By Yamila García 

I recently read an article about how situational constraints can predict someone’s behavior better than personality traits and intelligence. The article truly surprised me because it’s not common to see a type of thinking that clearly goes beyond what meets the eye. The article even asserted that laziness doesn’t exist and that each person’s particular situation ultimately determines how they behave and the results they achieve.

Reading it made me think about how many times my situational constraints limited my potential. How many times I couldn’t truly demonstrate who I am and what I can do, simply because my environment or my current reality wasn’t the most favorable. And not only that, but also how many times I had to hide my vulnerability and couldn’t allow myself to show my fragility, because I couldn’t afford to stop working, studying, or doing what was expected of me. I had to keep going no matter what, and of course, that ended up affecting my results.

Seeing someone write about this, without addressing it exclusively to neurodivergent people, gave me hope because of the empathy and openness I found in those words. It made me feel like there are others who understand, and that situational constraints aren’t just something unique to neurodivergence. It gave me great joy to read something that looks at others and their lives with such human warmth. I don’t know what makes someone have that perspective, but I wanted to share this article so it can reach more people, and perhaps we’ll all be inundated with that much-needed humanity of seeing others not just as people floating in the universe, but as people who are part of a society, who live a particular reality, and who often act accordingly.

I hope many more of us can have this perspective on others. The article can be read here:  

https://humanparts.medium.com/laziness-does-not-exist-3af27e312d01 

By Yamila García

I don’t work well when people are staring at me. My personal experiences around others have always brought me the feeling of being judged, even when I was doing nothing more than just being present. I suppose this may have been the trigger for why it’s almost impossible for me to function when others are watching, whether it’s when I’m trying to speak in front of more than two people or when I have to do a task or perform an activity that requires showing something I know how to do. I already know how others see me, and that makes me feel that whatever I’m about to do – no matter how correct the result may be – I will be judged by how I do it, which will most likely be different than how most people do it.

I know that, from the outside, people may perceive me as shy, which actually helps me avoid having to explain myself so much. However, more than shyness, it’s a refusal to feel watched and judged once again. Calling myself “shy” is my easy way out of having to explain a lot of things that people are unlikely to understand anyway. Because yes, I try to advocate for myself, but I don’t always have the energy, and I don’t always feel the cause is worth it. If, for example, I’ve just met someone and will never see them again, why waste my energy on unnecessary explanations? “I’m shy.” That’s all it is.

Anyway, as comfortable and easy as it is to say, “I’m shy,” it still feels like what it is: a justification for who I am. That hurts. It feels unfair. And I don’t think it should be necessary. I’m an adult, I’ve overcome so many things, I know how to advocate for myself, but I still find moments where I need to use that phrase for my own well-being and energy. It just feels like letting myself down a little. But I ask myself every day, what more can I do? 

By Yamila García

Many times, people have thought I was rude because of the direct way I say certain things. On the one hand, I do feel that things shouldn’t have to be embellished to be said as they are. But on the other hand, I understand that I live in a society that works this way, so I try to present my opinions or ideas in a more subtle way. But I usually fail. Maybe I’m too subtle, or maybe I overthink it; I don’t know. I’ve tried many times. My first instinct is always to communicate like others do, so as to not be perceived as rude. However, there’s something I clearly fail at, and yet I still don’t understand what it is. I feel like I start off being too subtle, and when I get tired of explaining things gently, I end up being too direct, which others find rude. It’s never my intention to be rude; I just want to be clear, for the person in front of me to understand. How is it that people always speak this way, disguising their ideas, yet they understand each other? What am I doing wrong? I always wonder. I pay attention to how others do it, and that’s usually how I’ve learned most of the things that don’t come naturally to me. But in this case, I just can’t figure out what I’m missing.

I also don’t understand why people get offended when you’re direct and honest. I’m not talking about telling someone “your hair looks bad” or “you’re dressed badly today.” I understand that can hurt their feelings, and besides, those things are subjective. I’m referring to a situation like turning down an invitation by saying something like, “I’m not going because I don’t feel like it. I’ve been busy all week, and I’d rather be alone on Saturday.” I’m not saying, “I don’t like you and don’t want to spend time with you.” I’m just turning down an invitation because of how I feel, not because of them. In this sense, I can understand why people try to soften their messages to avoid offending others, since people tend to take things personally. However, I don’t know how to find a balance between subtlety and clarity. This is why I have confused many people and offended others, but it has never been my intention to do either. It’s simply how I am, and I tend to communicate differently than most.

By Yamila García

I have this quirk that is often misinterpreted as being possessive. It’s not that I don’t like to share or that I don’t want to, even though it can come across that way. The truth is, I get deeply attached to certain things and people that make me feel comfortable. As a neurodivergent person, comfort is rare in my life. Many things feel uncomfortable, chaotic, or even painful. So when I find something that brings me calm, joy or security, I hold onto it tightly. This attachment can sometimes look like possessiveness, which is defined as: “a feeling of wanting to control or own someone or something.” In my case, it’s probably more about control, but control tied to the fear of losing what feels like an oasis in the middle of the desert. The unpredictable overwhelms me, so having control over what I can helps ensure that I don’t lose what brings me comfort.

When it comes to people, this might look like wanting to share as many experiences as possible with them. Doing things together makes me feel that if we have more in common, if we enjoy more moments together, our bond will be stronger and they will stay in my life. It might sound toxic, but I don’t think so. I don’t mind if the people I care about spend time with others, nor do I expect them to always prioritize me. My way of showing that someone matters to me might just look different from how others do it. I’ve been told this many times, and not in a bad way. People ask me how I remember small details, stories, and dreams they’ve shared. The truth is, I simply pay close attention to what matters to me. Over time, I’ve learned that I don’t need to do everything with someone to maintain a strong connection.

What may seem more like possessiveness is my deep urge to protect the things and people I care about. I know I take on a responsibility that isn’t mine, but it’s hard not to intervene when I feel that something important to me is at risk. In some ways, it feels as if my refuge, my peace and comfort, are being threatened. I can become defensive, trying to stop what I perceive as an attack, even when it might not be one. I work every day to recognize these moments and shift my perspective so that fear doesn’t turn into the need for control.