signs of neurodivergence, especially in cultures that don’t talk about it

i didn’t grow up with the word neurodivergent. i grew up with words like sensitive, moody, too talkative, a little dramatic, sharp but inconsistent, emotionally intense, lost in her own world. i was always someone you couldn’t quite pin down — i’d be dreamy and inventive one week and then anxious and inconsolable the next, often praised for my creativity but quietly criticized for my lack of “follow-through.” teachers loved that i had big ideas, but hated that i couldn’t organize my desk. relatives adored how articulate i was, but also whispered that i needed to be more focused, more practical, more obedient. everything about me seemed like a contradiction — smart but scattered, warm but withdrawn, talented but undisciplined. and the worst part is, i internalized every contradiction as a personal failure. i thought i was just bad at being human.

when you’re neurodivergent and no one tells you that’s a thing — when there’s no label, no language, no container for what you’re going through — you learn to turn all your confusion inward. you start believing that you’re just a little off. like everyone else got the user manual to life and you missed orientation day. you learn how to mimic, how to adjust, how to apologize preemptively for the things you know will probably go wrong — you’ll forget the assignment, you’ll zone out in the middle of an important conversation, you’ll feel things too deeply, and then you’ll mask it all with a joke because no one knows what to do with your discomfort. and then, to survive, you learn to perform a version of yourself that’s more palatable — the “functional,” socially-appropriate, smile-on-command version — even if it leaves you feeling hollow and disconnected from your own mind.

neurodivergence is often painted as a disorder, as something clinical and distant — a list of symptoms and diagnostic criteria. but what it really is, for so many of us, is a delicate, lifelong mismatch between our inner world and the systems we’re expected to function in. it’s not that we’re incapable. it’s that the structures around us are often built for linear, regulated, one-size-fits-all minds — and ours tend to move sideways, in spirals, with strange but beautiful patterns that don’t always show up on time or in the ways people expect. and when you’re growing up in a culture that doesn’t talk about neurodivergence — that instead frames all deviation as personal failure — the impact isn’t just academic or behavioural. it’s existential. you begin to doubt your very sense of self.

and so, recently, when i stumbled across the word neurodivergent for the first time — not in a textbook but in a tedx youtube video — something inside me cracked open. not in a dramatic, life-changing, everything-makes-sense-now kind of way. but in a dim, trembling way. like something inside me was being witnessed without being judged. like maybe i wasn’t broken — just misread.

the truth is, being neurodivergent doesn’t always look like what people think it looks like. it’s not always visible. it’s not always loud. it’s not always diagnosable in a single session. sometimes, it’s quiet. sometimes, it’s masked. sometimes, it’s that sinking feeling in your chest when you’re trying to finish a basic task and your whole body feels like it’s rebelling. sometimes, it’s the emotional exhaustion of trying to socialize when you don’t know the unspoken rules. sometimes, it’s the confusion of feeling everything all at once, or feeling nothing at all. and sometimes, it’s the simple relief of hearing someone else say, “me too.”

if you’ve ever felt like your brain is wired a little differently — not worse, not better, just… different — this list might offer some language, some solidarity, or at the very least, some relief.

signs you might just be neurodivergent and not lazy

1. you were constantly praised for being gifted, but always felt emotionally behind.
you might’ve been the kid who picked up languages quickly, who read at a college level in fifth grade, who could win debates or solve puzzles in record time — but when it came to friendships, conflict, self-regulation, or basic life skills, something always felt off. in many cultures, especially collectivist ones, high intelligence is romanticized while emotional sensitivity is dismissed, which means many neurodivergent kids grow up over-performing intellectually to mask their emotional overwhelm. you learn to become impressive, not understood.

2. you felt like you were always "too much" or "not enough," depending on who you were around.
neurodivergent people often learn to shift shape — not because they’re fake, but because their natural ways of thinking and reacting don’t fit easily into mainstream social codes. you might find yourself intensely enthusiastic about a topic no one else seems to care about. or you might freeze during small talk, overthink every word, or go silent in group settings. in some cultural contexts, especially those that emphasize politeness or conformity, this gets interpreted as arrogance or shyness. but really, it’s just overstimulation — or a nervous system doing somersaults trying to stay safe.

3. you were labelled “disobedient” or “inattentive” even though your mind was always on — just somewhere else.
in classrooms where obedience is prized over curiosity, kids who question too much or daydream too often are seen as disruptive. if you were the student who forgot to write down homework because you were busy thinking about parallel universes, or who fidgeted so much that teachers thought you were “restless,” you may have been told to stop being lazy. but neurodivergent focus isn’t linear — it bounces, loops, dives, and resurfaces. and when left unsupported, it’s often misread as defiance.

4. you experience extreme sensory discomfort but were told to “just get used to it.”
scratchy clothes. buzzing lights. overlapping conversations. loud chewing. for many neurodivergent people, the world feels too loud, too bright, too full. but in environments where sensitivity is treated as weakness — especially for boys, or for girls who are expected to be “well-behaved” — these discomforts are dismissed. over time, you learn to suppress your sensory needs and power through overstimulation, which leads to chronic fatigue, irritability, or shutdown. but it’s not drama. it’s your nervous system asking for help.

5. you have an unusual relationship with time, memory, or productivity — and internalize it as a moral failure.
you either forget what day it is or obsess over every minute. you either complete a project in one caffeine-fueled night or not at all. your memory is emotion-based — vivid and photographic when you care, completely blank when you don’t. instead of understanding this as a difference in executive function, many of us are taught to interpret it as laziness or lack of ambition. and so we grow up shaming our rhythms, when really, they just need translation — not correction.

