Finding My Place: Loneliness and Neurodiversity

I've been feeling lonely lately. As someone with nonverbal learning disability (NLD), I’ve often put a lot of work into my relationships, constantly reaching out to friends and initiating get-togethers. I'm not saying they don't care, but sometimes it feels like I'm the only one putting in the effort. I understand that they are neurotypical, married, and have different lifestyles and challenges. I try to respect that, but it doesn't change the underlying feeling of loneliness.

This feeling isn't new; it has roots in my past. My close relationships with my extended family, who felt like siblings, were shattered when my cousin sexually assaulted me. When I disclosed the abuse, a storm of family drama followed, with some members minimizing what happened. While my immediate family stood by me, I lost the close connections I once had. This experience, among many others, has left me feeling like I’ve lived through a series of unexpected explosions in my life.

I've spent years processing these changes and emotions, and I'm still not sure if that process will ever be truly finished. However, I believe that there will come a point where triggers are fewer, and I will be able to handle them with more grace. I know this is possible because I’ve had periods in my life where I felt like I was in a better place. Humans go through phases where past experiences resurface and affect them more strongly, often because they are finally allowing themselves to process emotions that were suppressed for a long time.

The Challenge of Connecting

My experience with loneliness is shared by many other neurodivergent individuals. As one person wrote in a post about social loneliness, "I tend to have a few issues socially, but never thought much of it... I feel like I come across as needy all the time when in reality I just express excitement by talking a lot to someone I enjoy spending time with." This resonates with me. We try so hard to fit in and appear “normal,” but our different wiring can be a stumbling block. When a new friendship or relationship doesn't work out, it can be disheartening, leaving us to wonder why we even bothered putting in the effort.

It's a delicate balance. I have to decide whether to keep pursuing new connections or focus on the relationships that are already strong. Sometimes, the end of a relationship is simply beyond our control.

In her article "NLD and Families," Marisa Eckard, who has a Ph.D., shares some excellent advice for navigating family dynamics with neurodivergence. She suggests that when family members are not open to understanding, the best approach is to embrace a version of the Serenity Prayer: "Grant me the serenity to accept what I can't change, the courage to change what I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

I’ve had many moments with my own family where my communication style—which can sound critical even when I'm just trying to understand—has led to arguments. My family has learned to accept some of my quirks, but it's still challenging. It’s particularly difficult on days when I have a bad migraine and find it hard to express myself clearly.

The Hopeful Path Forward

The challenges of being neurodivergent, especially with invisible conditions like NLD and chronic migraines, can contribute to a profound sense of loneliness. It can be hard to make and keep friends when your interests feel niche or when a chronic illness prevents you from being social. For me, balancing the social demands of relationships with the unpredictability of my migraines is a constant struggle.

I know I can’t control my physical pain or the way people respond to my neurodiversity. However, I can control my own approach to life. I have found small ways to make my daily challenges easier, whether it's managing my finances by being mindful of my spending or accepting that I might not be able to do everything a neurotypical person can.

The key is to stay hopeful. As Kathy Chester writes in "Surviving the Loneliness and Hardships of Chronic Illness," it takes hard work to overcome the pain and loneliness, but it is "worth the effort."

I believe that even if our challenges are invisible and misunderstood, we can still experience growth and success. Perhaps for us, success looks different—maybe it's a small victory that seems insignificant to others but is monumental for us. I want to encourage you to stay hopeful this holiday season, to relax and enjoy time with your loved ones, and to celebrate every small success along the way.