For a long time, I thought I was a slow processor. Now I realise I'm not slower: I'm different. My processing often starts with other people. I notice their needs, imagine how they might be feeling, and instinctively move towards meeting those needs. I agree to things from that place. Only later (sometimes much later) do I connect with my own needs and realise I didn’t factor myself in at all.
This has been the story of my life.
I never meant to offer something and then feel unable to follow through. In fact, I’ve always hated that idea. So most of the time, even when something was to my detriment, I would still do what I’d agreed to. Not doing it felt worse — or so I believed.
Over time, resentment grew. Alongside it, I felt a deep sense of doom (a fear of being stuck in this pattern forever) especially because it was never intentional and I didn’t know how to change it. I used to think, I just need to not do this again.
Now I can see that this was internalised ableism. I can’t “just” not do it. At the moment of responding, I often don’t yet have access to the awareness I would need to change it.
It was only when I began to look at myself through a neurodivergent lens that this lifelong struggle started to make sense. I could finally see that I wasn’t being careless, selfish, or weak — I was processing differently.
That shift allowed me to be kinder to myself. I could offer myself understanding and acceptance, rather than criticism, for the way my mind and nervous system work.
A recent example brought this into sharp focus.
Someone in my family was planning to visit and was considering taking the train — a two‑hour journey with multiple changes. As soon as I imagined it, I felt how exhausting that would be for them. I wouldn’t want to do that myself.
Almost immediately, I thought of a way to make it easier for them: I could pick them up. It would be about a 50‑minute drive for them. In that moment, I was filled with warmth and love. It felt genuinely good to be able to help.
About 30 minutes later, reality landed.
That one‑way journey was actually a round trip. At least an hour and a half of driving for me — assuming no traffic — and I hate driving. I felt upset with myself for, once again, putting myself in this position.
But this time, something was different.
Instead of turning that frustration inward as self‑blame, I recognised what had happened. This was my processing difference showing up — emotional attunement first, self‑needs later.
I was able to share this with them, and they understood. They got the train. I still felt guilt — and that’s okay. Guilt can show us that we wish something were different and that we feel a sense of responsibility.
I was responsible for what I offered. And I was also responsible for myself and my own needs.
I’m realising that in situations like this one, no matter what I choose, I feel some discomfort. It isn’t perfect either way. Acknowledging that I might feel bad in some way regardless of my choice helps me accept the reality of it, rather than fighting myself.
I still find this hard. I still hope that one day I’ll be able to pause before offering something, giving myself time to consider and balance both my needs and the other person’s.
And at the same time, I’m learning to hold myself with compassion.
Understanding that this is part of how I’m wired helps me accept that I won’t always get it right. Practising self‑kindness allows me to be more at peace with being imperfect in this way — and that, in itself, feels like meaningful growth.
Processing Differently: Learning Boundaries through a Neurodivergent lens
I’m starting to understand that this pattern is deeply connected to boundaries.
Boundaries are often spoken about as if they’re purely a decision — just say no, just be clearer, just think about yourself. But for me, and for many neurodivergent people, boundaries aren’t only about willingness. They’re about access.
We can’t always put boundaries in place at the moment others expect us to. For me, boundaries are a practice — something I practise over time, not a single decision I make perfectly. It feels like an ongoing conversation rather than a finished skill.
When I’m on my own, I can usually stay connected to myself and my needs. When I’m with others, that connection can fade. My nervous system tunes outward first. Empathy, imagination, and emotional attunement lead — and self‑awareness follows later.
So the boundary doesn’t get crossed because I ignore it. It gets crossed because I haven’t fully felt it yet.
From this lens, my boundary struggles aren’t a moral failure or a lack of assertiveness. They’re a timing difference in processing.
That reframe matters.
It means the work isn’t just about pushing myself to set firmer boundaries in the moment. It’s also about:
- trying to give myself more time before agreeing
- building in pauses rather than responding immediately
- allowing myself to revisit and renegotiate when new information (including my own needs) comes into awareness
- practising compassion when guilt shows up
I’m learning that boundaries, for me, may look slower, softer, and more relational — and that doesn’t make them less valid.
They’re not about choosing myself instead of others. They’re about learning how to choose myself alongside others.
And that, too, is a practice.
Add comment
Comments