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.

By Yamila García

I want to bend over, curl up and cry. But I can not. That is not right. I don’t want anyone to feel bad or guilty for me. I can’t stand the noises anymore. People move too much. No, it’s not too much, it’s normal. It’s just too much for me. My heart is going too fast, I feel it strong in my chest. I want to teleport home. I want to close my eyes and be there automatically. I don’t want to feel anything anymore. 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89… Counting still works. Breathe, breathe and don’t think. I kept counting. 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89… come on, keep going… 144 233 377… yeah, I can handle it now… ok, I’m breathing slower, that’s a good sign. Now act normal. My face sure looks angry. Try to talk like this so no one notices that something is happening. But I do not want to. Better stay like this just in case it happens again. Little by little… 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89 144… Come on, keep breathing. Surely people notice my breathing… breathe slower. My heart rate is going down a little. I know it’s going to happen, it always happens… I just don’t have to think too much. Just breathe and count… Now maybe I can talk. Try to talk.

Something like that feels like being overwhelmed for me, after enduring stimuli until I reach the limit. It’s not as easy as: “don’t pay attention to what’s happening.” Many of the things that surround us are perceived in different ways and what for some is nothing, for others is overwhelming. That’s why I write this, because it’s real for me. Because after having gone through a challenging time, if you put me in front of various stimuli, chances are I will feel that way. I know that what I write exposes me and shows my most fragile side, but I don’t care, because just as I know myself, I know that I have been able to handle things that others don’t have to face. I know that I have done a lot with more difficulties than many people and I know that the more we share how we neurodivergents perceive the world, the more education there will be about it so that we can really have a more inclusive world for us.

By Yamila García

Learning to mask helps us survive. Masking helps us hide who we truly are from the world, showing them what they want to see. Since we were kids, many of us did it naturally, often without even knowing why we did it. Over time, we learn that, no matter how different we are from everyone else, we can always put on a mask to hide who we are and how we feel. However, after many years of relying on these “masks,” we might start thinking that simply pretending can handle everything that comes our way.

We might think we’re doing fine, that people don’t notice our differences, that we’re good at masking. But we can’t avoid everything that’s happening inside us. Masking just makes us keep going and seem like everything’s okay, but deep down, there’s a fire burning. Gradually, masking gets tougher and less convincing. We keep holding on, resisting, and doing our best, but it stops working, and we’re left with no energy. Pretending has taken everything from us. We end up utterly exhausted, unable to function as we normally do.

Masking “protects” us from the outside but burns us alive inside. It leaves us alone, without the strength to do anything more than hide in some corner, some hole in our house with little light, no noise and that is small enough to feel that at least we have some control. I know many neurodivergents are trying hard not to mask now, and I totally admire them. But I never learned how to live without it. I wouldn’t even know where to start. But I think I need to unlearn this harmful habit that denies my true self and doesn’t let me take care of my needs. It leads me to drain myself, isolate myself, and forget to care for myself.

By Yamila García

All humans are full of contradictions, yet those of neurodivergents seem to be questioned. However, all these contradictions are perfectly fine. We don’t need to justify them; they are an integral part of our humanity. Trying to understand them is also not necessary, but sometimes it can help us better deal with them. Contradictions arise from many factors, one of which is the interplay between our essential nature and the experiences and adaptations we undergo throughout our lives. Nobody is 100% logical. We are humans, not robots. Therefore, we’ll always have clashing views and feelings.

I have many contradictions myself. For example, noise makes me sick; it distracts me and generates discomfort. However, I grew up in a big city, and today, being far from it, noise is also comforting in some way, reminding me of “home.” Brightness usually hurts me. Going out in the morning and seeing sunlight is painful because of my sensitivity to light. However, I find it comforting to feel that warmth on my skin. Like many neurodivergents, I also have soothing behaviors; I rub certain types of fabrics, which helps me focus and calm down. But sometimes, I do it so much that my hands hurt, and I get cramps. Being around many people makes me anxious, but at the same time, if I don’t see people, I feel isolated. As you can see, even in simple things, we can identify contradictions, but it’s important to know that we don’t have to be any other way. These contradictions are acceptable, and there doesn’t need to be a logical explanation for them.

Many times, when we ask for accommodations, people may say, ‘If you can do this, how come you can’t do that?’ For many, those two things being compared may seem the same. But for neurodivergents, the scenarios and the environment in which we have to function have a significant impact on what we can do and how we can do it, for various reasons. And yes, we also have our contradictions, just like everyone else. People often look for a ‘logical’ explanation for how we perceive the world and operate. However, it’s paradoxical to ask someone with a different view and logic to explain their perspective, knowing that it differs from ours. But also, it’s important to understand that such logic is not always necessary.