Three reflections on how my strengths are misread through neurotypical lenses
Introduction
This post is part of an ongoing reflection on the disconnect between how I know myself and how I am received by others.
It explores how traits that are core to my being — receptivity, clarity, and integrity — are often seen as flaws, oddities, or disruptions. From a neurodivergent lens, these are strengths. But in a world shaped by social choreography and surface-level norms, they are frequently misunderstood.
This is my attempt to reclaim and reframe them.
Image by Stefan Schweihofer from Pixabay
1. The Cost of Being Safe to Others While Being Misunderstood Myself
I readily make space for people to be themselves — without requiring performance, pretence, or justification. It’s not something I do consciously, and it’s certainly not a learned therapeutic technique. It’s simply something people tell me happens again and again: they feel unusually open, exposed, or emotionally free in my presence — often very quickly.
This capacity is rooted in a strength I carry: radical receptivity.
A kind of deep neutrality or equanimity — a more affirming way of describing what others might call "non-judgmental."
I don’t react with discomfort or fear when people show who they are. I don’t need to guide, fix, or shape their experience. And I don’t seek disclosure from others — but disclosure often happens anyway, because I don't set up conditional acceptance.
But this strength also lives inside a deeper personality orientation:
I’m not interested in control or performance.
I don’t need people to mirror or impress me.
I hold space because I value emotional honesty over social conventions.
When I’m present with someone, I hold the space as if I’m saying, you can be real here, and nothing bad will happen.
Yet this presence often creates discomfort for others. People lean in and feel seen — until they realise how exposed they’ve become. Some recoil. Some assume manipulation. One person even accused me of drugging them, simply because they had shared so much and couldn’t explain why.
⬆️ I may be safe to others, but I am not always safe from their projections.
Their fear of their own vulnerability gets mapped onto me, turning what could be intimacy into discomfort or distrust.
This is one of the hidden burdens of being deeply safe to others: you become a mirror they didn’t expect to look into — and some would rather break the mirror than see what is there (ie. look at their own reflection)
2. The Misreading of Precision: When Clarity Is Taken for Complexity
The “cost of translation” — plus the anticipatory editing based on other people’s perceived capacity — is one of the most profound burdens I carry daily. It’s so common and expected that when I ask a clarifying question, I’m often met with an eye roll, laughter at the supposed absurdity of my confusion, or a dismissive comment, instead of simply being given an answer. At 50 years old, I can accept that some of these moments are seen as light-hearted or amusing. But it is depleting to have to stay braced for these little jostles, for the 'good-natured ribbing,' or the subtle shift in tone that signals I am being tolerated rather than met. I watch how others engage in easy, reciprocal to-and-fro conversations, and I notice the absence of that same ease in how I am received.
It is not a lack of intelligence or social interest on my part — it’s the constant, silent work of reshaping my words to avoid being misunderstood or rejected.
It’s like being asked to:
pre-measure your presence before it’s welcomed,
pre-shrink your insight before it’s heard,
and pre-decide how much of you is “safe” to be shared.
No wonder it becomes long-winded — not because I don’t know what I feel, but because I do, and I’m trying to shape it mid-flight into something that won’t overwhelm or be dismissed.
This is emotional labour that others rarely see.
Only twenty years ago, no one spoke openly about emotional labour or mental load. Even the concept of "mental load" as it relates to housework and caregiving has only gained traction in the past five years. And so this particular form of emotional labour — the constant editing, interpreting, and compensating I perform just to be understood — remains largely invisible.
I feel grief around this. I have spent years trying to explain my inner space and way of perceiving. And I have had to remind myself, sometimes too late, that this labour only has value or possibility with people who want to understand. Because for many, truly understanding would mean having to change something — to adjust a dynamic, to be inconvenienced, or to acknowledge harm. Even if that harm was unintentional, it still asks for reflection. And not everyone is ready or willing to offer that.
I’m often described as literal, overly analytical, or naïve. But these are surface interpretations. The truth is, I’m committed to clarity. I don’t pretend to understand something when I don’t. I don’t fake social cues.
If someone sighs and says, “You know how it is,” I will likely say, “I don’t — can you tell me more?” Not to analyse. But to genuinely understand.
This is not disconnection. It’s integrity in communication.
But when I ask questions or request context, I’m often told I’m overcomplicating things or taking the fun out of a moment. People may feel confronted by the depth or precision of my engagement and prefer to dismiss it as overthinking.
⬆️ What they call over-analysis, I call sincere connection.
⬆️ What they label naïve, I experience as respectful honesty.
I will not pretend to understand just to pass for polite. And I will not mirror emotional responses I don't genuinely feel, just to appear socially aligned.
Closing Reflection
I share to articulate a deeper truth for anyone who has felt misread in their sincerity.
For those who move through life with a quiet moral compass, who ask the hard questions kindly, and who hold space without knowing how they do it:
You are not too much. You are not too intense. You are not broken.
You may simply be living in a world that doesn't yet know how to receive what you bring. And while that truth can feel heavy, it does not mean everything needs to be fixed, solved, or even understood at once. What you can do is begin with what surrounds you — your immediate environments, where you eat, sleep, engage, and come into contact with others.
Start by noticing: the people, the supports, the dynamics close by. It’s possible that this environment was all you knew how to attract or create until now. And if you are beginning to recognise that another version of connection, care, or clarity might serve you better — that is okay. Begin small. Let your adjustments be quiet but consistent. And trust that even subtle shifts, over time, can bring you closer to something more sustaining.
Tags: neurodivergent perspective, emotional integrity, relational presence, misunderstood strengths, social dynamics, inclusion, communication clarity
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