By Yamila García

I was very quiet as a child. Everyone said I was shy. I didn’t think I was, but I made peace with that because in some way it satisfied others in their need to justify why I was different. So, nothing more needed to be said: I’m shy. That’s all. And so I spent many years of my life trying to go unnoticed with that simple label. It was simple, I didn’t have to explain much, and generally, the majority respected that. And in that distance and calmness from others, which I achieved thanks to “being shy,” I could feel free and let my mind wander. I spent hours imagining things, creating scenarios in my mind where I broke down those barriers that didn’t let me do or say what I really wanted. In my mind, I could express myself how I really felt, and I could see myself being a part of so many things that I missed in real life because I was everything that the word shy hid.

Daydreaming was a refuge for me, a place to escape and paint the world I longed for. A world that allowed me to be who I was, where I didn’t have to excuse myself by saying I was shy to avoid interactions I couldn’t handle simply. For many years, my mind was the only place where I felt comfortable and free. However, while I still appreciate my imagination and its elaborate creations, it is no longer the only place that provides me comfort and security.

I found people and spaces where it wasn’t necessary to hide. I didn’t think that was possible, but contrary to what my mind likes to think, nothing is black or white. Life is full of grays, and in them, open people, different people, and spaces where “different” is received with joy and admiration. But to find them, I had to open up and accept myself first. Acceptance was a bit easier for me than openness because I always understood that my differences were a part of me, and I couldn’t always hide them, only some of them and only sometimes. On the other hand, opening up was challenging. Believing that there are accepting people when everything you have seen was the opposite requires faith and perseverance. But there is always someone, there is always something good in everything, and we are never alone.

By Yamila García

I began the most important path of my life at an age that was not ideal, in a country that was not mine, in a language I did not know, and with total ignorance of the system and everything that surrounded me. I started this path without thinking too much, just taking a small step and signing up for English classes at a community college. That small step I took was the beginning of something that almost took me naturally. I always say that sooner or later, life ends up putting you where you need to be, and indeed, it did just that with me!

When I look back, it feels like 20 years have passed since that “first step”. However, it was less than 5 years ago. In an attempt to reduce uncertainty, I always had the impulse to plan everything, from today to the last of my days if possible. However, almost instinctively, on this path, I only focused on completing the next step, nothing more than that. The next homework, the next lab, the next midterm. This is how I completed weeks, months, semesters, and years until I reached this point where I just graduated. This is a goal that I was never able to even set for myself because it seemed too big, too impossible. However, I was able to achieve it because I never looked up to see the top of the mountain; I always kept my eyes on what was closest.

I think this is the first time I’ve done something this way, without letting myself be overwhelmed by the immensity of the great goal. My therapist was the one who helped me incorporate this tool so that things were more manageable for me and anxiety didn’t block me. It seems like a simple concept, but applying it after so many years of operating in an “all or nothing” mode takes a lot of effort and commitment. But everything is possible, we learn from everything, and whenever we believe that we cannot do something, we must remember that maybe we just cannot do it in a certain way, but that does not mean that there are not other ways that do work for us. In my case, it was breaking the big goal into smaller, more manageable tasks, without looking further than a week into the future.

By Yamila García

Growing up without having a name for my differences was definitely a challenge. However, at many times along that path, I often identified with other people. For example, I have seen someone separating their food on a plate so it does not touch, just as I have always done. That made me feel that it wasn’t just me. Knowing that there were more people like me was helpful, even if I didn’t fully understand what that meant. Other times, I have met very introverted children like me, who contained their curiosity and desire to explore. I could see it and understand it because they looked like me: quiet, distant, but with an active gaze, visualizing themselves doing what they wanted so much but didn’t dare.

When I was little, I hardly ever expressed what I felt. However, when I saw children overwhelmed by stimuli, my heart would break because I knew what they were feeling. Many times, I saw children labeled as strange or complicated, and I identified with them. This brought relief in knowing that I was not alone. I think this somehow helped me understand that a portion of society was simply different from the rest, and that it was important not to fight my differences, but to accept them. Accepting what causes you pain, what segregates you, and brings you problems is not easy at all. However, by seeing others go through the same thing, I realized that things could be done to avoid it and that our differences are not the main reason for the consequences we face, but rather the lack of knowledge and understanding from others.

