There’s a unique kind of pain in being constantly misunderstood. Not the fleeting kind, where someone gets your joke wrong, but the deep, persistent kind – the one that follows you from childhood into adulthood, quietly shaping the way you see yourself.
I’ve carried it for as long as I can remember. There was anger, yes, especially when looking back at the parts of myself that were once criticised or dismissed as flaws.
My difficulty making friends or settling into a new school or college after I had to move to the other side of London from all my friends, my school, my home, again, because my mum was not only seeing some guy she broke up with the night her and my dad met aged 17, this time she was marrying him.
The constant feeling of overwhelm. The tension, tears, feelings and thoughts all tornadoing through my mind… And then POP! The teacher asked me a question and I have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about. It all feeds into the anxiety, making being away from my safe places or people feel like a physical ache.
Sensitivity to injustice is another huge one for me. I care deeply about others and the world around me, but at times, my fixation on fairness has left me devastated at things I can’t change. When my stepdad had my sister-in-law pick items of my mum’s jewellery before I’d gone through it, I freaked out. The memory of my late mum clinging to life and using what little energy she had left to explain her wishes to me just circled in my mind. It was horrific learning it hadn’t gone the way it was ‘meant to,’ the way mum wanted – or as I saw it, the ‘correct’ way. It hurt md so badly. And when I expressed my upset, being made to feel like my feelings were the problem broke me.
Add to that being hyper-aware of rejection. I’m painfully conscious of social cues to the point I’d rehearse how to act “normal” in work meetings just to barely feel safe to speak.
Don’t forget the stims, small, repetitive movements I didn’t yet understand but definitely tried to keep on the down low. My first job in companywide meeting in the boardroom, I was so desperate to be “good,” I’d spend the entire time switching between having my right leg over my left knee and having my left leg over my right knee, just slowly and periodically enough that nobody would notice. Without even realising it, I’d completely bypassed the important information everyone’s gonna be talking about, presented by someone who probably spent a long time and a lot of effort putting a presentation together.
Then there’s the sensory sensitivities where everyday environments feel unbearable. Some of my earliest memories are of me losing my parents in the supermarket. So many aisles, lights, products, music, people, fear, confusion, emotions, the cool chill from the fridges, all competing for attention. When I realised I’d lost them, I panicked, running one way, the next, caught in a mental tangle of despair, building and building. Add an exhausted, stressed parent or two into the mix and you’ve got the perfect recipe for the “difficult child.” The child who is freaking out because she just lost her parents is screaming and crying and that is not the behaviour of a nice, good child. Queue more anxiety, more self-loathing, blah-de-blah.
But what if those tantrums weren’t me being “dramatic,” but in fact sensory overload – when the mind and body scream for relief? Overstimulation is such a shit show, because not only do you have to deal with it in and of itself, you also have to deal with the ripple effects. You absolutely did not want to cause harm or negative impact on others, but you have, and you can’t seem to stop being unacceptable as a human.
You’ll question your emotions and shame yourself for feeling them. For many years, I lost the ability to feel anger at all. I must’ve been in my mid-20s when a close friend of my late mum first expressed how my emotions are natural, valid, and don’t make me “bad.”
What hurts the most is the misunderstanding. That every tear, every fixation, every scream is interpreted as a weakness or an irritating quirk rather than part of a larger, valid human experience.
The frustration that comes from feeling deeply feeling is seen as something to correct rather than something to honour. It is my feelings, after all, which are the very thing that allow me to empathise so deeply with others. Instead, you internalise other people’s disatisfaction, questioning your value, your validity, or just disassocoating completely.
It’s only later in life, for me at least, that I’ve started making sense of all the things. Not just big things – it’s the little things too.The other day, I was splitting the bill with a few others at a restaurant and reminded them not to forget the service charge. I expected a simple “oh yes, of course, thanks for the reminder,” but instead I was seen as pushy or demanding.
It was such a small thing, but it messed with my sense of reality. I reminded others not to forget the service charge because I care – I wanted to protect them from being misjudged, like I have been, even in a small way. But instead I was seen as demanding or tight.
Even something as simple as being late can become a minefield. People might see it as careless or disrespectful, but often it’s not that at all. Sometimes it’s the overwhelm – the sensory overload, the racing thoughts, the rehearsing of conversations or tasks in your head, or just needing a moment to centre yourself before stepping into the world. Being late isn’t a lack of care; it’s a reflection of the intensity with which you experience everything. I’ve come to accept that my sense of time is basically non-existent, and rather than constantly trying and failing to insert a sense of time into my brain, I rely on reminders (Alexa, you suck, but also, I dunno what I’d do without you ). The psychiatrists say that stimulant medication helps with this kind of stuff, so that sounds great, once I (hopefully) reach the top of the waiting list, successfully respond to them on time, and then all the other steps it takes before I should (hopefully) be able to collect the medication from the pharmacy. Shout out my fellow waiting list fairies!
Anyway, feeling misread sucks, but the journey towards understanding and acceptance comes with a strange kind of resilience. When you have ADHD, Autism, any other nsurodivergence, or a combination of them all, you have entered the path towards self-acceptance and working with your “flaws.” You will, over time, learn to understand how they shape you and how you can move through the world with them. For me, I’m realising how utterly crucial it is to set boundaries and manage expectations in a way that works with my brain, rather than against it. Basically, how to set myself up for success, rather than failure.
You’ll have to learn how to work with your differences, your sensitivities, your flaws, whatever you want to call them. Not to hide them, not to fight them constantly, but to work with them as part of who you are. Maybe that’s where understanding begins: not with the world, but with yourself.
And then there is the other side – the joy of meeting people who do get you. The people who see you, hear you, and accept you without judgement. The beauty of not being alone in your experiences. Not being seen as a nuisance. Not having to perform or constantly measure yourself against someone else’s expectations.
If and when you find those people, be grateful. Tell them you love them. Tell them you appreciate them. Communicate with them openly, and encourage them to communicate with you too. We’re all different, some more than others in the traditional sense, and that’s okay. We can find ways that work for us both if we just communicate. We need to find a “win-win,” as my partner says. The last thing you want is for someone you love to assume you don’t care or are a “bad person” because one too many thoughts, feelings, or needs weren’t voiced.
Learning to value and nurture those connections with people who help you be okay with being you is just as important as learning to understand yourself. When you find people who resonate with you, hold onto them. Let them know their presence matters. Let them know that you see and appreciate the way they see and appreciate you. That mutual understanding is rare and precious, and it can transform your sense of isolation into a feeling of belonging.
All these experiences – the misunderstandings, the overwhelm, the misread intentions, the being late, the sensory chaos – have been a steep learning curve. They’ve led me to understand myself more deeply, refine how I navigate the world, and cherish the connections with people who truly get me. If no one else will see all of you, at least you can. And in seeing yourself fully, even the anger, grief, and overwhelm, you begin to feel less alone – and stronger for it. Who knows, maybe the empathy that made you feel like too much could becomes the gift it truly is.
still too sensitive 
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