Neurodiversity is a thing.

And so is neurocreativity.

All of us are born with a creative streak. Many of us start the journey called life through the sense of smell, then the sense of sight, and all other senses that follow.

We start observing, mimicking the behaviour of others, experiment in sounds, and repeat words we hear.

There is cognition, and our first human and physical steps to independence.

Many of us are wired through observation, self-awareness, imitation and uniqueness.

Then the other, more mature humans start putting us into boxes, giving us labels, expecting us to follow their dreams and what they think is best for us. We have to fit into heteronormativity, expected to follow the ‘norm’, study, get an ‘independent’ life, marry, take loans, have a house, children, a ‘stable’ job, and then we die.

All our creative prowess of the early years is somehow muted, forgotten and many times erased from our memory.

That is also the case here. But in hindsight the process of creativity became a coping mechanism in the early teens.

Family trauma, abuse (I cannot get into specifics, but you get the gist), bullying, heartbreak, and struggling to ‘fit’, put me in a situation where I had to follow the norm (mainly studying up to my mid-forties, which I loved anyway).

I had the advantage, though, to keep my creative neurodiversity going, many times hidden in plain sight, sometimes overtly.

The only problem is that I do not feel I fit in anywhere. My studies are in social work and European policy, but I am also a creative.

I am an author, a floral designer, a painter, clay sculptor, papier-mache artist, dancer, choreographer of sorts, a lyricist, composer, tv presenter, furniture artist, actor, director, producer, multimedia artist, designer, carnival artist, former model, shop owner; judge in fashion shows, art competitions, music festivals and much more.

But I do not fit in, both professionally and artistically. I try to inspire others to be creative, and make sure they fit in somewhere (the habit of normativity). I just cannot.

And I feel myself repulsed by labels, groups and associations. I cannot and won’t let myself try to ‘fit in’. I know that by being one of many in a group I can be ‘someone’, but I constantly choose to be no one. I want to desperately fit in but I cannot. Not even within my circle of acquaintances. I just feel I am constantly being judged for not being ‘normal’, that is having a stable job, money and property.

But I am made from a different mould. And I just cannot be an equal in standard of living. I chose quality of life out of necessity. And a life of a nobody by choice.

I might not inspire others. I might not be whatever form or shape others want me to be. But how others see me is not up to me. And being also an empath simply does not help. The feeling of constantly disappoint never goes away.

I cannot be in large groups as I will be lost, cannot take loud sounds as they scare my thought compulsions, I cannot speak my mind for fear of hurting others.

In most cases I choose to be kind or say nothing at all as the echo of my own voice scares me. I get hurt many times but it passes overnight. I also try to find words of caution, or of understanding, or of courage, or of solace. Many times I am misinterpreted, I am judged, and people take sides against me without knowing me.

I could be eccentric, but I choose to be kind.

I could wear extravagance or ruggedness, say loud and vulgar things, and be a snob to be seen as superior. But I choose to fit in with my attire and my way of behaving.

Does that make me less creatively appealing, or less eccentric, or not fitting into the normative judgement of an artist?

Does that mean I am not an artist?

Am I a fake?

Am I enough for myself, for those who love me and those I love?

Whilst writing all this I am feeling a sense of void, nothingness, sadness and a physical pressure in my chest. I feel that I will once again be judged by what I am publishing here. But it will be okay.

Finding the truest version of myself has been and always will be painful, hard and challenging. But I will keep on searching my meaning, if there is any.

I may be differently wired, have a different worldview, and my goals and expectations might not be realistic.

I will keep on trying to make a difference, if not for others at least for myself.

I see the world differently, I try to fit in a world that is not my own, I struggle to get my message across the board. But I know I am loved (which sometimes I doubt when I speak differently) and that keeps me going.

Where I am going I don’t know. Time, as short or long as it may be, might tell.

I just want to be me. I want to understand the space around me, to be there for others as much as they allow me to be.

I want to be creative, I want to be acknowledged, want to be understood, and want to be myself.

And I ask you to tell me, to judge me and to interpret my words to fit into your own narrative. But please tell them directly to me.

But I am wired differently.

I am a neurocreative. I am myself. I might not be enough for many, but I am a proper handful for myself.