For those who self-identify as neurodivergent (have not received a formal diagnosis) see this version of the letter.

Dear fellow perfect flawed evolving human,

You’ve probably been waiting a long time for it. It probably cost a small fortune. The lead up was filled with anxiety and uncertainty. You placed yourself at the mercy of a stranger, an “expert”. Their job was to seek out and judge your every inadequacy – in fact, that was kinda the whole point. But you’ve spent a life time trying to hide them, and now you’re suppose to just let it all hang out.

One the one hand, you are scared of the label, the stigma and what it might mean. On the other, you are desperate for a certified explanation for your “strangeness”, even though you probably already know the answer in your gut. But having it there in writing and validated by someone qualified will confirm suspicions once and for all and remove that lingering doubt so you can move forwards with certainty. But god forbid, what happens if they deny you a diagnosis? “Sorry, you don’t meet the criteria. We don’t know what’s wrong with you (but something is!).” Then where would you be?

Well if that did happen I will need to write another article to say all the things I want to say to these “experts”.

So here it is: Congratulations! You are one of us! (But the truth is – you were already one of us). I offer you my sincere welcome to the community.

Whether your report says “Autism Spectrum Disorder” at whichever level or it says “Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder” of whatever type or combination, or another item selected from the vast DSM-V menu, each with their smattering of variations denoted by number or letter, you are no doubt feeling a bunch of emotions right now.

Perhaps the diagnosis was delivered to you apologetically and with pity. Or if you were lucky, you may have been offered a little something more comforting or validating. It may have come as a surprise, or maybe not at all.

You may have already done a lot of research, and thought back on your life, trying to make sense of certain experiences through a new lens. But perhaps you struggled to process it fully in the absence of a confirmed diagnosis. Don’t be worried if some doubt still remains though. You might find yourself still asking at times: am I neurodivergent enough? Do I deserve the diagnosis? Let me assure you, imposter syndrome is part of the process.

You might feel anger about past suffering, or grief for lost opportunities. Your might shed tears for your inner child and what they have been through and what could have been. You might feel confused about your sense of identity, worried about how this might impact your relationships and the future, or lost about what to do next. Should you tell people? How will they react? What does it mean to be neurodivergent? How do I integrate this crucial new piece of information about myself into my life going forwards? You will feel “aha moments” where things suddenly make sense.

Whatever you are feeling now, it is normal, you are not alone, and you will be okay. This is the beginning of something extraordinary but it will take time to process. Give yourself time and give yourself grace. These are the luxuries, as undiagnosed misfits, we probably have never felt we deserved.

You are still you. You hold in your hand a precious gift – that of deeper self-knowledge. It is only a starting point. And you get to decide what you do with it and what it means to you. You get to experiment and try things on and change your mind whenever you want. So when you are ready, go out and explore!

The world, up to now, has probably told you a certain story about what it means to be neurodivergent and your particular flavour of neurodivergence. The neurodiversity and disability movements and their associated communities will tell you different ones. I encourage you to explore them all.

Everyone has an opinion and everyone has an agenda. Some ideas will resonate with you and some won’t. There is history and controversies and loud voices and quiet ones and there is toxicity. You will bear witness to the impacts of individual and collective trauma, staunch ideologies, fragmentation and fear. You might participate in an argument or two yourself. But you will also feel belonging and relief and affirmation and pride that you may never have felt before. There is nothing quite like a lifetime of being the odd one out, only to suddenly find places where oddity is accepted and even celebrated. Relish these moments of belonging because it is a human right and a human need that too many of us have been denied for too long.

There can be so much pressure to have ourselves “sorted”. We seek out panaceas or epiphanies that will be transformative in the most efficient and effective way possible. We are used to doing things this way. Go easy on yourself. And that includes going easy on yourself about not being able to go easy on yourself! We are all doing our best and your best is perfect. Sometimes the harder we grasp at things the more elusive it can feel.

One of the most powerful gifts of diagnosis is permission to question all the things we have been told and that we believe. You might discover some of them have been harming you or holding you back. You might want to work on changing them (not easy, quick nor straight forward but a worthwhile pursuit). You might discover things about yourself that you want to accept instead of trying to change (similarly, not easy but just as worthwhile). You might feel inspired to try to change the world.

Deciding where best to direct your finite energy is hard and will involve some trial and error (and being okay with making mistakes is hard too but, again, worthwhile!)

Or maybe you just need to lie in bed for a while and read trashy romance novels with earplugs in because you’ve realised your exhaustion is actually long-term burnout.

So rant, weep, feel anger and sadness, revel in epiphanies, try all the fidgets, read books, go on the rollercoaster ride that is trying medications, connect with the other oddballs of the world, explore therapies, take alone time, or find solace in safe routines, tell someone about your diagnosis, do whatever you need to do and whatever you feel ready to do. You are not alone. You will be okay. This is your story.

Who knows where this journey will take you? The future is limitless and this is only the beginning!

With love and fellowship,

Selina