I appreciate the chance to write about my experiences because I see it as an opportunity for others to relate to me. I know it’s something small, but it helps me more than I could imagine. For a long time, I thought that several things happening to me were just my imagination. Seeing them in someone else helped me trust what I felt and not think that I was making something up just because I couldn’t explain it. I am grateful for all those people I have met since my childhood, who showed me that I was part of something not often talked about, much less understood.

 

By Yamila García

Last night, around 8 pm, I felt a significant discomfort in my body. I instantly knew that I had once again forgotten to drink water during the day. When I feel like this, I desperately drink water as if I have just spent 30 days in the desert. Sometimes, the desperation is so intense that I choke, and then I feel like a bubble full of water from drinking so much in such a short time. You would think that if this was such a common experience, at some point, I would remember to do it, but I don’t. I really don’t realize until my body experiences great pain or discomfort that somehow manages to “wake me up.” I have realized that I have little sensitivity to pain, and only when it is very extreme do I realize it. That’s why I don’t realize that I’m thirsty, that I’m hot, or that I’m feeling a certain way until the sensations are very deep and unmanageable. As you can imagine, this is a great barrier to being able to manage and face what I feel at more opportune moments. It would be much easier to work on what I’m feeling at the moment; however, it’s like I don’t know what’s happening to me until everything is overwhelming and chaotic.

This not only happens with physical sensations but also with emotional ones. Many times I find it difficult to identify how I feel in different situations. I think my confusion is mostly because either I don’t feel anything or I feel a terrible panicky feeling when I can’t take it anymore. Those are my most usual states, which I have been trying to “correct” simply because it is very extreme and exhausting to live like this. So, I have gotten into the habit of asking myself several times a day: How am I? What am I feeling? (I have notes on my iPad and my cell phone that remind me to ask myself this). With that, I force myself to connect with my body and my mind. I still have a hard time identifying what I feel, but at least I try to stop and listen to myself. This has allowed me to make some changes, and gives me the possibility of identifying anxiety before it takes total control over me.

Knowing how you feel may seem obvious to many people, but for many neurodivergents, it can be a challenge. Not everything has a “solution,” but we can use some techniques to help us remember that we must do periodic scans of the physical and emotional sensations that we are perceiving.

 

By Yamila García

People only see the result of the processes we go through. These experiences can be extremely good or bad, but people will only notice when those feelings make their way out and alter our behavior. We cannot see more than what the other does or says in their interaction with us. However, many of us go through the same difficulties throughout life; we face illness, economic problems, family problems, work conflicts, etc. We all know that when there is a serious problem, it is difficult not to think about it and focus on something else. We also know that when someone we love is going through a health problem, for example, life begins to revolve around that. Sometimes, it happens that the concern comes from not being able to cover expenses, or in other cases because we had an argument with someone important to us, and one really feels stuck until the problem is solved. 

So, if we are all similar in that way, why can’t we understand each other more? Why, if I see someone who suddenly changes their behavior or way of acting, can’t I think that they are going through a similar situation? One of those that I’m sure I also experienced and had similar effects on me? I think we all know a lot about what human beings feel and that we have many tools to understand each other, but that is not enough to do it. At the first change, it is easy to observe rejection, not compassion. Precisely, this is something more added to someone who already has a lot on their plate. 

Perhaps my own experiences and my analytical way of being made me much more aware that behind every action there is a cause, something that is affecting the person and that they are not being able to handle. I just want to say, pay more attention, don’t react with rejection. Try to put understanding and empathy above all. Everything would be much easier that way. I know it’s not easy, but once you start doing it, it becomes easier. And many times you can be the one who gives the only kind word that the person in front of you has heard for weeks. You never know the battles others are fighting, but you don’t need to know. You just have to be kind, and you could be saving someone else’s day.

By Yamila García

I blocked my emotions, and that’s why this post is taking me longer than usual. When my emotions are raw, writing becomes an extension of them—something that almost comes naturally, a new habit and a new way of channeling what happens inside me through words. It’s been new since I started writing for Include and discovered its therapeutic effect. I realized that what I often couldn’t express verbally, I could let out in writing. However, when writing, talking, and anything else aren’t enough to manage my emotions, I sometimes end up shutting down—turning off those emotions that make me so uncomfortable. I have this false feeling of being able to continue “functioning,” but the cost is high.

