understand others while also finding my own voice.

There’s so much in my head—so many thoughts and feelings—but I don’t always know how to let them out. I may not be the most talkative person in the room, but I notice everything. I feel everything. And maybe that says more about me than words ever could

Even if I don’t always say the right thing, I hope my presence, my attention, and my care can speak for me.

What’s a strength you have that people may not always notice right away—and what’s one skill you wish came more naturally to you?

“I may be quiet, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing there. Sometimes the deepest people are the ones still searching for the words.”

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