I have spent a lifetime figuring out what is ok to say in polite society and what isn’t. That doesn’t mean I always say the safe and bland thing, though. Sometimes, I say the ruder/more honest thing on purpose, and sometimes, it’s because I did not draw the right line. And, sometimes, I’m so tense about saying/doing the right thing that I just blurt out the first thing that enters my mind. Or do whatever my brain tells me to do. Thankfully, it’s never inappropriate–it’s just sometimes very awkward. And embarrassing. But I’m used to that.
I have a running track in my head that tells me what I’m saying is wrong, stupid, and I should just shut the hell up. That’s on a bad day. On a good day, the voice is calmer and not saying the mean words, but it’s basically the same message. “Dear, is that really what you want to say?”, “Maybe you should say that in a different way.”, and the like.
The track was installed by my parents when I was very young, and while I’m getting better at dampening it, it’s still there. It doesn’t help that I’m hard to understand when I’m not styling myself for normies to listen to me.
There are several reasons for this. One is that I think very differently than others do. And I think in very complex and, yes, convoluted ways. That’s part and parcel in having a broken brain. I see connections that other people don’t, and I can’t explain them to my satisfaction. I’ve told this story over and over again.
I once was talking to my then-therapist about how frustrating it was when I could not explain something to someone to make them understand what I was trying to say. In my mind, it was my fault because I could not find the right words. She said, “It’s because you think at a level five while they think at a level one or two.” She told me that they literally could not understand what I was saying, and that it wasn’t because I could not find the right words.
It was a relief to be released from the burden of trying to find the right words. I still tend to err on the side of me thinking I’m not saying the right words, but I have found some relief in the idea that maybe it’s not me.
See, this is one of the issues with being neurodivergent–I always assume it’s my fault. Before I knew I was neurodivergent, I just assumed that my brain was broken, and I was a weirdo. I mean, the latter is true, but the former is…not true in the way I used to think it was. It doesn’t mean I monitor what I say any less, but at least I’m cognizant of why I’m doing it.
It felt treacherous when I was younger to say what I really thought. I’ve done a lot of work to figure out what the ‘right’ thing to say is and what the ‘wrong’ thing to say is. In addition, I have been programmed to always put others feelings first, which makes it difficult for me to voice my opinion.