Notes on Neurodivergence | Moving Toward a Calm Gentleness

People close to me know I can be fearful. While I’ve learned that fears are to be faced, my fear never disappears entirely. Instead, it has waned over time as I encounter the world around me, and that’s okay.

Growing up, I was made fun of for being scared and would almost reflexively hesitate from engaging in lots of things. The lack of control nearly kept me paralyzed.

I didn’t understand my environment or why parents and teachers (who sometimes were also parents) would talk to me without expecting a response. Sometimes, I would say things that could go against the social norm. I realized this dynamic in how I naturally respond to people, which is through conversation.

Womanist theology inspired this awareness with its invitation to “talk back.” In some cultures, women specifically, and children in general, are expected to stay silent.

Consequently, if I “talked back” or was told “don’t get smart with me,” it was seen as a sign of “disrespect” and not “knowing my place.” My intelligence and communication style were used against me. I was shamed for being me.

Though it results from the speaker’s discomfort, seeing a younger, intelligent woman with a different way of thinking creates fear of the unknown. This causes reactions to the discomfort, including speaking down to me or trying to attack my self-esteem.

All this occurred while I was simply showing my curiosity or trying to connect in the way I knew how. I would make comments with humor or ask questions that seemed obvious to others besides me.

I sometimes don’t hear what someone is saying or zone out, no matter how hard I try to focus. I’m learning to let myself not understand.

My honesty was not always welcomed, and I did not know that. Consequently, I thought everyone expected me to understand it all because of the consistent correction I received. This correction resulted from interrupting in class or being inattentive to instructions I had difficulty understanding.

After an assignment was given, I would approach my teacher and ask questions. Depending on the teacher, this could be very unwelcome.

I would never sit still and needed to move around, which some teachers disapproved of. Because of this lack of acceptance, my brain started to dissociate from my own needs. So, I chose to stop sharing and began blaming myself.

I am neurodivergent, which means I have a medical diagnosis for how I mentally function in the world. To me, functioning is directly connected to how society expects us to operate.

I was not diagnosed until I was an adult because I went under the radar. I hid my behaviors and thought everyone experienced the world similarly.

Women with ADHD and other mental neurotypes learn to “mask” because it’s easier than risking consistent (perceived) rejection from peers. Becoming mentally detached hurts less than self-isolation.

I kept trying to communicate my experiences from the inside. No matter how well I communicated, the majority of my symptoms cannot be seen from the outside. It took three years until I found a doctor who believed me and offered the proper resources and testing.

The symptoms of neurodivergence from ADHD to autism to AuADHD (autism and ADHD) in women are not well-known. Women are significantly underdiagnosed.

Research is still in its infancy, lagging behind what is known about neurodivergence in boys. Furthermore, doctors can be known to belittle and dismiss the symptoms of a female patient, calling it “anxiety” or recommending diet changes to “lose weight.”

Medical professionals know the symptoms of neurodivergence in boys, who tend to show more “external” behaviors. On the other hand, girls tend to have more “internal” behaviors and learn to match what is socially expected of a younger girl by age twelve. For me, having grown up in the American South, this includes socializing, sitting still, and hobbies that involve homemaking and tending to physical appearance. 

 All of these were systematic issues I had to face alone. But not anymore.

I spent countless hours searching for this answer to this piece of me. If I hadn’t known to keep looking, whether this was inspired by God or the result of my determination, I would have never discovered this essential part of who I am within society.

How life-changing it was to be believed. The female doctor truly listened to me, assumed I knew my own body, and worked with me to find the proper treatment.

Now, my limiting self-beliefs must come crumbling down. I walked side-by-side with myself through something I never imagined. Looking back, I’m still amazed at it all. I’m truly learning to let go of the victim mentality that kept me alive. No matter how successful I become, I’m still as much a human as anyone else.

Self-compassion and self-love don’t feel like the overwhelming excitement I thought it would have been before getting diagnosed. It feels like a calm gentleness in the back of my mind.

After beginning to unmask, I discovered my worth and what I bring to the table. I know my needs deserve to be met, or I will have to seek answers, solutions, and support elsewhere. I will do my best never to abandon my intuition again.

My name is Rev. Delaney Metcalf. I am brilliant, honest, ambitious, passionate, determined, witty, inquisitive and encouraging. I want you to succeed, too.

My society has taught me to suppress these traits, but I won’t any longer.

Growing is challenging and probably one of the most difficult things I have done. Sometimes it’s miserable, sometimes fantastic.

Still, I believe anyone can grow. But growth isn’t a tree sprouting upwards. It’s getting deep in the mud, pulling up the roots one-by-one. I rarely appreciate it in the moment.

Yet, I have learned how much bigger the world really is: a world where I’m not different.  

The “issues” I have come from my society, and my story is one of many. No member of my family is to blame because they also struggled within this society.

We make it up as we go, and that is scary. In time, this fear will also wane.