My first thought writing a post for this blog was, “why in the world would I do what I am worst at?” All my teachers in high school knew how awful I was at writing personal narratives. I could write a ten-page research paper on the fall of Rome or some random geopolitical conflict, but God forbid writing anything about myself. The minute I see instructions for a paper containing the words ‘Personal Narrative’, my internal reaction is to hold back the screams I wish to immediately hurl at the professor that assigned me such work.
What I didn’t realize at the time I was banging my head against the wall trying to complete such assignments back in high school, was how many of my neurodivergent peers had feelings like mine. We could debate for hours the semantics of a computer programming language or the political intentions of Putin for invading Ukraine, but the minute the subject
turns personal experiences our minds go blank. Trying to explain ourselves is an exercise in
futility, mostly accomplished in-person by blank stares and in-writing by looking at a blank
Word document for hours thinking of a single thing to write. It is ironic we cannot articulate our feelings considering how unique most of our stories in life are. Although many of us had non-traditional lives and educational experiences, explaining those things to others is as difficult as climbing Mount Everest. So, if you ever have the opportunity to talk to, or end up on a first date with one of us, don’t feel too bad if you get no response when you ask the question: “What about you?” Push hard for answers, it’s just who we are.