6. you mask your emotional intensity until it becomes physical.
neurodivergent people often experience emotional dysregulation, but when emotional expression is discouraged — as it often is in families that value stoicism, reputation, or emotional control — you learn to somatize. your anxiety becomes nausea. your sadness becomes exhaustion. your frustration becomes migraines. you’re told to toughen up, to move on, to not make a scene — so you learn to bury your feelings under politeness and productivity, until they turn into symptoms that no one can ignore.

7. you’ve lived your whole life adapting, accommodating, and translating yourself — without even realizing it.
this is perhaps the most common and most invisible form of neurodivergence: high-masking. you perform social cues. you mirror body language. you rehearse conversations in your head before they happen. you create checklists to seem organized, even though your mind is chaos. and the strangest part? you might not even know you’re doing it. it’s just how you learned to survive. but survival isn’t the same as safety. and adaptation isn’t the same as authenticity.

growing up neurodivergent without the language to name it means spending a lifetime mistaking your nervous system for your personality. it means interpreting burnout as failure, dissociation as flakiness, hypersensitivity as weakness. but the truth is — your brain isn’t broken. it’s just not built for performance culture. it’s built for something deeper. more creative. more expansive. and now that you know, you can begin to unlearn the shame and rebuild your life in a way that feels like it actually belongs to you.

so… what now?

if you’ve spent most of your life misdiagnosing yourself as lazy, difficult, oversensitive, or inconsistent, then realizing you might be neurodivergent can be both a relief and a reckoning. relief because there’s finally a word — a frame — that helps explain why the world always felt like it required a little too much from you. and reckoning because now that you know, you start to notice how deeply you've internalized the pressure to perform, to mask, to cope in silence. but awareness alone doesn’t always bring ease. especially when your default mode is survival — masking, pushing through, adapting. the truth is, neurodivergent nervous systems are rarely supported by mainstream wellness culture, which tends to prioritize discipline over curiosity, rigidity over rhythm, and goals over grace. so what does support actually look like — especially when you’re already burned out from trying?

here are six gentle, research-supported ways to start building a softer inner world — one where your brain doesn’t feel like a liability, and your nervous system finally gets to exhale:

1. shift from time-based productivity to energy-based pacing

instead of structuring your day around a schedule (9am emails, 10am meeting, 11am meltdown), try structuring it around energetic patterns — what researchers call ultradian rhythms. studies show that the brain works best in 90-minute focus intervals followed by 15–20 minutes of recovery. for neurodivergent people, forcing extended focus only creates dysregulation. so instead of beating yourself up for not being able to “just get things done,” try working in cycles: focus, pause, reset, repeat. your brain isn’t built for linearity — it’s built for waves. ride them.

2. replace internal shame with external systems

when executive dysfunction hits, the inner critic usually gets loud: “you’re so disorganized,” “why can’t you just remember one thing?” but what you actually need in those moments isn’t shame — it’s structure. not moralizing, but scaffolding. research in behavioral psychology shows that externalizing cognitive tasks (with visual boards, checklists, post-it systems, or even audio reminders) can significantly reduce mental load. the goal isn’t to be perfect — it’s to get support. you don’t need to “try harder.” you need a brain map you can actually follow.

3. let go of “normalcy” as the goal — aim for regulation, not routine

the pressure to stick to routines — wake up at 6am, meditate, journal, eat a clean breakfast, work for 8 uninterrupted hours — often sets neurodivergent people up for failure. the minute you miss one step, the shame spiral starts. instead, reframe your day around regulation: what helps you feel safe in your body? what gets your heart rate down? what reduces the noise in your head? for some, that’s breathwork. for others, it’s a weighted blanket and a dumb youtube vlog in the background while you answer emails. you don’t need a perfect routine. you need access to calm.

4. curate a “texture wardrobe” — clothes that feel like calm

a lot of neurodivergent dysregulation starts with discomfort you can’t explain — the bra strap that digs, the jeans that don’t sit right, the sweater that looks great but makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. studies on sensory processing sensitivity show that tactile discomfort can trigger nervous system spikes. so the fix isn’t just style — it’s sensation. build a wardrobe where every piece feels like a sigh: soft knits, seamless intimates, elastic waists, vintage shirts you’d nap in. get picky about fabric. your nervous system will thank you.

5. make skincare a sensory ritual, not a moral routine

if you struggle with executive dysfunction, skincare can quickly become an all-or-nothing spiral. you either forget entirely or fall into a 14-step rabbit hole that’s more stress than support. but skincare — when stripped of performance pressure — can be a daily anchor. research shows that repetitive, tactile routines (like massaging balm into your skin) lower cortisol and activate the parasympathetic nervous system. so keep it simple and sensual: a soft oil cleanser, a cool jade roller, a face mist that smells like a memory. use your hands like they’re talking to your nervous system.

6. book micro-staycations for nervous system resets

neurodivergent overwhelm often stems from overstimulation without recovery. instead of forcing yourself through burnout cycles, plan for micro-resets: 24-hour staycations designed for sensory regulation. pick a hotel with clean visuals, cozy bedding, soft lighting, and no chaotic lobby music. bring your favorite herbal drink mix, a notebook you only write in during these breaks, and a playlist that tells your body, “we’re safe now.” according to environmental psychology research, novelty in a low-stakes environment (like a short solo getaway) helps reset cognitive bandwidth — especially for brains that are always "on."

you don’t need a total life overhaul. you just need better inputs. softer surroundings. a little nervous system literacy. and a reminder that you were never meant to operate like everyone else. your brain isn’t a problem to solve — it’s a language to translate. and with the right tools, it can feel a little less like a glitch… and a little more like a gift.