Five Extra Lessons I’ve Had To Learn As a Neurodivergent Writer

Our brain wiring and life experiences bring a whole other level of complexity to the task

I suspect that most writers wouldn’t tell you they write because they’re good at it but because they fear something will die in them if they don’t. Some may genuinely enjoy it but if I may speculate further, it’s less of an in-the-moment enjoyment and more from the satisfaction felt after the fact.

I’ve recently thought hard about why I write. Why, despite the mental and emotional wringer it puts me through every time, I continue to do it again and again. But the inescapable answer is that it’s the best way I know how to be me. That’s why I do it.

It’s the best way I know how to access my truth, make sense of it, express it and ultimately, share it with others. Like a lot of autistic people, I prefer to communicate through written forms rather than verbally. It gives me time to reflect and shape what I’m saying.

But that doesn’t make it easy. Every piece of writing I produce represents some kind of uneasy victory over a messy internal struggle. Each one feels like a fluke, as though I’ve pulled something out of a previously hidden crevice and each new piece requires me to discover a new crevice.