When everything feels impossible to handle, and I find myself drowning in emotions I don’t know how to deal with, I completely disconnect from what I feel. I uproot what I can’t modify and continue functioning in a kind of “power-saving” mode. However, as with electronic devices, the “power-saving” mode implies losing capabilities. I “function” and do what I have to do, but deep beneath the surface, a storm is raging that I have tried to contain with a Band-Aid. Of course, whenever emotions remain in the background and are not channeled in a healthy way, they magnify and seem to agree to come together, destroying everything in their path as a form of protest for having been ignored. They unleash an explosion that, in opposition to the “power-saving” mode, consumes every last drop of energy in minutes.

I’m trying to learn to reconnect before the chaos. Writing helps me. I may not be able to talk about what I feel yet, but I can talk about what I know I’m doing. I know that I am hiding from my own emotions and that I want to learn to navigate them differently. I don’t believe in magic solutions, but I do know that when I manage to reconnect this time, nothing will be the same. I am close to achieving something that I have dreamed of all my life, and while for others, it may not be so big, my life took many turns before reaching this point. I wrote this last sentence two days after I wrote the rest of this post.

 

By Yamila García

Self-pressure is something you learned, not something you were born with. The obvious differences I’ve had since childhood and the subsequent reactions from people made me keenly aware of how others perceive me. That’s how I learned to demand and pressure myself to be “enough” in the eyes of others, as if there were a way to measure what “enough” truly means. However, nothing I did was ever sufficient in my own critical view. Thus, I spent all my years trying to compensate for the negative perceptions I knew my differences caused in others. I fought hard to reverse that, but the more I struggled, the farther I moved from achieving it. The more I learned and accomplished, the more distant I felt from that approving look that I so desired.

The reality was that the first person who disapproved of me and didn’t consider me enough was myself. I know that the gaze of others influenced the way I saw myself too. Although I allowed myself to be authentic in many aspects of my life, on the other hand I sought approval by trying to be as efficient and capable as possible. And in that search I trampled my feelings and denied the importance of who I am. I lost the battle when I gave others the power to define my value. I stopped loving myself for thinking that I had to be efficient so that others would think: well, she may be weird but at least she’s useful. Because I learned that people are often kind when you are useful to them. But I am much more than useful! How sad to be like this really. Measuring how much you respect the other according to how much they can contribute to you.

I was always enough but I lived many years without knowing it. I was enough even the times I felt like I was nothing. I am enough, beyond the gaze of others, beyond my fears, my differences and my skills. I am enough and valuable because I exist, live and fight day by day. Don’t let anyone interfere with your own thoughts about you. I don’t do it anymore. We all have a lot to celebrate about ourselves even if others don’t see it. Only you can give yourself the value you have. No person, achievement, goal, or event can increase your inherent worth; what you are, you already have within you. Celebrate yourself!

By Yamila García

Colors, textures, smells, and other sensory stimuli can cause me great discomfort but also a lot of joy and pleasure! The intensity with which I perceive the world around me works both ways. These past few days walking around campus were a completely pleasant experience. The sun made the autumn colors shine even brighter, and the leaves on the floor were so crunchy when I walked on them. Inside me, it was like a party. I felt the same kind of joy I feel when I receive good news or achieve something I really wanted. The joy was intense, making me walk around smiling, wanting to stay and contemplate such beauty all day.

This also happens to me with certain music. I repeat the songs over and over again because the joy feels like multicolor fireworks inside me (of course every piece has a different combination of colors, shapes, and textures). I have the feeling that I am completely full of joy and that I don’t even have “room” for a little more. This is also what happens to me with art. I feel the paintings or sculptures with all my senses. It is as if I can “live” them and be part of them. They make me smile and cry, giving me joy and happiness. Inside me, it feels colorful, restless but happy.

This intensity and this “ability” to feel with my whole being, with my body and my mind, each of the things I experience, is a double-edged sword. I enjoy simply walking among colorful trees much more than many (in fact, many don’t even notice the beauty around them), but the other side of this ability sinks me deeper than you can imagine. Negative sensations become larger and more painful than they are for other people. Everything becomes a dark tunnel with almost no light. I feel discomfort on my skin and go through the entire process with chills. During this time, I often lose perspective, the ability to be objective, and to use my past experiences to intervene in the present. Whenever I go to this side of my wide range of emotions, it feels extremely lonely and isolating, and very painful on the skin and soul.

The middle of the range is possible, but with so much intensity at the extremes, it often feels empty. Empty is not all bad; sometimes it means peace, other times boredom, but either way, it is better than the negative extreme and that is appreciated. Although it is true that it is difficult to deal with that part when you are so used to feeling so intensely.

By Yamila García

I don’t travel a lot, but I’ve been to a reasonable number of airports—awful places for a neurodivergent. The only “good” thing about them is that the experience is so exhausting that as soon as I get on the plane, I fall asleep in 2 seconds. At first glance, many of the airports I’ve been to look like inclusive places. They showcase their commitment to accessibility and making everyone comfortable, displaying logos for programs related to supporting physical and mental difficulties in travelers everywhere. However, when you try to access some of those accommodating services, you encounter even more struggles. In general, there is only 1 terminal that offers these services. If you’re not close enough, you have to traverse the entire airport from one end to the other, encountering things that make you uncomfortable along the way: noises, shiny screens, lights, confusing signs, people scattered about, everyone either making phone calls, arguing with airport staff, or simply rolling their carry-ons on the striped and slippery floor, the voices on the speakers announcing boarding for the planes, and the mingling smells of all kinds of food.

Once you arrive, you realize that the sign is larger than their genuine willingness to accommodate you. I don’t think anyone expects a spa experience at the airport, but if they’re genuinely trying to assist people, just a quiet, small room per terminal would be more than enough to help reduce stress while waiting for our flight. Just a place with less noise and softer lights could be of great assistance. It would serve as a shelter for me, a place to escape the suffocating airport environment.

Many times, I think they are more concerned about appearing inclusive than actually being inclusive. It’s not that difficult to consult the people who would use these services to determine what works for them. The problem, not only at the airports, is that many of the individuals designing “inclusive and accommodating spaces” have no understanding of how we feel because they are not actual users. Once again, it is evident that neurodivergents need to be involved in these processes and share our experiences as much as possible so that the way we live, feel, and work is not a mystery to anyone.

By Yamila García

Excuse me for not looking you in the eyes; it feels more comfortable if I don’t. And if I don’t, it’s because I know you and I trust you. That’s why I feel free to be myself, and I don’t force myself to do something that makes me uncomfortable. When it comes to people I don’t know, I know I have to make a good impression, do what is expected of me, and appear as neurotypical as possible. Otherwise, it could hurt me a lot if they see how different I am. If it is something work-related, many do not want “problems”; they want people in uniform on the outside and inside, nothing that is out of the norm. If it is something social, no one wants to be seen near someone considered strange in the eyes of the rest. However, it has happened to me that I have met people making a good impression, and then when I showed who I really am, they have stayed by my side, and in some cases, they were also trying to make a good impression. All about appearances, that’s the social norm. You have to pretend, fit in, and follow the herd, and once you come into trust with the other, you free yourself, and those who have to stay, stay.

If I ever put on the neurotypical uniform, it was because society demanded it to allow me to be part of it. It is not a free choice, no matter how much we want to stop masking. It’s simply survival. Putting on the neurotypical uniform gives us something that many of us neurodivergents lack: acceptance and a sense of belonging. Even though on the outside we may disguise ourselves a little and look like neurotypicals, on the inside we are still neurodivergent. It feels good, for a while. There is a false feeling that we can act neurotypically, and it won’t turn out that bad. However, the energy consumption of pretending to be someone else is not the same. And then, the social battery runs out sooner. I don’t want to wear the neurotypical uniform; you want me to wear it. Even if you don’t say it directly, you make it clear when you leave aside those who are different, when you look strangely at those who behave or dress differently from the pack, and when you consider everything that is different from you as a problem.